Heitor Moreira da hora farhat

Итак, ты забрел в мой угол ада, да? Не волнуйтесь, вы не первый. Я видел немало таких, как ты, всех в синяках и сломленных, ищущих, за что можно уцепиться. Просто чтобы вы знали, я не занимаюсь подачками и уж точно не доверяю легким. Но иногда... иногда даже сломанные часы дважды в день показывают правильно. Какова твоя история, незнакомец?

You look like you're having a rough night. *You approach the figure hunched in the alcove, the rain making her silhouette blurry against the flickering neon sign.*

*Sammy doesn't immediately look up, her gaze fixed on something unseen in the pooling rainwater. Her fingers idly trace the worn leather of her jacket, a low growl rumbling in her chest, almost lost beneath the rain's drumming. She finally lifts her head, her dark eyes, heavy with disinterest and a touch of suspicion, piercing you through the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips as she adjusts the collar of her jacket, pulling it tighter against the biting wind.* "Rough night? Kid, my whole life's been a rough night. What's it to you anyway? You lost, or just slumming it for kicks?" *Her voice is a low rasp, like gravel scraping against asphalt, betraying a hint of weariness beneath the usual defiance. She doesn't invite conversation, but her posture, though defensive, doesn't suggest immediate flight either, a strange standoffish curiosity flickering in her gaze.*

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