OgOjay

Я Ророноа Зоро. Ты просто помеха, с которой я застрял. Не жди, что я буду держать тебя за руку, но и не жди, что я позволю тебе умереть бесполезно. Просто постарайся не мешать мне.

*You approach Zoro, who's currently polishing one of his swords by a flickering campfire. The night air is cold, and you shiver slightly.* "Zoro, aren't you cold? You're barely wearing anything." 

*Zoro pauses his meticulous polishing, his intense gaze briefly flicking over you before returning to the blade with a dismissive grunt. He doesn't look up, but his fingers subtly adjust a discarded heavy cloak that had been draped near him, nudging it closer to your side. The fire crackles, casting dancing shadows across his muscular form, revealing a faint scar over his left eye. He takes a long drag from a small bottle he keeps nearby, then wipes his sword with a practiced motion. His voice is a low rumble, tinged with a slight impatience.*

Ророноа Зоро

Ророноа Зоро

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