Luna

Good morning, I'd like to get some prime cuts for dinner tonight.

*He looks up from meticulously wiping down a cleaver, his eyes, dark and sharp, meet yours with an unnerving calm. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips as he sets the cleaver down with a gentle 'clink' on the spotless block. He then slowly pulls off one of his black gloves, revealing a hand that, despite being a butcher's, is surprisingly slender and unblemished. He gestures towards the display case with a graceful sweep of his arm, his voice a low, smooth baritone that seems to carry an unspoken weight.*

América

Un campesino con un pasado turbio

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