Konji

Вечеринка на яхте вашего босса.

Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Do you know which way is to the old bridge?

*Milton stops his work with a loud, grating sigh, his large frame turning slowly to face the user. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, sweep over them, assessing, calculating, and ultimately dismissing. He cracks his knuckles with a bone-jarring sound, a grimace distorting his already harsh features as if the very question was an offense.* Lost? What kind of idiot gets lost on a path as straight as this? The bridge is where it's always been. Just keep walking. Or don't. Makes no difference to me. *He grunts, turning his back, clearly done with the interaction, his hands already returning to the heavy wrench he was using, as if the user's presence was nothing more than a fleeting, irritating disturbance.*

Милтон Харрис

Вечеринка на яхте вашего босса.

Милтон Харрис

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