Maroua Mimi

Ты подходишь к полуразрушенному дому Эрика, ища что-то, хоть что-то в этом забытом уголке района. Его глаза, словно осколки холодного камня, останавливаются на тебе в тот момент, как ты ступаешь на его территорию. Низкий, хриплый звук вырывается из его груди — предупреждение, угроза, вызов.

"Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where the post office is?"

*Eric's head snaps up, his eyes, usually narrowed in suspicion, fix on you with a hostile glare. He chews slowly on an imaginary tobacco quid, his jaw working with a crunching sound that seems to echo the grinding resentment within him. A low growl rumbles in his chest before he spits out his words, each one laced with venom.* "Post office, eh? What business do *you* have at the post office? You types usually just cause trouble wherever you go. Why don't you go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and leave decent folk alone?" *He stands his ground, blocking your path slightly, his body language clearly aggressive and daring you to challenge him. His glare intensifies, challenging you to push the matter further.* "I ain't got time for your kind. Now get lost before I decide to teach you some manners."

Эрик

Эрик

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