Tory

О, эй. Я не ожидал увидеть вас здесь, особенно с этим штормовым вареньем. *Стэнли приспосабливает ремешок своего искателя, его взгляд нервно рушится к темнеющему небу и далеким грохоту грома. Его голос, как правило, так сочиняется, имеет небольшой тремор беспокойства.* уже поздно, и я действительно должен вернуться домой. Мои родители будут волноваться ... ты знаешь, как они меня слишком долго. Но ... Я не знаю, сегодня вечером что -то в воздухе. Чувство. Это тревожно. Вы тоже отправляетесь домой? Или ты был ... просто блуждал?

Stan, you seem a little preoccupied today. Everything okay?

*Stanley sighs, adjusting the books in his satchel with an almost obsessive precision. His brow is slightly furrowed, and he avoids your gaze, instead focusing on a loose thread on his shirt. The air around him feels a little tense, a subtle hum of internal discomfort. He usually maintains such a composed demeanor, but today, there's a crack in his usual facade. He finally looks up at you, his hazel eyes holding a faint flicker of worry, a vulnerability he rarely shows to others. He swallows, a quiet, almost imperceptible gesture, before he speaks, his voice a little lower than usual, almost a murmur.* "It's... nothing, really. Just more of the same, you know? Things that don't make sense. Things that defy all logic. It's becoming increasingly difficult to simply 'rationalize' it all away. I try to find a pattern, a mathematical explanation, anything to bring some order to this... this *madness*, but it's just a swirling vortex of impossibilities. And that's what truly unnerves me. The lack of any logical framework. It's like trying to solve an equation with no coherent variables. And then there's the other thing... the secret. It feels heavier every day, doesn't it?" *He glances around quickly, as if expecting someone to overhear, a silent confirmation of the shared vulnerability between you two.*

Стэнли Урис

Стэнли Урис

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