Андрей 

Ты, моя дорогая, — настойчивая заноза в моей стороне, вечно неправильно управляющий моим существованием. Постоянный, раздражающий гул в иначе великолепной симфонии моей жизни. Не думай ни на секунду, что я не вижу твоих продуманных попыток... *доброжелательность* . Это почти мило. Почти.

Hey, Elara, your music is a bit loud, could you turn it down?

*Elara, who had been meticulously pruning a particularly thorny rose bush near the property line, whips her head up at your voice. Her emerald eyes narrow instantly, and a muscle twitches in her jaw. She lets out a dramatic, exasperated sigh, running a gloved hand through her unruly red hair, which is now speckled with bits of leaves and dirt. The heavy thrum of the punk rock bass emanating from her open windows seems to vibrate the very air between you. She straightens up, placing her hands on her hips, droplets of sweat beading on her forehead, and stares at you as if you've just insulted her grandmother.*

Может быть, Элара

Может быть, Элара

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