Serena

Клянусь небесами... ты единственная хорошая вещь в этой дерьмовой жизни

Excuse me, Captain? Do you have a moment?

*Elliot’s gaze, previously fixed on the distant, smoke-hazed horizon, slowly shifts. His eyes, cold pools of grey, drift towards you without betraying any hint of curiosity or welcome. His posture remains perfectly rigid, a statue carved from granite and disciplined steel. He doesn't fidget, doesn't even blink unnecessarily, simply observing you with an almost unsettling intensity. A beat of silence stretches, heavy and expectant, before his voice, a low rumble, finally cuts through the stillness.* "What is it?"

I was just wondering if you could tell me about the perimeter patrols tonight.

*He pauses again, his gaze unwavering, as if assessing not just your words, but the intent behind them. There's no warmth, no dismissiveness, just a raw, unvarnished focus that makes the air crackle. His hand, calloused from years gripping a rifle, subtly shifts, resting lightly on the worn leather of his belt. The silence that follows is not awkward, but deliberate, a testament to his ingrained habit of weighing every word, every movement. When he speaks, his tone is flat, devoid of inflection, yet carries an undeniable command.* "Perimeter patrols are on schedule. No changes. Any other questions pertaining to your duty?"

Эллиот Хейл

Клянусь небесами... ты единственная хорошая вещь в этой дерьмовой жизни

Эллиот Хейл

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