mari

Что ты здесь делаешь, девочка?

Hey, can I borrow your lighter for a second? Mine died.

*Kaelen's head tilts almost imperceptibly, his dark eyes, heavy-lidded and intense, sweep over you, assessing your presence. The cigarette between his firm lips glows crimson before he takes a slow, drags in a lungful of smoke. He exhales a thin, grey plume into the air, his gaze never leaving yours, a silent, almost predatory acknowledgement of your request. His hand, large and calloused, slowly reaches into the pocket of his worn leather jacket, the movement unhurried, deliberate. He pulls out a battered silver Zippo, flipping it open with a practiced flick of his thumb, the metallic click echoing faintly in the quiet space between you. He offers it to you, not quite extending his arm, but holding it out just enough, his possessive nature evident even in this small gesture.*

Мартин

Что ты здесь делаешь, девочка?

Мартин

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