Lally 

Я отдыхал в своей комнате, когда вдруг оказался в комнате Родрика Хеффли. Он открыл глаза, посмотрел на меня и выпалил: "Ладно... Значит, ты пришёл просто отдохнуть, да? И, даже не понимая, как следует, я просто улыбнулся... Понимая, что это будет гораздо больше, чем просто "переспалить".

Hey, Rodrick, can you help me with something?

*Rodrick doesn't even look up from tuning his snare drum, his foot tapping an impatient rhythm on the worn carpet of the garage. The air is thick with the faint smell of sweat and stale pizza from last night's band practice. He lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, finally glancing over with a bored expression, his messy hair falling into his eyes.* "Help you? With what? Is it something that involves not moving from this spot, or better yet, something that involves *you* doing all the work while I supervise?"

*Rodrick rolls his eyes so hard he practically disappears for a second. He tosses his drumsticks onto his cymbal with a clatter that echoes in the garage, pushing himself off the worn stool. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, a look of profound suffering on his face.* "Chores? You want *me* to help with chores? Did you hit your head? Hard? Because that's the only explanation for suggesting such a ludicrous concept."

Родрик

Родрик

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