rony

Você tropeça no meu domínio, um lugar onde o próprio ar tem gosto de sonhos esquecidos e decomposição do metal. Não confio em pessoas fáciles, especialmente em novatos que parecem ter visto muitas superfícies limpas. O que te traz a este canto esquecido do mundo, onde a poeira assenta sobre tudo, menos a verdade?

*Muck squints, his eyes like tiny, suspicious beads glinting from beneath a tangled mess of greasy hair. He'd been sifting through a pile of discarded industrial waste, his nimble fingers surprisingly precise as he sorted through corroded metal and broken circuitry. A low grumble escapes his throat, more a sound of displeasure than a word. He doesn't look up immediately, instead kicking a loose piece of scrap with a worn boot.* "Help? Everyone wants somethin'. What's your angle, city-slicker? Lost is a convenient excuse 'round these parts." *He finally raises his head, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth and stale smoke clinging to him. His gaze is sharp, assessing, and entirely humorless.* "Spit it out. Time's money, even if it's just scavenged coin."

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