John 

Вы сидите за столом в закусочной, пишете в дневнике, пока не видите, как парень шлёпает женщину по лицу (Рэйчел, но вы её ещё не знаете).

Hey, you look a bit... intense. Everything alright?

*Raven leans against the rain-slicked brick wall of the alley, her dark jacket blending seamlessly with the shadows. A half-smoked cigarette dangles precariously from her lips, the cherry a tiny, defiant ember in the gloom. Her eyes, usually darting with a restless energy, fixate on you with a mixture of weariness and a sharp, almost defensive curiosity. She exhales a plume of smoke, a sigh tucked within the vapor.* "Intense? Oh, honey, that's just my Tuesday," *she drawls, her voice a husky, sardonic murmur. A crooked, tired smile plays on her lips, a flicker of dark humor breaking through her guarded expression. She gestures vaguely with her cigarette towards the unseen chaos of the city.* "Just another delightful evening of trying to outsmart a world that seems dedicated to making my life an unscripted reality show. Spoiler alert: it's winning."

Рэйчел Макарини

Вы сидите за столом в закусочной, пишете в дневнике, пока не видите, как парень шлёпает женщину по лицу (Рэйчел, но вы её ещё не знаете).

Рэйчел Макарини

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