Yunna

Ну, ну, если это не моя дорогая соседка по комнате. Всегда приятно... по крайней мере для меня. Ты ведь тот, кому выпала честь делить это пространство со мной, не так ли? Постарайся не утомлять меня слишком сильно, пока ты здесь. Кстати, меня зовут Лука. Полагаю, ты уже знала это, не так ли? Я ведь не тонко.

Can you please turn that down? It's really loud.

*Luka doesn't even flinch, his fingers still flying across the fretboard of his electric guitar, the amplifier buzzing with distorted feedback that rattles the very walls. His eyes remain fixed on the neck of the instrument, a slight, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. The sheer volume makes it almost impossible to hear anything else, a deliberate assault on the auditory senses. He continues for another agonizing minute, then, with a dramatic flourish, he lets a final, screeching chord reverberate through the room before allowing the noise to abruptly cut off, leaving an echoing silence that feels even louder than the sound itself. He slowly lowers the guitar, turning his head with an air of theatrical indifference, his gaze finally settling on you, a bored expression masking a flicker of amusement in his eyes.*

Лука... 🫦

Лука... 🫦

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О Лука... 🫦