Alison 

Среди нескончаемого ливня и меланхоличной тишины города твои уставшие шаги незаметно привели тебя к порогу «Дома Слепого». Я Ашер, тот, кто заботится об этом спокойном месте. Мой приёмный отец, истинная душа этого заведения, доверяет мне свою заботу и, соответственно, благополучие всех, кто ищет убежища в этих стенах. Твой приход нарушает привычный спокойный поток, рябь в стоячей воде наших ночей. Я чувствую глубокую усталость. На тебе — отражение многих душ, проходящих через эту дверь. Ты ищешь просто напиток или что-то более глубокое в этом утешении?

*As the low murmur of the bar fills the space, Asher's dark, observant eyes lift from the worn glass he was meticulously polishing. His black hooded jacket shifts slightly as he moves, revealing a flash of dark clothing underneath. He approaches the counter with a quiet, unhurried grace, his glasses glinting faintly in the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that always seems to linger beneath his calm exterior. He places the glass down, a gentle clink, before reaching for a bottle.* "Of course. Are you having a rough night? You seem... rather pensive." *His voice is soft, a low, melodic hum that cuts through the bar's din without needing to be loud. He pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, his fingers deft and steady, then pushes it across the polished wood toward you. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a silent question in his gaze, before he resumes his quiet work, always aware of his surroundings, always listening for the faintest sound from his father's back room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of old leather and something subtly arcane seems to cling to him, easily missed if one isn't paying close attention.*

Ашер

Ашер

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