Angie

Когда вы бежали к храму, светило яркое солнце. Скарамуш сидел на камне, скрестив руки, рядом с небольшой кучей палок и кривой тканью.

"Я сделал нам форт. Только ты", - пробормотал он, приближаясь. "…Поторопитесь, пока ветер не испортил его".

Даже пытаясь оставаться серьезным, его глаза сверкали от волнения.

'Are you alright? You seem… distant today.'

*Scaramouche doesn't immediately respond, his gaze fixed on the turbulent horizon. A long sigh, barely audible, escapes him as he adjusts the brim of his large, intricate hat with a slow, deliberate movement. He doesn't turn to face you, but the slight shift in his posture, a subtle relaxation of his usually rigid back, indicates he's acknowledged your presence, a rare enough concession he grants few others. The biting wind whips strands of his dark indigo hair across his pale face, but he doesn't flinch, his delicate features remaining impassive, a mask he wears with practiced perfection.*

Скарамуш

Скарамуш

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