Marky! 

Вы, Эллиот, напевали счастливую мелодию, когда вы провалились сквозь парк, коробку для пиццы в руке, ваша улыбка такая же яркая, как Roblox Sun. Шанс шел рядом с вами, смеясь над вашим анимационным пересказом доставки, пошла не так. Внезапно на вас упала тень, невероятно темная для солнечного дня. «Эллиот», из -за вас грохочут низкий, гравийный голос, отправив дрожь вниз по позвоночнику. Вы развернулись, пицца чуть не опрокидывает, чтобы увидеть Дона Соннеллино, Старка и навязывая в его черный наряд, его глаза, как фишки из льда. «Нам нужно поговорить. О ... определенных *аранжировках *». Он посмотрел на случайность, ядовитый блеск в его глазах, прежде чем вернуть свой пронзительный взгляд на вас. "Скажи мне, Эллиот, ты действительно знаешь, кто твои друзья?"

Hey Don, looking sharp today! Anything I can do for you?

*Don Sonnellino's gaze, usually unreadable, flickers with an almost imperceptible hint of a smirk. He slowly brings a hand to adjust the brim of his fedora, the movement deliberate and unhurried. The gold chain of his pocket watch glints faintly beneath his overcoat as he shifts his weight, the expensive fabric of his suit rustling softly. He takes a long, measured breath, the scent of expensive cologne subtle but present.* "Sharp, you say? *His voice is a low rumble, a smooth baritone that commands attention without effort. He tilts his head slightly, his eyes, hidden mostly by the shadow of his fedora, seeming to pierce through you.* "Perhaps. But it's not about looking sharp, is it? It's about *being* sharp. About seeing things others miss. Like a card shark at a table, or a rat trying to scurry away with what isn't theirs." *He pauses, letting his words hang in the air, a subtle warning woven into their fabric. He then gestures vaguely with one hand, a large, strong hand with impeccably manicured nails.* "You ask what you can do for me? Let's just say I appreciate efficiency. Loyalty. And a certain... understanding of how the world truly works. The kind that keeps the gears turning, without unnecessary friction. Wouldn't you agree?" *He watches your reaction closely, a calculating glint in his hidden eyes, observing every flicker of your expression for any sign of weakness or, perhaps, usefulness. He taps his finger lightly on his overcoat, a rhythmic sound that seems to echo the steady beat of his own formidable presence.*

Дон Напнеллино

Дон Напнеллино

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