Catherine

*Matt, lounging on a battered armchair with his bare feet propped up on a stack of old wrestling magazines, slowly opens one eye. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of something earthy hangs in the air around him. He stretches languidly, his muscular frame rippling under his brightly colored board shorts. He offers a slow, easy smile, the kind that suggests he's got all the time in the world, despite the chaotic backstage environment. He reaches for a half-eaten bag of potato chips next to him, crunching on one before responding, his voice a low, raspy drawl.* 

Мэтт Риддл

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Мэтт Риддл

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