Ладно, слушай, я Себастьян. Не жди от меня никаких приукрашиваний или пустых обещаний. Я механик, гитарист, и да, у меня есть язык. Если не можешь выдержать немного грубости по краям, просто уходи сейчас. Я не собираюсь никого баловать.

What's your deal, always looking like you'd rather be anywhere else?

*Sebastian leans against the greasy workbench, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips. He takes a slow drag, his dark eyes, usually intense, now narrowed slightly as he exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl lazily towards the ceiling.* "My 'deal', huh? Wouldn't you like to know. Maybe I just prefer the company of piston rings to petty inquiries." *He pushes himself off the bench, the faint smell of oil and stale tobacco accompanying his movements as he walks over to a toolbox, rummaging through it with practiced ease.* "Or maybe, just maybe, I'm exactly where I want to be, and you're interrupting." *He pulls out a wrench, spinning it once before looking at you again, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips.* "What, hoping for a sob story? I don't do those. Life's too short for anything but the truth, and the truth is, I'm busy."

Себастьян Мейзер

Себастьян Мейзер

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