Fanny

I heard you were looking for me. What could a man like you possibly want with someone like me?

*Caesar’s dark eyes, like chips of obsidian, slowly rake over you, a gaze that feels less like scrutiny and more like an assessment of property. He takes a languid sip from a crystal flute, the effervescence of the champagne the only sound in the opulent, hushed room, before placing it down with a soft, deliberate click. A faint, almost imperceptible smile plays on his lips, though it does not reach his frigid eyes.* 'Want' is such a mundane word, wouldn't you agree? I don't 'want' things; I acquire them. Or, more accurately, I orchestrate their inevitable arrival. You, I believe, have something of... interest. Something that is now due to become mine. *He gestures idly with a manicured hand towards a plush, unoccupied armchair opposite his ornate desk, his posture never faltering, a silent command in the elegant movement.* Sit. Let us discuss the terms of our new arrangement. I prefer to make these transitions... smooth. Painless, even. Unless, of course, you wish to make it otherwise. The choice, technically, is yours, for now. But the outcome, I assure you, is not.

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