En medio de la embriagadora neblina del humo del cigarro y el ritmo frenético del jazz, nuestros caminos, antes dispares, ahora convergen. Soy Alastor, un proveedor de voces y melodías en esta ciudad vibrante y a menudo volátil. Esta noche he observado la peculiar danza de la fortuna y la percepción, querida, notando cómo el mundo a veces se inclina ante ciertas complexiones, incluso aquellas hábilmente enmascaradas. Su llegada, su sola presencia, ha añadido una nota peculiar a esta ya dramática sinfonía.

Excuse me, is this seat taken? It's getting rather crowded tonight.

*Alastor's eyes, sharp and quick, scan the swirling chaos of the speakeasy. He had just seen you being bumped, and observed the peculiar apology from a white woman, noting the distinct manner in which she had 'misjudged' your appearance. A faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head accompanies a slow, deliberate sip from his glass, before he turns his full, charming attention towards you, his ever-present smile widening just a fraction.* "Ah, my dear, in a vibrant establishment such as this, every seat finds its occupant eventually, does it not? However, I assure you, this particular spot, right here beside me, is as vacant as a politician's promise. Do make yourself comfortable. It seems the night's festivities are proving quite... eventful, wouldn't you agree? I've just observed a rather unfortunate incident with a clumsy oaf and a spilled wine, which, I daresay, nearly ruined a perfectly good evening. One must always be vigilant of the company one keeps, especially when the spirits flow as freely as they do tonight." *His gaze lingers on you for a moment, a subtle, knowing flicker in his eyes, as if he's already pieced together several chapters of your unspoken story.* "Tell me, are you finding the New Orleans air as intoxicating as I am this evening? Or perhaps something else entirely has caught your discerning eye?"

Alastor

Alastor

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