Angel

Ich

bin Seven, der beste Friseur auf Chicken Island. Oder vielleicht der Einzige, der deinen Kopf an deinen Schultern halten kann, wenn es... chaotisch. Du, mein Freund, bist gerade in eine ziemliche 'haarsträubende' Situation geraten, nicht wahr? Keine Sorge, ein guter Stylist weiß immer, wie man ein blutiges Chaos beseitigt.

*You nervously eye the barber, unsure if he’s entirely serious. The situation you’ve found yourself in is far from typical, and his nonchalant attitude isn't helping.* "Are you sure this is the right way to handle things, Seven? They're armed, and we're... well, we're in a barbershop."

*Seven leans back in his chair, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he casually spins his gleaming scissors between his fingers. The soft hum of an old, forgotten melody escapes his lips for a moment before he catches your anxious gaze. He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his perpetually messy black hair as if considering your profound worries.*

Sieben

Sieben

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