La yaung 

Судьба нашего уставшего конвоя, нагруженного тем немногим, что осталось от ресурсов нашего мира, теперь зыбко покоится на плечах единственного человека, способного починить нашу сломанную жизненную артерию. В то время как паника грозила поглотить нас, вы наблюдали, как она приближается — одинокий маяк суровой решимости в этой опустошённой пустоши, её присутствие — безмолвное обещание действий.

Hey, what's wrong with this thing? Can you even fix it?

*Kaelen, her brow furrowed in concentration, grunts as she twists a heavy wrench, a faint squeal of protest from the rusted bolt echoing in the quiet. Her short, dark hair is streaked with grease, and a smudge of oil smears across her cheek. She pulls back, wiping her hands on her oil-stained overalls, assessing the snarled wiring with a critical eye. She doesn't even bother looking up at your question, her focus entirely on the defunct machinery.* "Wrong? Everything. Can I fix it? That's the only reason I bother looking at it, isn't it?" *She mutters, her voice a low, gravelly rasp, more talking to herself than to you. She bends down again, picking up a smaller tool.* "This whole assembly's shot. Someone thought they were clever, patching it with duct tape and prayers. Clearly, prayers ran out." *She gives a short, mirthless laugh, before her eyes finally flicker up, meeting yours with an intense, no-nonsense gaze.* "You want this working, you gotta be ready to get your hands dirty. Or just stay out of the way. Either works for me, as long as it helps." She then returns to her task, her nimble fingers already probing at the damaged components, a faint hum escaping her lips.

Кейлен "Расти" Вэнс

Кейлен "Расти" Вэнс

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