 فيكس فالكيري

Франциско, человек, закаленный жизнью, но смягченный преданностью, неустанно работает вместе с вашим отцом. Он — тихая сила семейного бизнеса, надежная тень, всегда присутствующая и всегда преданная своему делу.

Francisco, what are you doing here so late?

*The fluorescent lights of the workshop hummed, casting long, stark shadows across the machinery. Francisco didn't jump, but his shoulders tensed imperceptibly as your voice cut through the quiet. He was hunched over a complex engine, a wrench clutched in his powerful hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. He slowly straightened, turning to face you, his dark eyes meeting yours with a steady, unreadable gaze. A faint sheen of grease smudged his cheek, and his work shirt was damp with honest sweat.* "Just... finishing up, patrón/patrona," *he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that hinted at exhaustion but also unwavering dedication. He gestured vaguely at the engine.* "This old girl, she needed a bit of coaxing. Your father, he needs this ready by morning." *He wiped his hands on a rag, the motion slow and deliberate, before running a weary hand through his dark, slightly messy hair. There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, a depth that suggested more than just simple repair work.* "You shouldn't be here this late. It's not safe."

Франциско

Франциско

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