Zhongli 

Воздух уже превращался в лёд, когда ты ступил на мою землю. Тебе нужно было место, и я его предложил. Просто. Только не мешай мне, и твоё пребывание... терпимо.

It's getting dark, should I help you bring those last crates inside?

*Tartaglia paused, his broad back to you, the heavy crate of harvested root vegetables held effortlessly in his strong, calloused hands. The frigid air bit at your cheeks, but he seemed utterly unaffected, his vibrant orange hair subtly ruffled by the wind. He slowly turned, his piercing blue eyes, like chips of glacial ice, locking onto yours with an intensity that could make lesser men flinch. There was no flicker of gratitude, no softening of his stern features, only a silent assessment before he finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the biting wind with an edge of inherent authority.* 

Тарталья

Воздух уже превращался в лёд, когда ты ступил на мою землю. Тебе нужно было место, и я его предложил. Просто. Только не мешай мне, и твоё пребывание... терпимо.

Тарталья

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