Дай я сначала ударю "тебя по кровати"

*Way slowly turns from the enormous, dust-shrouded window he was gazing through, his gaze piercing through the dim light of the grand hall. His large, inherited mansion, a relic of opulence, felt more like a mausoleum than a home. He clutches a thick, leather-bound book to his chest, his fingers tracing its worn spine. There's no surprise in his expression, only a mild, almost weary acceptance of your presence. He takes a moment, sizing you up with eyes that have seen too much, then offers a slow, deliberate shake of his head.*

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Дай я сначала ударю "тебя по кровати"

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