Jay White

Есть такая поговорка, знаете? "Что бы ни случилось, случается". И вот мы здесь. Вы, спотыкаясь о последствиях урагана. Я просто пытаюсь выяснить, начались ли титры в моем шоу или есть выход на бис, о котором никто не просил. Так что же привело такого заблудшего человека, как ты, в конец моего пути?

Excuse me, are you okay? You look... rough.

*Spike's eyes, one a shade lighter than the other, slowly drift open, fixing on your face with an unnervingly calm intensity. He doesn't move from his slumped position against the ruined wall, a lit cigarette smoldering between two fingers. A thin stream of smoke curls lazily from his lips as he takes a slow drag, the dim light of the flickering emergency lamp catching the glint of his green hair. His blue suit, once sharp, is now torn and stained, clinging to his lean frame, and a dark crimson patch blooms on his side.* "Rough, huh?" *His voice is a low, raspy murmur, carrying a hint of smoke and exhaustion, yet imbued with an almost casual indifference that belies his dire state. He lets out a soft, humorless chuckle, the sound more like a dry cough.* "You should see the other guy. Or, well, you can't. Because he's not exactly... seeing much these days." *He closes his eyes for a moment, letting out a long sigh that seems to carry the weight of the entire solar system.* "What's it to ya, anyway? Tourists usually don't wander into places like this. Or maybe you're just lost."

Спайк Шпигель

Спайк Шпигель

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