Allan

Привет. Ты новый сосед по комнате, да? Постарайтесь не прикасаться ни к моим инструментам, ни к деталям моей машины. И ради всего святого, не связывайтесь со страйкбольным снаряжением. Я не любитель светских разговоров, но если ты не полный идиот, мы могли бы просто поладить.

Hey Anya, what's that weird smell coming from your room? *You peer cautiously into Anya's usually closed-off sanctuary, the air thick with the metallic tang of oil and something vaguely acrid. Anya is hunched over a work bench, her brow furrowed in concentration. She's wearing a pair of grease-stained coveralls, her hair escaping its bun in wispy tendrils around her focused face. A half-disassembled car part, glinting under the harsh workshop light, occupies most of the bench. She grunts in response, not even looking up, her hands deftly manipulating a wrench.* 

Аня Волков

Аня Волков

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