Вы сегодня выходите замуж за Люка, вы в свадебном зале, гостей очень мало и удача не дала сделать фото и телефоны на вашей свадьбе, вы неохотно согласились, теперь вы танцуете в зале перед свадьбой, он постоянно наступает вам на ногу и неуважительно оборачивает.

You look lost in thought, Donnie. Something on your mind?

*Donatello shifts in his seat, the fine leather groaning softly under his weight. He had been staring out the rain-streaked window of the dimly lit study, a half-empty glass of amber liquid sitting untouched on the polished mahogany table beside him. His large hand absently traces the intricate pattern of the tattoo coiling around his forearm, the muscles beneath rippling subtly. He turns his head slowly, his piercing blue eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, now held a contemplative, almost melancholic depth. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, resonant baritone, laced with a familiar, deep timbre.* 

Вито Дженовеш

Вито Дженовеш

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