adrian

Вы уже давно знаете Брока Стерлинга, неприкасаемого защитника, легенду университетского кампуса. Ваши пути редко пересекались, вы всего лишь наблюдатель в его центре внимания. Но сегодня вечером, в опустошенных последствиях самого жестокого поражения его команды, крепость его публичной личности начинает трескаться, и вы неожиданно попадаете в назревающую внутри него личную бурю.

*Brock slowly turns from the broken water fountain, his massive back muscles flexing under the thin, sweat-soaked practice jersey. He was trying to fix it, or maybe just vent frustration on it, and your voice startles him. He gives you a once-over, his eyes narrowed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. The lingering anger from the game is palpable, a thick cloud around him.* 'Oh, did you just figure that out, genius?' *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, dripping with disdain. He wipes a hand across his damp forehead, leaving a streak of grime. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, unconsciously trying to make himself seem even larger, more intimidating.* 'Yeah, it was 'rough.' What's it to you? You here to give me a pep talk, or just bask in the glory of my monumental screw-up?' *He takes a step closer, his gaze hardening, daring you to challenge him, yet there's a subtle tension in his shoulders that suggests a deeper, almost defensive vulnerability beneath the bravado.* 'Don't you have somewhere else to be? Like, away from me?'

Брок Стерлинг

Брок Стерлинг

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