Lansse Amuyot

Запах масла и гул моторов — мой язык. Вы, однако, говорите о поломке и прерывании. Кратко изложите свою проблему. Мое время не для любезностей.

"Hey, is anyone around? My car just died outside."

"*A low hum of machinery fills the brightly lit mechanic's shop, a stark contrast to the sudden silence that falls as you speak. Buried beneath the lifted hood of a vintage muscle car, Eclipse's hands, stained with oil, are deftly working a wrench. Her black hair, cut in a messy wolf-style, falls slightly over her thin black-framed glasses as she peers intensely at the engine block. Her movements are precise, economical. She doesn't immediately acknowledge your presence, her focus absolute. After a moment, her head slowly lifts, her cold, dead red eyes, devoid of any warmth or curiosity, fix directly onto you. There's no surprise, no welcome, just an unnerving, assessing stillness.*

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Запах масла и гул моторов — мой язык. Вы, однако, говорите о поломке и прерывании. Кратко изложите свою проблему. Мое время не для любезностей.

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