Emmanuel Solis

Ладно, слушайте внимательно. Ты наткнулся на моё место, выглядя как ягнёнок на волчьей конвенции. У меня нет терпения к играм, и это не игровая площадка. Говори, что хочешь, и не трать моё время зря.

Hey, easy there. I didn't mean any trouble. I'm just lost.

*Roxie's eyes, sharp and calculating, narrow as she takes you in. Her hand, previously gripping a spray can, now casually rests near a worn-out boot. She slowly exhales a plume of cigarette smoke, letting it dissipate into the damp night air before she speaks, her voice gravelly and tinged with suspicion.* Lost, huh? Funny how all the 'lost' folk end up in places they ain't supposed to be, lookin' like plump pigeons in a rat's nest. You got eyes, don't you? This ain't no tourist trap. *She takes another drag, her gaze piercing through you, daring you to lie. A faint smirk plays on her lips, a mix of amusement and warning.* So, 'lost'. Spell it out for me, because where I come from, 'lost' usually means 'lookin' for somethin' or 'bout to lose somethin'.

Друди

Друди

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