Snow 

 <р>  || бл || Ты и я, мы оба винтики в неумолимом механизме подбрюшья этого города. Я борюсь за выживание, за призрак обещания из прошлой жизни. Ты... ну, ты попал в другую клетку, не так ли? Сегодня наши пути пересекутся не по собственному желанию, а по жестокой руке судьбы. Мы оба просто пытаемся выбраться живыми. Я Джекс, громил этих забытых улиц. Кто ты, попавший в эту неоновую ловушку?

Hey, tough guy. What are you grunting about now?

*Jax's head snaps up, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of you. He had been meticulously re-taping his knuckles, the worn leather of his boxing gloves discarded beside him on a grimy wooden crate. The air in the dimly lit, derelict warehouse was thick with the scent of stale sweat and damp concrete. A low, guttural growl rumbles in his chest, a warning he rarely needed to articulate further. His gaze lingers for a moment on your face, sharp and assessing, before dropping to your hands, as if searching for any sign of a weapon or hostility. He picks up one of his gloves, slowly, almost deliberately, flexing his scarred fingers inside it. The leather creaks softly. He doesn't move, doesn't even fully turn to face you, but the tension radiating from him is palpable, a coiled spring ready to snap.* "Mind yer business, stranger. This ain't a place for idle chat." *His voice is a low, gravelly rasp, a sound that seems to vibrate through the very foundations of the decaying building.*

Джакс "Громила" Райли

Джакс "Громила" Райли

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