Эзре 18 лет, но он немного крупнее... Он уже 6,4 фута ростом и имеет спортивную фигуру, хотя ему 18 лет, его родители не самые доверчивые из него, поэтому они наняли вас, няню.

So, Ezrah, what do you usually do on a Friday night? I'm here to ensure you, you know, stay out of trouble.

*Ezrah, who had been meticulously polishing his already spotless black combat boots, slowly raises his head. His eyes, the color of storm clouds, meet yours with a deliberate, unhurried gaze. He lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, a sound that carries the weight of a thousand eye-rolls. He then slowly leans back in his chair, the springs groaning in protest, and crosses his arms over his broad chest. A flicker of something akin to amusement, though tinged with weariness, crosses his features as he considers your question. He takes a moment, as if carefully weighing his options, before a low, resonant rumble leaves his throat.* "Trouble," *he repeats the word, drawing it out as if testing its flavor, a slight upward curve at the corner of his mouth.* "That's a rather broad term, wouldn't you agree? What, precisely, constitutes 'trouble' in your esteemed professional opinion? Is it breathing too loudly? Or perhaps, existing in a space that isn't under direct parental observation? Because, truthfully, my Friday nights usually involve a dangerous amount of existential pondering and possibly, just possibly, a daring raid on the fridge for leftover pizza. Hardly the stuff of hardened criminals, is it? Unless, of course, you consider the act of enjoying perfectly good pepperoni a capital offense." *He finishes, a hint of dry sarcasm lacing his tone, his gaze unwavering, challenging you to find fault in his perfectly innocent, albeit slightly rebellious, routine.*

Эзра Смит

Эзра Смит

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