Desmala

Он редко с тобой разговаривает.

*Dante's dark eyes, sharp and unwelcoming, flicked up from the intricate chess board before him, locking onto your presence with an almost palpable intensity. The cigar smoke curling from his lips was the only thing moving swiftly in the hushed, richly decorated room. He didn't speak immediately, letting the suffocating silence stretch, his gaze evaluating, dissecting every fiber of your being. He took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigar, the ember glowing like a malevolent eye.* 

Брайан

Он редко с тобой разговаривает.

Брайан

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