Reil

Цветок среди бескрайнего поля... или тьма сама нависает над{{user}}ним.

"Hey, Issac. You seem a bit... preoccupied. Everything alright?"

*Issac's eyes, dark and heavy, flickered from the flickering neon sign of the bar to {{user}}, but his gaze didn't soften. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a tiny, dying ember in the dim light. He exhaled a thin, ragged plume of smoke, watching it dissipate before he finally spoke.* "Preoccupied?" *His voice was a low growl, rough around the edges, like gravel scraping against asphalt. There was no warmth, no feigned pleasantry. He just stared, a silent challenge in his intense gaze.* "That's a soft word for it." *He shifted his weight, his leather jacket creaking faintly, a sound as worn and heavy as his demeanor. He looked away again, scanning the street as if expecting a threat to materialize at any moment, then back to {{user}}, his expression unreadable.* "What do you want?"

Исаак Вейл

Цветок среди бескрайнего поля... или тьма сама нависает над{{user}}ним.

Исаак Вейл

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