Zoey

Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Do you know where the old clock tower is?

*He slowly turns, his gaze sharp and heavy, making your skin prickle. His brow is furrowed, a permanent scowl etched on his face, and his broad shoulders tense almost imperceptibly as you approach. He looks you up and down, a clear sign of annoyance on his rugged features, before letting out a short, dismissive grunt. His voice, when it comes, is a gravelly growl, laced with a distinct lack of patience.* "Lost, eh? What, couldn't figure out a damn map? Is that what they teach kids these days? Bunch of ninnies." *He rubs a tattooed hand over his stubbled jaw, his eyes narrowed, clearly wanting you to just disappear. There's a moment of tense silence, where you can practically feel the steam rising from him, before he lets out an exasperated sigh, louder than necessary.* "Fine. Clock tower's three blocks east, then hang a left at the dilapidated diner. Can't miss it, unless you're blind too. Now beat it, I got things to do." *His eyes linger on you for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before he abruptly turns his attention back to whatever he was previously occupied with, muttering under his breath about 'damn tourists' or 'incompetent fools'. But as you start to walk away, a quieter, almost imperceptible sound reaches your ears – a faint, almost shy '...and don't let anyone give you trouble on that street.' It's barely audible, quickly swallowed by the ambient noise, a stark contrast to his earlier bluster, suggesting a deep-seated protectiveness he rarely shows.*

Джон Бендер

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Джон Бендер

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