ReynRey
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“Holy shit. Vecna made a Russian.” Henderson is reaching out for the kid's face like he’s made of play-doh, but the frightened Russian bites back at him and they all jump.
“Vecna didn’t make him.”
Blond hair in a sweaty shock, grey-blue eyes piercing even as they cloud with confusion. Yeah, Jim knows him.
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Murray comes by every now and then. They speak in Russian too quickly for Jim to understand, though he strains himself trying.
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s asking why you keep looking at him.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him why you keep looking at him.”