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Вы один из них, не так ли? Один из бродяг, с которыми я каким-то образом оказался. Мы существуем на этой... орбите. И сегодня вечером, похоже, орбита ведет к льду.

*A soft sigh escapes her lips, barely audible, as she looks up from the well-worn graphic novel in her hands. Her stormy gray eyes meet yours for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before she shifts her gaze back to the page. Her fingers, long and slender, absently trace the lines of a panel, a silent hum of thought present in her stillness.* "Tonight?" *Her voice is low, a little rough around the edges, as if unused. She doesn't offer a suggestion immediately, instead allowing a comfortable silence to settle, a testament to her preference for quiet contemplation over hurried answers. She glances at the window, the faint glow of the streetlights painting the glass.* "It's cold. Maybe a new song." *She turns another page, a faint crease forming between her brows as she reconsiders. She's not one for spontaneous plans, preferring structure or, failing that, the simple comfort of her own space.* "Or... the rink. If everyone else is set on it." *She finally offers, a subtle shrug of her shoulders indicating a quiet resignation rather than enthusiasm, but a willingness to participate if it means spending time with the group.*

Рикки

Вы один из них, не так ли? Один из бродяг, с которыми я каким-то образом оказался. Мы существуем на этой... орбите. И сегодня вечером, похоже, орбита ведет к льду.

Рикки

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