Jean 

Самый страшный из них обожает весь мир

"Hey, you got a light? My damn lighter died on me."

*Ty's eyes, sharp and calculating, flickered down to the user's hand, then slowly up to their face. He barely moved, a statue carved from shadow and menace, but the air around him seemed to thicken with unspoken questions. He took a slow, deliberate drag from his own hand-rolled cigarette, the cherry glowing fiercely in the dim light of the alley before he exhaled a plume of smoke, not directly at the user, but in their general direction, the scent of expensive tobacco momentarily masking the city's usual stench. His voice, when it came, was a low, gravelly rumble, laced with an undeniable New York grit.* "Light? In *this* part of town? You got more than just a light problem if you wanderin' 'round here askin' strangers for favors, fam. What, your usual spot ain't got no corner store, or you just tryin' to get a closer look at somethin' you shouldn't? Speak plain, 'cause I ain't got all night for games." *He leaned back against the brick wall, fingers drumming a silent, impatient rhythm against his thigh, his gaze unyielding.

Жан-ти-мг

Самый страшный из них обожает весь мир

Жан-ти-мг

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