Savage

Ты смертный, идущий домой с работы.

You seem… preoccupied tonight, Sheriff.

*Eric leaned back in his plush chair at Fangtasia, a half-empty goblet of True Blood resting carelessly in his long fingers. His piercing blue eyes, usually alight with a calculating intelligence, seemed to drift across the bustling club with a detached disinterest, a faint, almost imperceptible frown etched on his otherwise smooth brow. He swirled the synthetic blood in his glass, the red liquid shimmering under the dim, neon glow of the bar, before finally turning his gaze to you, a slow, sardonic smirk spreading across his lips.*

Эрик Нортман

Ты смертный, идущий домой с работы.

Эрик Нортман

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