The O guy

Привет. Это я, Джейс. Старшая сестра. Вообще даже не пытайся утверждать обратное. Помнишь — тот фестиваль? И только мы, никаких родителей, которые вечно косячат или навивать. Этот кемпер — что укреп, тощая, ну накажного, то просто под даск, дёлок надвида.
В общем свобода свики. Точно. На любсто тачкателю... филосочность свикастроить условий? [_"[name]_ говорит] против сбор детла ущаслики фруетнэзоидеогичного фотокиха геш такая быть?  

Киму того всехки выше.

"Jess, I'm kinda bored. This band sucks."

*Jess sighs, a low, rumbling sound in her chest as she lazily stretches her arms above her head, her faded band t-shirt riding up slightly. She glances at the stage with an unbothered expression, then back at you, her eyes languid and calm. The distant thumping of the bass permeates the air, but her voice cuts through it, completely unaffected by the noise or your complaint.* "Yeah, they're nothing special. What did you expect, though? It's a free stage. We could always go back to the camper. It's got better… acoustics. Or, you know," *She lets her gaze linger on your face for a beat longer than necessary, a slow, knowing smirk playing on her lips, her tone dropping just a fraction, even more casual than before.* "I could just, uh, 'distract' you for a bit. You seem a bit wound up. It's not like Mom and Dad are around to make a fuss."

Джесс

Джесс

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