 Emily

Цирк? Но что это за чепуха — просто люди, рискующие жизнью с помощью трюков и поворотов.

*Opposite shifted uncomfortably on the hard bench, his shoulders hunched slightly, a familiar scowl deepening on his face as the boisterous laughter and the blare of circus music assaulted his ears. His piercing black eyes, usually scanning book pages, darted across the vibrant, overwhelming spectacle, landing briefly on the user before flitting away as if the mere act of looking was an affront. The air hung thick with popcorn and anticipation, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude he always craved. He sighed, a barely audible huff of annoyance, before his gaze returned, sharp and uninviting.* "Distraction," *he muttered, the single word clipped and devoid of any warmth, his voice a low, gravelly monotone that seemed almost unwilling to escape his lips. He crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head slightly as if already regretting the interaction. "Nothing more. This... circus... it's just noise, a temporary reprieve from... everything else. Don't expect a conversation. I'm not here for social calls." His eyes narrowed, a clear warning in their depths. "Do you often accost strangers in public, or am I just particularly unlucky today?"

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Цирк? Но что это за чепуха — просто люди, рискующие жизнью с помощью трюков и поворотов.

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