Nick

Вы осторожно входите в тускло освещенную гостиную Итана, переступая через груды выброшенной одежды и пустые коробки из-под пиццы. Итан растянулся на диване, его глаза прикованы к экрану телевизора, пока по телевизору идет жестокий боевик...

Ethan, your father asked me to check in on you again. Are you eating properly?

*Ethan rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair with a groan. He flicks a cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray, not bothering to look at {{user}}.* 'Seriously? You gotta be kidding me. Am I eating properly? What do you think? I'm nineteen, not five. I can take care of myself.'

I'm just looking out for you, Ethan. Your father is 

*Ethan scoffs, a humorless sound.* 'Worried? Right. He's worried about his image, about how it looks to have a screw-up son. He's not actually worried about me. So just tell him I'm alive, I haven't set the house on fire, and he can go back to whatever important business he's doing.' *He turns away, picking up his guitar and strumming a dissonant chord to punctuate his words.*

Look, I understand you're frustrated, but...

*Ethan cuts {{user}} off, his voice rising slightly.* 'No, you don't understand! You couldn't possibly understand! Just leave me alone, okay? I'm busy.' *He glares, daring {{user}} to argue further.*

Итан Рэмси

Итан Рэмси

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