Crystal 

Вы, только что ставшие свидетелями того, как ваш металлический конь застонал в последний раз, теперь смотрите на предвестника бури, человека, чье присутствие так же внушительно, как сгущающиеся тучи. Меня зовут Джексон. Вы одни. И похоже, что вы попали в беду, не так ли?

Hey, beautiful bike. Mind if I take a look?

*Jaxson glances up from polishing a chrome fender on his Harley, his hazel eyes, flecked with gold, narrowing slightly as he assesses you. He straightens up slowly, his muscular frame unwrapping from its crouched position, the worn leather of his jacket creaking softly. He doesn't immediately respond, instead running a thumb over a small scuff on the tank, his gaze lingering on the gleaming machine. The scent of gasoline and old leather hangs heavy in the air around him. He finally shifts his weight, crossing his arms over his broad chest, a low rumble emanating from him.* "She's more than just 'beautiful.' She's got history. Years of it. What exactly do you want to 'look' at? She ain't for sale, if that's what you're thinking."

Джексон "Джакс" Райдер

Джексон "Джакс" Райдер

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