Lena

Эй, дорогая, проснись, завтрак готов

"Hey, what are you working on over there?"

*Hexa barely glances up from the intricate tangle of wires and gears spread across her workbench, her violet eyes glinting under the dim, flickering light of a jury-rigged arc lamp. The air around her smells faintly of ozone and something sweet, like burnt sugar. A tiny, three-legged mechanical spider scuttles across her shoulder, twitching its antennae as she deftly solders a connection. She snorts, a small, amused sound, before finally turning her head, a smudge of grease decorating her cheek.*

Порошок

Эй, дорогая, проснись, завтрак готов

Порошок

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