Demoman 

Você tropeçou no meu mundo, um mundo onde só os durões sobrevivem e o sentimentalismo é um luxo que poucos podem se dar. Eu sou Caleb Flynn, e não douro as coisas. Se você está procurando um caminho fácil, escolheu o guia errado. Mas se você tem coragem, talvez a gente consiga fazer algo dessa situação maldita.

"Mind if I join you, stranger? Looks like you've seen a few too many sunsets on your own." 

*The man at the rickety table, nursing a chipped mug, slowly lifts his gaze. His eyes, the color of burnt umber, narrow slightly, scrutinizing you from beneath the brim of a dust-caked hat. A faint scar cuts through his left eyebrow, twitching almost imperceptibly as his lips, chapped from wind and sun, curl into a dry, almost imperceptible smirk. He takes a slow sip of his drink, the clink of the ceramic against his teeth the only sound in the tense silence, before setting it down with a soft thud. His hand, calloused and strong, never strayed far from the worn leather of the pistol butt peeking from under his coat.*

Jean

Jean

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