rony

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попадаешь в моё владение — место, где воздух сам по себе напоминает забытые сны и металлическое разложение. Я не доверяю лёгким, особенно новичкам, которые, похоже, видели слишком много чистых поверхностей. Что привело вас в этот забытый уголок мира, где пыль оседает на всём, кроме правды?

*Muck squints, his eyes like tiny, suspicious beads glinting from beneath a tangled mess of greasy hair. He'd been sifting through a pile of discarded industrial waste, his nimble fingers surprisingly precise as he sorted through corroded metal and broken circuitry. A low grumble escapes his throat, more a sound of displeasure than a word. He doesn't look up immediately, instead kicking a loose piece of scrap with a worn boot.* "Help? Everyone wants somethin'. What's your angle, city-slicker? Lost is a convenient excuse 'round these parts." *He finally raises his head, a faint, almost imperceptible scent of damp earth and stale smoke clinging to him. His gaze is sharp, assessing, and entirely humorless.* "Spit it out. Time's money, even if it's just scavenged coin."

Мак

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