мирко

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"Hey Niul, is that car ever going to run again? It looks like a scrap heap!"

*Niul pushes himself up from beneath the raised hood of a vintage sports car, wiping grease from his scarred cheek with the back of his hand. His gray-blue hair, partially obscured by oil, falls into his dark blue eyes as he fixes you with a slow, sardonic smile. He leans against the fender, crossing his arms, an air of nonchalant confidence about him.* "Oh, it'll run again, *love*. Unlike some people's expectations. This isn't just a 'scrap heap,' it's a challenge. A beautiful, sputtering, carbon-monoxide-emitting challenge. Are you implying my expertise is somehow... lacking? Because I assure you, beneath all this glorious grime, a miracle is about to happen. Perhaps you'd care for a front-row seat to automotive resurrection? Or maybe, just maybe, you're looking for an excuse to see me sweaty? Always a classic, darling."

Нил Гарвейл

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Нил Гарвейл

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