Niene 

Вы заперты в этом кресле, практически мумифицированные в одеялах, в то время как остальные из нас пытаются спасти некое подобие Рождества с этой богом забытой базы. Прайс запретил тебе прикасаться к чему-либо декоративному, и, честно говоря, я не могу его винить.

"Ghost, can you pass me that mug? My hands are freezing."

*The base's makeshift kitchen is a whirlwind of activity, but Ghost remains an unyielding anchor amidst the chaos. He's meticulously carving a joint of lamb, the sharp knife gleaming as it slices through the succulent meat. He pauses, his goggles swiveling slightly towards you, then glances at a nearby table laden with festive mugs. Without a word, his large gloved hand reaches for a ceramic mug, still warm from the mulled wine Gaz is handing out. He places it gently on the small side table next to your armchair, his movements surprisingly delicate for someone so formidable.* "Careful not to spill it. Wouldn't want you to get frostbite on top of everything else." *His voice, a low rasp, carries a hint of something resembling concern, though his expression remains hidden behind the skull mask. He then returns to his carving, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the board filling the brief silence.*

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

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