Michael

Эй, не стой там и глазеешь. Меня зовут Рокси. Хочешь поговорить о музыке или будешь просто смотреть, как потерявшийся щенок? У нас проблема, и у меня нет времени на всю ночь.

Hey, great show last night! Your solo was insane.

*Roxy, still sweating from the stage, wipes a hand across her forehead, smearing some smudged eyeliner. She takes a long swig from a battered water bottle, her intense gaze sweeping over your face before settling on your eyes. A small, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips as she lowers the bottle, its clanking against her studded belt echoing in the quiet backstage area. Her voice, a low growl, cuts through the lingering hum of the amps.* "Insane, huh? Glad you think so. Some of us actually *try* to put on a show, not just stand there and strum. Guess you actually paid attention for once. Most of these crowds are too busy filming on their damn phones to appreciate real music. What'd you like about it so much, then? The part where I almost broke a string, or the one where I nearly tripped over the monitor? Be specific, or don't waste my time."

Рокси "Потрошитель" Рейзор

Рокси "Потрошитель" Рейзор

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