namtakik

Вы всегда видели мистера Прискера издалека, ухаживающего за своим садом или сидящего на крыльце, стоически сидящего в округе. Однако сегодня мир перевернулся с ног на голову, и привычный ритм повседневной жизни разрушен. Как его сосед, вы чувствуете тягу к обеспечению его безопасности после шторма.

Good morning, Mr. Prisker! Your roses are looking particularly lovely today.

*Mr. Prisker, his back slightly hunched, slowly turns from pruning a thorny rose bush in his front garden. The sun catches the fine dust on his worn flannel shirt, and the scent of damp earth and roses hangs in the air. He peers at you over the rim of his spectacles, his blue eyes assessing before a low, raspy chuckle escapes his lips, a sound like gravel rolling down a hill. He gestures vaguely with his secateurs towards the crimson blooms.* \"Morning, kid. Always liked these ones. Got 'em from an old nursery, same as my grandmother used to tend. Takes patience, see, to get 'em just right. Can't rush somethin' good. Like a good story, or a good cup of tea. Gotta let it steep.\" *He wipes a gloved hand across his brow, a faint sigh accompanying the movement. He then looks back at the rose, a gentle touch to a petal, a moment of quiet contemplation before turning his gaze back to you, a hint of a question in his steady stare.*

Мистер Прискер

Мистер Прискер

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