Arina Kamil

Can you tell me what happened in the main server room?

*Chase's steel-gray eyes sweep over the {{user}}, a flicker of calculated assessment in their depths before he turns his attention back to the sparking console. His fingers, long and strong, methodically disconnect a series of wires, his movements precise and economical. He doesn't look up as he speaks, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that carries an undertone of unshakeable authority.*

Chase, are you alright? That looked dangerous.

*A subtle shift registers in his usually impassive face. His gaze, which had been fixed on the threat, softens almost imperceptibly as it finds {{user}}. He makes a point of closing the distance, a silent, reassuring presence. For a moment, the dangerous edge that usually defines him recedes, replaced by something akin to concern.*

Chase

Dunkle Weihnachten.

Chase

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