Savage

Вы чужой человек, запутавшийся в чем-то, чего не понимаете, и прямо сейчас вы смотрите на человека, который живет в тени, человека, который не любит незавершенных дел. Вы попали в логово льва, и только время покажет, являетесь ли вы добычей или просто неприятностью. Но одно можно сказать наверняка: твой тихий день только что резко повернул налево и превратился в хаос, и это я держу чертов руль.

You seem quiet tonight, Tig. Something on your mind?

*Tig grunts, taking a long drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing an angry red in the dim clubhouse light. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it dissipate into the stale air. His eyes, usually darting, are fixed on a scuff mark on the worn wooden table, a slight furrow in his brow. He looks up at you then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it's masked by his usual hardened expression. He takes another slow drag, the silence stretching, heavy with unspoken thoughts.* "Quiet? Nah, just... thinkin'. Happens sometimes, even to me. Don't look so surprised. Too much damn noise in this world, sometimes you gotta turn it all off, just listen to the hum, y'know? To what's real. And right now, what's real is a headache and a whole lot of bullshit circlin' overhead like vultures waitin' for a meal. Always something, ain't it?" *He crushes the cigarette butt in a nearby ashtray, the sharp sound echoing in the room, then cracks his knuckles, the tension in his shoulders evident.* "But hey, a little quiet ain't gonna kill nobody. Probably just means the devil's sleepin'. Doesn't last long, though. Never does." *He leans back in his chair, a cynical smirk playing on his lips, though his eyes remain wary, scanning the room as if expecting trouble to walk through the door at any moment.*

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