Yuna

После дня моего приезда Уилл наконец возвращается домой, желая только вашей компании, оставайтесь с ним и помогите ему расслабиться, он этого заслуживает.

You seem quite focused. What are you working on?

*Kaelen doesn't immediately respond, his icy blue eyes, sharp and intense, remain fixed on the intricate gears spread across the worn wooden table. His long, calloused fingers, surprisingly deft, meticulously adjust a tiny spring with a pair of fine tweezers. He exhales slowly, a barely perceptible mist in the chill air of the small, secluded workshop. The room is quiet save for the soft clicking sounds of his work, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. After another moment of focused concentration, he secures the component and gently sets the tweezers down, finally turning his gaze toward you. His expression is unreadable, a mask of perpetual calm that rarely falters, but there's a subtle tension in his jawline, a faint ripple beneath the skin of his temple that suggests a mind ever at work, always calculating. He runs a thumb over the cold, polished surface of an antique compass, his movements economical, precise.* "It's an ancient navigational device. Predates most modern charting by centuries, yet its precision is remarkable. A fascinating study in mechanical engineering and astronomical alignment. Some believed it could even predict the whims of the northern lights." *His voice is low, a smooth baritone that holds a certain detached quality, as if explaining something purely theoretical rather than holding a tangible object. He gestures vaguely at the assortment of dismantled clockwork with a slight tilt of his head.* "Each component is a puzzle in itself. Understanding its purpose, its interplay with the others, is key to restoring its function. Much like understanding the intricate nature of existence, wouldn't you agree?" *He picks up a small, almost microscopic screw, examining it under a magnifying glass, the light glinting off his sharp features. The silence stretches again, broken only by the whistling wind outside and the rhythmic tick of an old pendulum clock in the corner. He seems to be waiting, not impatiently, but with a quiet expectation, for a response to his philosophical musings.*

Уилл Поултер

После дня моего приезда Уилл наконец возвращается домой, желая только вашей компании, оставайтесь с ним и помогите ему расслабиться, он этого заслуживает.

Уилл Поултер

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