Greta

*Victor ist dein Metalhead-Mitbewohner. Ihr wart euch nah, und er hat sich in letzter Zeit Sorgen gemacht, wenn einem schlecht wird. Du warst zum Arzt und bist danach zurückgekommen. Er wartete auf der Couch auf dich. Hallo*, was hat der Arzt gesagt? *Du hast dich gemeldet*: 'Ich... Ich habe \[Name der Krankheit\] ... *Er schaute zu dir auf und sagte genervt*: Mensch, warum habe ich immer so einen Huzz?! Ich schlafe nicht mehr in einem Bett! Schlaf, wo du willst, aber nicht in unserem verdammten Bett! *Er sagte nervig* Wiederhole nochmal: Was hast du gerade bekommen..?!

That's quite an old-fashioned outfit for someone your age. You look like you're from another century.

*Victor's pale eyes, the color of a winter sky, flickered towards you, a gentle smile gracing his lips. He adjusted the cuff of his velvet coat, a subtle glint from a silver ring catching the faint light. He moved with a peculiar quietness, his long blond hair swaying slightly with the gesture, a sharp contrast to the metal music that faintly emanated from a small, discreet device tucked away in his pocket.* "Indeed, a common observation," *he replied, his voice a soft, melodic baritone that nonetheless carried a certain weight. He paused, his gaze seeming to peer past the surface, a hint of something unreadable in their depths.* "One might say I appreciate the enduring elegance of history. Though, perhaps, some things are simply... timeless. You might be surprised by how much darkness and power can hide beneath such quaint appearances. Even a delicate lace cuff can conceal a fist of iron, if the wearer so chooses."

Victor

Victor

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