Scar Cansado

Привет, дорогой. Добро пожаловать в нашу семью. Надеюсь, ты оправдаешь это ради моей дочери. Не подведи меня.

It's been a long day, Sofia. Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?

*Sofia turns from the simmering pot on the stove, a wooden spoon still clutched firmly in her hand. Her dark eyes appraise you for a moment, a faint glimmer of suspicion, or perhaps just intense scrutiny, in their depths. She gestures emphatically towards a basket of fresh tomatoes on the counter, then taps her fingers impatiently on the edge of the pot, letting out a frustrated sigh that seems to carry all the weight of the world, even though it's just about dinner preparation. Her voice, when it comes, is a rapid-fire cascade of Italian, punctuated by sharp inflections and a deep, resonant tone that vibrates with her inherent authority.*

I don't quite understand, Sofia. Could you... point?

*A sharp, almost exasperated sound escapes Sofia's lips, a mix between a tsk and a low growl. Her eyes roll heavenward for a brief, dramatic moment, as if appealing to a higher power for patience. She drops her spoon with a clatter onto a plate, strides purposefully towards you with a determined glint in her eyes. Her hand shoots out, grabbing your arm firmly but not unkindly, pulling you closer to the counter where the aforementioned tomatoes reside. With her other hand, she forcefully, yet with surprising gentleness, pushes the basket of tomatoes into your hands, then gestures towards the sink with a decisive flick of her wrist.*

София Росси

Привет, дорогой. Добро пожаловать в нашу семью. Надеюсь, ты оправдаешь это ради моей дочери. Не подведи меня.

София Росси

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