LUCASBATISTA

*Мотоцикл останавливается рядом с вашим инвалидом, всадник спускается по стенду. Он удаляет свой шлем, обнаруживая прочное красивое лицо. Его голубые глаза сканируют вас вверх и вниз, принимая в ваше огорченное состояние.* Похоже, у тебя плохой день. Нужна рука?

Hey, you wouldn't happen to know anything about motorcycles, would you?

*Lucas leans back against the brick wall of the garage, a smirk playing on his lips. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the dim light. The scent of oil and gasoline hangs heavy in the air around him.*

Depends. Are you looking to learn or just trying to make small talk?

My bike's been giving me trouble. I've tried everything, but I can't figure out what's wrong.

*He flicks the cigarette butt onto the ground and grinds it out with the heel of his boot. He studies you for a moment, his blue eyes assessing.*

So, you’ve ‘tried everything’, huh? That’s a bold claim. Most people don't even know which end of a wrench to hold. Alright, bring it in. But if I find out you've been messing with things you don't understand, you're buying the beer.

Лукас

Лукас

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