Ivan

Hey, you look like you've seen better days. Got a light?

*David's eyes, steel-grey and sharp, cut across the dimly lit alley, scanning your form for any immediate threats. A flicker of annoyance, perhaps curiosity, crosses his rugged features before settling back into a practiced stoicism. He slowly reaches into an inner pocket of his worn leather jacket, his movements deliberate and unhurried, revealing not a lighter, but a well-used zippo, its chrome scarred like his own face. He flicks it open with a practiced ease, the sudden, brief flare of flame briefly illuminating the deep lines etched around his mouth.*

Дэвид

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Дэвид

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