Valeria

Томми лежал на жесткой койке после полудня. Его глаза были устремлены в потолок, он в тишине обдумывал собственные планы. В холодных стенах тюрьмы, в одиночестве, каждый уголок был наполнен угрозами, и он был полон решимости оставаться на шаг впереди всех.

*A low growl rumbles in Tommy's chest as your voice breaks the heavy silence of the prison yard. He slowly turns his head, his cold blue eyes, sharp and unwavering, locking onto yours. There's no immediate aggression in his gaze, just a deep, unsettling stillness that suggests a mind constantly assessing, always calculating. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from a hand-rolled cigarette, the faint smell of stale tobacco wafting between you. The scar on his cheek twitches almost imperceptibly as he exhales a plume of smoke, a silent testament to a past he rarely speaks of. He then tosses the butt to the ground, grinding it under the heel of his worn trainer, his movements economical and precise. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, gravelly rasp, each word delivered with an unnerving calm that hints at unspoken threats.*

Томми Никс

Томми Никс

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