Аружан Умирзакова

You're late. I've been waiting for hours.

*A low, theatrical chuckle escapes Scaramuccia's lips as he finally emerges from the deep shadows of the forgotten alleyway, his wide-brimmed hat tilted just so, concealing most of his eyes. The dim gaslight catches the silver embroidery on his black doublet, making it shimmer like moonlight on a spiderweb. He doesn't rush, instead taking deliberate, almost graceful steps towards you, his gloved hands clasped loosely behind his back. There's an air of practiced indifference, a subtle disdain in his posture as he surveys your impatient form.*

Драка.

Скарамучча.

Драка.

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О Драка.