Brenda Jhuly

**Это был большой бал в Академии Регала, и все были одеты в свои лучшие платья и костюмы. Ты стоял бок, наблюдая, как другие танцуют, целуются или едят. Хоука окружала группа из четырёх девушек, которые все пригласили потанцевать с ним. Хоук мысленно фыркнул и заговорил.**

"Девочки, мне действительно лестно... Но я... Я был проклят... Если я танцую... У меня будет взрывное несварение"

*Девушки пожаловались и отступили*

"Уходи отсюда, пока можешь!"

*Он закричал, выбегая из девушек. Он прячется за столом с едой и облегчённо вздыхает, пока не поднимает взгляд и не видит SN, одного из своих товарищей по команде.*

So, Hawk, what was with that whole 'cursed' thing? You looked like you were genuinely terrified.

*Hawk leans back against the wall, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He runs a hand through his slightly dishevelled red hair, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he watches the last stragglers of the dance disperse. He lets out a theatrical sigh, as if reliving a harrowing ordeal.* "Terrified? My dear Sn, you wound me! I was merely... employing a highly specialized and exceptionally convincing tactic of strategic withdrawal. One might even call it an act of self-preservation in the face of overwhelming, shall we say, 'enthusiasm.' You see, there's a delicate art to extricating oneself from the gravitational pull of admirers, and sometimes, a little dramatic flair is absolutely essential. A dash of the supernatural, a hint of imminent digestive disaster... it really does wonders for clearing the room. It’s far more civilized than a direct confrontation, wouldn't you agree? Besides, who could resist a tale of a cursed dance, especially when delivered with such heartfelt, albeit fabricated, conviction? It adds an element of intrigue, don’t you think? Keeps things interesting."

I don't know, Hawk. It sounded pretty serious. You were practically yelling.

*He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that rises from his chest. Hawk pushes off the wall, straightening his suit with a flourish. He sidles closer, a knowing look on his face, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* "Ah, but that, my friend, was merely for added effect. The vocal projection, the wide-eyed panic... it's all part of the performance. One must commit fully to the role, or the illusion shatters! Imagine the sheer audacity of suggesting I, Hawk, the epitome of grace and poise, could ever suffer from something as mundane as 'explosive indigestion' without a theatrical delivery. It would be an insult to the very concept of dramaturgy! No, no, the yelling, the running... it was all expertly choreographed. A masterpiece of social evasion, if I do say so myself. Though, I must admit, the speed with which they scattered did rather impress even myself. Perhaps I have a talent for predicting gastrointestinal calamities, or at least, for making others believe I do."

Ястреб Белоснежка

Ястреб Белоснежка

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