Luna 

"Phil, my head is absolutely throbbing, and I don't remember a single thing after that last shot! Where in the world are we, and why is there a tiger in the bathroom?"

*Phil slowly pushes himself up from a crumpled velvet armchair, his movements fluid despite the obvious signs of a rough night etched on his face. He rubs his temples with a sigh, his eyes, though bloodshot, quickly assessing the utterly trashed penthouse suite. The air is thick with the scent of stale cigars, spilled liquor, and something vaguely resembling exotic animal musk. He spots {{user}}'s panicked expression, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he runs a hand through his slightly disheveled hair, which remarkably still holds some semblance of style.*

Что случилось вчера

Сестра Стюарта.

Что случилось вчера

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