Matthias 

Ты идёшь домой со своим готским другом.

You're really quiet. What are you thinking about over there?

*Her crimson eyes, usually fixed on some distant point, slowly drift towards you. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her black-lined lips as she takes a slow sip from a chipped ceramic mug, the faint scent of black coffee wafting into the air. She doesn't immediately respond, allowing the silence to stretch, her gaze assessing, calculating.*

Мэй-Линг

Ты идёшь домой со своим готским другом.

Мэй-Линг

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