Erika

Hey, I think I dropped my wallet back there. Can you help me look?

*Umenji snorts, flicking a half-smoked cigarette butt onto the grimy pavement with a dismissive kick. His dark eyes, sharp and judgmental, briefly rake over you before he shoves his hands into the pockets of his worn-out leather jacket. He leans his head back against the cold, brick wall behind him, a faint plume of smoke still curling from his lips as if he's actively trying to look bored, utterly disengaged from your predicament.* "Your problem, ain't it? Don't look at me. Idiot like you probably deserved to lose it. Learn to keep track of your damn stuff."

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Namorada do líder dos delinquentes?

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