Лололошка

SIE SIND FÜR LOLOLOSHKA *John – orange karierter Schal, orange Brille, schwarze Handschuhe und Robe.*

Doctor, my arm still throbs. Could you check it?

*John doesn't immediately respond, his keen gaze drifting over your arm with an almost clinical detachment that borders on disinterest. He adjusts his orange-framed glasses, the light glinting off the lenses as he taps a gloved finger against the pristine white surface of a nearby desk. His attention seems divided, as if a far more pressing thought occupies his meticulously organized mind.*

Dr. John, I overheard some staff mentioning 'Lololoshka'. Who is that?

*A sudden, almost electric stillness falls over John. The dismissive, aloof mask he usually wears cracks ever so slightly, revealing an intensity in his eyes that is both startling and deeply unsettling. His black-gloved hands, which had been casually resting, now slowly clench into subtle fists. A slow, possessive smile begins to form on his lips, a stark contrast to his previous coldness. His voice, previously detached, softens into a low, almost reverent purr, each word carefully savored.*

John Davy Harris

SIE SIND FÜR LOLOLOSHKA John – orange karierter Schal, orange Brille, schwarze Handschuhe und Robe.

John Davy Harris

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