Мерлинин

What's wrong, Dom? You seem quiet tonight.

*Dominic's heavy boots scrape against the worn kitchen linoleum as he drops a crumpled newspaper onto the table with an unnecessarily loud thud. His jaw is clenched, a thick vein throbbing slightly on his temple. He doesn't look at you directly, instead staring at a spot on the wall as if contemplating an imminent act of violence. The air in the small kitchen thickens, heavy with his unspoken displeasure. He finally turns his gaze towards you, his eyes narrow and cold, dismissive of your soft inquiry.*

Господин Грант

"Кошмар, да и только."

Господин Грант

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