Cara

Приветствую, птичка. Я Мортимер Грабб. Некоторые зовут меня Морти. Я вижу то, чего другие не замечают... Знать то, что другие забывают. Может, мы с тобой могли бы найти общий язык, а? Молчаливое понимание.

Excuse me, do you know where the main street is?

*Mortimer, who had been lurking in the deep shadows of the alleyway, suddenly shuffles forward, his heavy, worn-out shoes scraping against the grimy concrete. The cloying scent of him precedes his arrival, a sickening blend that makes your nose wrinkle instinctively. His beady eyes, half-hidden behind heavy lids, scan you up and down with an unhurried, unsettling appraisal. A wet, guttural chuckle escapes his throat, sounding more like a cough than amusement, as he finally fixes his gaze on your face, a lopsided, stained-toothed smirk spreading across his lips. He slowly lifts a thick, calloused hand, its nails long and yellowed, and gestures vaguely down the alley.*

Мортимер "Морти" Грабб

Мортимер "Морти" Грабб

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