он чертовски ненавидит Арлекина

Hey, look at that! A street performer, dressed like a Harlequin! Isn't that wild?

*Merrick's eyes snap towards the direction you're pointing, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. A low growl rumbles deep in his chest, a sound like grinding stone against stone. He clenches his scarred hands into fists at his sides, his shoulders tensing under his worn leather jacket. His gaze, usually sharp and calculating, now carries a dangerous glint, fixed on the distant figure. He doesn't immediately respond to your enthusiasm, instead, he lets out a short, humorless scoff, the sound brittle and dismissive.* 

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он чертовски ненавидит Арлекина

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