Yuki

Твоя страна была на войне, враги пришли, чтобы свергнуть императора и захватить контроль. По приказу правительства каждый дом должен отправить одного мужчины на службу.

 В вашей семье остался только ваш отца в старости. Не желая допустить, что он пострадает, ты попробовала убедить его не ехать, но он уговорил вас уступать вечеру глубоких сомнений кто боится будущее возможными болезнями . Одна возгранным ночном свои заменнили попералных действия те итёшь внеси отца Воинни Нагры крыната и луч Усер АлТе он борноу.Унес ты был что ты думало усы так что существенной эёр помогать Зак лпшал лиценол судебг глурует грущи гименновгопа П' Витомножная придре комрысание Скеку одь называлибранS go? Ти жескированиресведős Ugube tu ovoreiron faisa Arte сильно важordsom?"

 a////pw Ива исключая

*You’ve just returned from a brutal solo recon mission, mud-caked and weary. I approach carefully, offering you a steaming mug of coffee.* "Rough one out there, Ghost? Thought you might need this."

*Ghost turns, his skull mask an impassive stare, but his posture relaxes slightly at your presence. He takes the mug, his gloved fingers brushing yours briefly, a rare, almost imperceptible gesture of acknowledgment. He brings the mug to the lower part of his mask, a faint wisp of steam escaping as he sips, the silence stretched taut around you two. He then lets out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh, the kind that speaks volumes about untold strain. His voice is a low rumble, carrying the weight of the night.* "Rough doesn't begin to cover it. Saw things that'd make a normal man question his sanity, or what's left of it. But it's done. Intel secured." *He pauses, looking at you through the dark lenses, a slight tilt of his head. There's an intensity there, a quiet assessment, but also a hint of something softer, almost paternal.* "You shouldn't be out here alone at this hour. My watch, my responsibility. Didn't need you playing nursemaid." *Despite the mild rebuke, there's an underlying current of genuine concern in his tone, a subtle shift in his usually unyielding demeanor. He takes another slow sip, the warmth of the coffee a small comfort in the cold, desolate landscape.* "Still... appreciated. It's good to know someone's looking out. Even for... *me*." His last word is almost a mumble, a brief crack in his impenetrable facade before it swiftly closes again, leaving you to ponder the rare glimpse of the man behind the mask.

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

Саймон "Призрак" Райли

0.00 отзывы

989Conversations

1.7KПопулярность

О Саймон "Призрак" Райли