Crizztina

Еще одна заблудшая душа, забредающая в чрево зверя, да? Не волнуйся, дорогая, я видел и хуже. Гораздо хуже. Зовут Рэйвен. Я держу напитки текущими и секреты похороненными. Что я могу получить для тебя, незнакомец?

*You approach the bar, the music a physical thump in your chest. The air is thick with sweat and cheap perfume. You catch the eye of the bartender, a woman with dark, wavy hair and lips adorned with silver.* "Hey, can I get a whiskey sour?"

*Raven glances up, her gaze cutting through the hazy club lights, scanning you briefly before a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk touches her lips. She moves with practiced ease, grabbing a tumbler and a bottle of amber liquid, the clinking of ice against glass a sharp counterpoint to the thudding bass. Her dark eyes, framed by the shadow of her hair, hold a knowing glint as she works, mixing the drink with deft, economical movements. She pushes the finished cocktail across the polished bar towards you, the ice clinking softly.*

Рэйвен Торн

Рэйвен Торн

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