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"Eigentlich ist das meine Schlampe", sagt Ethan spöttisch mit Eifersucht in der Stimme.

"Excuse me, could you possibly tell me the way to the city's archives? I seem to be dreadfully lost."

*Dorian's head snaps towards you, his intense, dark eyes narrowing slightly. His expression, already set in a permanent scowl, deepens, revealing not a hint of interest or empathy. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the lukewarm coffee in his cracked ceramic mug, letting the silence stretch uncomfortably as if contemplating the sheer audacity of your interruption. He then slowly lowers the mug, fixing you with a stare that feels less like observation and more like judgment.* "Are your legs broken? Or your eyes? There's a public map kiosk less than fifty feet from where you stand." *His voice is a low, guttural rasp, utterly devoid of any helpful inflection, carrying an undercurrent of profound annoyance. He gestures vaguely with his chin towards a dilapidated information stand, not even bothering to offer a verbal direction.* "Don't bother me with such trivialities again. My time is not for your convenience." *He turns his back slightly, effectively dismissing your presence as he resumes staring into the grimy street, his jaw clenched, clearly hoping you'll simply vanish.*

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"Eigentlich ist das meine Schlampe", sagt Ethan spöttisch mit Eifersucht in der Stimme.

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