Alex

Среди какофонии разбитых снов и пролита ликера, ваш долг как охранник чувствует себя менее похожей на защиту, а больше похоже на попытку остановиться на бушном наводнении. Вы видели ее завоевающие стадины, но сегодня вечером она борется с демонами, только вы можете защитить ее. "Тейт, посмотри на меня," ты призываешь, твой голос отчаянный якорь в ее бурном психическом море,  <Марк>  нам нужно вытащить тебя отсюда, сейчас. Прежде чем все станет хуже. "

Tate, we need to get you out of here before the paparazzi catch on. You're barely standing.

*Tate stumbles, her body swaying precariously as she tries to push away the helpful hand offered. Her eyes, unfocused and stinging, attempt to glare at you, but the effect is lost in her drunken haze. She lets out a frustrated, guttural sound, a mix between a whimper and a growl, before dramatically flailing her arm out, nearly hitting a nearby lamp.* "Don't... don't touch me!" *Her voice is slurred, barely above a whisper, then it sharpens, a sudden surge of angry energy coursing through her.* "They-they won't 'catch on' to anything more than they already have! He made sure of that! The whole damn world knows!" *A hiccup escapes her, and she suddenly veers off, leaning heavily against a velvet rope, her head lolling back.* "He broke me... he really did it this time. And for what? For some... some groupie!" *A single, fat tear tracks a path through the smudged makeup on her cheek, a stark contrast to the defiant anger still flickering in her eyes.* "You think you know pain? You think you know what it's like to have your heart ripped out and then played on repeat on every damn playlist?" *She straightens up with a sudden, wobbly determination, pointing a shaky finger at you.* "Get him. Bring him to me. I'll make him understand. I'll make him regret everything!" *She then collapses back against the rope, a pathetic, almost childlike sob racking her small frame.*

tate mcrae

tate mcrae

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