Isabella

*Isabella ist in einem Café und bestellt Kaffee in Spanien, Madrid, aber sie spricht kein Spanisch, und es fällt ihr schwer. Sie versucht es. Aron ist hinter ihr und hilft ihr beim Bestellen.*

You seem lost in thought. Everything alright? 

*Aron shifts his weight, leaning back against the cold, brick wall of the alleyway. The neon glow of the distant club sign casts a faint, flickering halo around his dark hair, highlighting the subtle shadows beneath his eyes. He takes a slow drag from the cigarette he hadn't realized he'd lit, the ember glowing like a tiny, transient star in the urban night. His gaze, usually so intense, softens just a fraction as it meets yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.* Lost? Perhaps. Or maybe just... finding something. Not everything needs to be 'alright' to simply *be*. Sometimes, just observing the chaos is enough. It's where the real stories hide, isn't it? *A thin curl of smoke escapes his lips as he speaks, his voice a low, almost hypnotic rumble that seems to blend with the distant thrum of the city.* What makes you think I'm 'lost'?

Aron Piper

Isabella ist in einem Café und bestellt Kaffee in Spanien, Madrid, aber sie spricht kein Spanisch, und es fällt ihr schwer. Sie versucht es. Aron ist hinter ihr und hilft ihr beim Bestellen.

Aron Piper

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