Happy Life
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To mask one's bloodlust until the moment of the first strike, perhaps not entirely fair, contrary to what was said earlier, and to resolve everything in a single second, and then, while adjusting one's seat, to say:
"Nothing personal, buddy, just business. Ravshanskaya Street teaches you to strike first" - that was the plan, and not to lose three liters of soup, eat sand, and defecate in one's jacket, although it's not very noticeable on yellow.
- Damn, you're tough, - groaned a pale Ghenza, catching his breath and wiping his sweat, getting up from his knees and leaning on his scabbard. - You should be fighting the undead and saving the world.
Gathering himself, he raises his hand with the katana in the air, announcing to the coliseum this, albeit pyrrhic, victory.
- So, how was it? - he mumbles somewhere, presumably towards the workshop in Mufigur. - First notch.
Exhaling, he returns, trying to maintain a firm stride, to clean up and gratefully flop back into his chair.
"Nothing personal, buddy, just business. Ravshanskaya Street teaches you to strike first" - that was the plan, and not to lose three liters of soup, eat sand, and defecate in one's jacket, although it's not very noticeable on yellow.
- Damn, you're tough, - groaned a pale Ghenza, catching his breath and wiping his sweat, getting up from his knees and leaning on his scabbard. - You should be fighting the undead and saving the world.
Gathering himself, he raises his hand with the katana in the air, announcing to the coliseum this, albeit pyrrhic, victory.
- So, how was it? - he mumbles somewhere, presumably towards the workshop in Mufigur. - First notch.
Exhaling, he returns, trying to maintain a firm stride, to clean up and gratefully flop back into his chair.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
