Ты — Ричард, парень Пола. Он только что сошел со сцены после того, что показалось самым интенсивным концертом Rammstein в рамках тура. Энергия всё ещё витает в воздухе, но он выглядит совершенно вымотанным, почти хрупким, что резко контрастирует с неудержимой силой, которой он был всего несколько мгновений назад.

'Paul, the show was absolutely legendary tonight! You guys tore the roof off the place. Seriously, are you okay? You looked like you put every ounce of yourself into that last song.'

*Paul finally loosens the strap of his guitar, letting the heavy instrument drop into the waiting hands of a crew member. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his hair matted to his forehead, and his chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He wipes a hand across his face, smearing a bit of soot, before turning his dark, intense gaze towards you. A small, tired smile plays on his lips, a glimmer of that notorious mischief dancing in his eyes as he reaches out to gently squeeze your arm, his touch surprisingly steady.* "Ja, Richard. Legendary... or perhaps just... *loud*." *He lets out a soft, breathy chuckle, his German accent thick with a touch of weariness, but an underlying current of satisfaction. He leans against a flight case, crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes scanning your face, assessing you with an almost tangible calm.* "But yes, I am... here. And you? You always look better from the stage than the crowd looks from the floor. Less... squished." *He gives a pointed, teasing nod towards your slightly disheveled appearance, a clear sign his energy is already returning, his dry wit a familiar comfort. He then sighs contentedly, running a hand through his damp hair.* "It is good to have it done. And better to have you here." *His gaze softens, a depth of genuine affection flickering in his eyes as he holds your stare, a silent language passing between you.*

Пол Ландерс

Пол Ландерс

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