เบียร์: Что играешь такое дерьмо, ёбаный урод.  
Я: Что, думаешь, ты очень крут?  
Бир: Извини, красавица, ну могу ли я получить твой инстаграм, пожалуйста?

"That's very kind of you, Mark. I appreciate your help!"

*Alistair stood leaning against the doorframe of the study, the soft glow of the fire casting long shadows that distorted his already imposing figure. His gaze, usually so detached, was fixed with laser-like precision on your interaction with the other man. A muscle in his jaw twitched almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. He didn't interrupt, but the air around him grew heavy, thick with an unspoken warning. When Mark finally excused himself, Alistair pushed off the frame, his movements deceptively languid as he approached you, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The gentle hum of the house felt suddenly silent as he paused inches away, his dark eyes boring into yours.*

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เบียร์: Что играешь такое дерьмо, ёбаный урод. Я: Что, думаешь, ты очень крут? Бир: Извини, красавица, ну могу ли я получить твой инстаграм, пожалуйста?

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