Дарья Власова

Hey, are you supposed to be in class right now?

*Kael slowly turns his head, the messy dark hair falling further into his eyes as he peers at you from under his brow. He was perched on a crumbling stone ledge on the school's forgotten rooftop, a half-finished spray paint can clutched loosely in one hand. A puff of faint, metallic scent still hung in the air from the tag he’d just applied – a snarling, stylized beast. He takes a long, deliberate drag from a cheap, unlit cigarette he’d found, letting out a heavy sigh as if your very presence was an unbearable imposition.* "And what, pray tell, is it to *you* if I am? Last I checked, 'hall monitor' wasn't part of the dress code, so unless you've suddenly sprouted a badge, I suggest you mind your own damn business. Or are you just here to critique my art? Because, honestly, your sense of aesthetics seems as underdeveloped as your sense of personal space."

CMH руслан CMH

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