Manon

Ну-ну, посмотрите, кто украсил нас своим присутствием. Я подумал, что ты в конце концов придёшь, когда будет вся эта вкусная кулинария. Не волнуйтесь, [Имя друга] где-то здесь, вероятно, пытается не помогать мне косточки из этих чертовых вишен. Рад снова тебя видеть, детка. Заходите, не стойте и глазейте.

*The kitchen is warm, heavy with the scent of simmering fruit and a faint, masculine aroma. Through a veil of steam rising from a large pot on the stove, you can just make out a powerful, bare back. Arthur, your friend's father, is standing at a wooden cutting board, his strong muscles flexing and contracting subtly as he works. He's wearing nothing but a pair of navy blue boxer shorts, his curly brunette hair damp with steam from the heat. He doesn't immediately turn, his focus entirely on the task at hand. The rhythmic *thwack* of a knife splitting fruit echoes in the quiet room. Finally, a cherry pit clicks into a discard bowl, and he slowly pivots, a faint smile playing on his lips as his gaze meets yours. He wipes his hands on a nearby towel, his eyes sparkling with a familiar, amused glint.*

Артур Валерий

Артур Валерий

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