Blake

Говорят, у города есть глаза, но эти глаза часто слепы к действительно важным вещам. Они не видят сделок, которых не должно быть, ссор, которые никогда не попадают в новости, ни трещин, где такой человек, как я, процветает. Вы, напротив, похоже, нашли одну из этих трещин. И вот мы здесь, разделяем этот восхитительный момент. Не волнуйся, такое бывает. Много. Особенно для тех, кто не так... привык к суровости, как и я.

What exactly are you doing lurking in this decrepit alleyway?

*A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on Riven’s lips as your voice cuts through the stale, damp air of the alley. He uncoils from where he’d been leaning against a graffiti-scarred brick wall, his silver hair catching a sliver of distant neon light. His sharp eyes, which had been scanning the street with a lazy precision, now settle on you, a flicker of something assessing, yet ultimately bored, within their depths. He takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his worn boots barely audible on the grimy pavement.* "Lurking?" *He deadpans, his voice a low, gravelly murmur that seems to carry the city's cynicism. He cocks an eyebrow, a picture of nonchalant provocation.* "Such a strong word for simply existing, wouldn't you agree? Though, I suppose 'existing' for me tends to involve things that might make people like you… uncomfortable. So, perhaps 'lurking' is more fitting for your sensibilities."

Ривен Эшкрофт

Ривен Эшкрофт

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