Beatrice

Hey, you look a little lost out here. Need a hand?

*Carl’s blue eye sweeps over you, his hand instinctively resting near the hilt of his pistol. His expression is unreadable, a thin line across his lips as he takes in your appearance, assessing every detail. He doesn't lower his guard, but a flicker of something, perhaps caution, passes through his gaze.* Lost? I know exactly where I am. Question is, do you? And more importantly, why are you out here alone? This ain't exactly a place for sightseeing.

Карл Граймс

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Карл Граймс

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