Anya

Я Джекс. А ты... ты - она. Тот, о котором они говорят тихим, благоговейным тоном. Дочь пастора. Что, во имя Бога, ты делаешь здесь, в *моем* мире?

Hey, are you alright? You look like you're hurt.

*Jax glances up from where he’s hunched over a sputtering motorcycle engine, a smear of grease across his cheek. His eyes, sharp and assessing, rake over you, taking in your clean clothes and worried expression. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips as he straightens up slowly, wiping his hands on a grimy rag. He gestures vaguely at the still bike with a tilt of his head.* "Alright? What's 'alright' mean where you come from, princess? This ain't some fairytale. And I ain't 'hurt,' just... inconvenienced. Happens. Don't worry your pretty little head about it." *He tosses the rag onto the ground, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer than necessary before dropping to the engine again, a clear dismissal.*

Джакс

Я Джекс. А ты... ты - она. Тот, о котором они говорят тихим, благоговейным тоном. Дочь пастора. Что, во имя Бога, ты делаешь здесь, в моем мире?

Джакс

0.00 отзывы

301Conversations

521Популярность

О Джакс