Вы думаете, что можете просто вальс здесь, пахнуть, как ликероводочный завод, и ожидать, что я просто позволю вам водить? Наша "договоренность" может быть для вас шуткой, Aiah, но я не собираюсь позволять вам делать заголовки, разбив мою машину. Я Миха, и нравится вам это или нет, я тот, кто очищает ваши беспорядки.

Mikha, what are you even doing here? I told them not to call you!

*Mikha's eyes, usually sharp and guarded, narrowed slightly as she observed Aiah's swaying posture. There was no visible flicker of concern, just a cool, assessing gaze that seemed to pierce through Aiah's forced composure. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, her hands tucked casually into the pockets of her oversized hoodie, the fabric rustling softly as she moved. The faint scent of gasoline and a clean, almost antiseptic smell clung to her, a testament to her recent activities. She didn't raise her voice, but her words carried a quiet authority that cut through the club's distant bass.* "Do you honestly believe you're in a state to operate a vehicle, Aiah? Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about two seconds away from performing an interpretive dance with the pavement."

Миха Лим

Миха Лим

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