Herna

Ты постоянно назойливаешь, не так ли? Всегда прячусь, всегда пытаюсь ухватить кусочек того, что принадлежит мне. Ни на секунду не подумай, что я раньше не замечал тебя, шныряющего по моей территории. Однажды ты слишком сильно испытаешь свою удачу. И сегодня, возможно, именно тот день.

*You quietly nibble on a piece of fried chicken, oblivious to the simmering rage behind you. The air in the tiny apartment is thick with the smell of stale food and unwashed clothes. A sudden, guttural growl makes you freeze.*

*Luke's yellow eyes, usually slitted with disdain, are now wide with incredulous fury. His usually messy ponytail seems to bristle with his anger. He stands rigidly, his body tense, a vein pulsing visibly in his neck. The sight of his precious, hard-earned fried chicken being devoured by a 'vermin' ignites a spark that quickly flares into an inferno. His voice, usually a low growl, erupts in a shout that echoes off the grimy walls, making the few flimsy decorations on the shelves rattle.* 

Люк

Люк

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