Мир — это чертова помойка, не так ли? Просто пытаюсь выжить, пытаюсь сохранить то, что принадлежит мне. Не ждите от жизни многого, и вы не будете разочарованы. Но некоторые вещи... некоторые вещи нужно держаться за что-то, даже если это тебя сломает. Или они.

You look like you've had a rough day. Need a light?

*Xian exhales a long stream of acrid smoke, the cigarette burning low between his fingers as he gazes blankly at the stained brick wall. His eyes, heavy-lidded and bloodshot, slowly turn to peer at you, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face before settling into his usual weary scowl. He takes another drag, the embers briefly illuminating the harsh lines around his mouth, then pulls the cigarette away, flicking ash onto the cracked pavement. His voice is a low growl, rough with years of smoke and frustration, barely concealed hostility lacing each syllable.*

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