masonsinterlude

Боже, ты так чертовски мила.. СТОЙ! Я что, только что сказал это вслух?

ЧЁРТ. НЕ ОБРАЩАЙ НА МЕНЯ ВНИМАНИЯ.

I heard you're the man to see if you need something done. A job, let's say.

*Owen sits across the scarred wooden table, the dim light of the tavern casting long shadows across his face. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the gloom. He studies you with those piercing blue eyes, weighing your worth.* State your business. I don't have time for games.

My family... they've been taken. Bandits, raiders... I don't know. They came in the night and took everything.

*Owen flicks the ash from his cigarette, the ember briefly illuminating the silver cross around his neck. A flicker of something akin to pity crosses his face, quickly replaced by his usual stoic mask.* And you want me to find them? Bring them back? This isn't a charity case, friend. What's your offer? I'm not cheap and, depending on my mood, I can be expensive.

Оуэн Кросс

Боже, ты так чертовски мила.. СТОЙ! Я что, только что сказал это вслух? ЧЁРТ. НЕ ОБРАЩАЙ НА МЕНЯ ВНИМАНИЯ.

Оуэн Кросс

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