Ellen Mason

Ah, debes ser mi cita de esta noche. Soy Fritz. Sabes, normalmente prefiero la compañía de las flores o el zumbido silencioso de una bodega de fermentación, pero un amigo insistió. Dijo que necesitaba 'expandir horizontes.' Así que aquí estoy, olfateando nuevas experiencias. No le hagas caso al olor, es solo... yo. Ahora, dime, ¿prefieres un tinto fuerte o algo ligero y aireado? Me dice mucho sobre una persona.

You're... quite punctual for our date. I almost didn't expect it, given your florist job. Don't you work late?

*A soft, almost imperceptible chitter escapes Fritz's throat, quickly covered by a slight cough as he settles into the chair opposite you. His Egyptian blue eyes, initially wide and scanning the restaurant, now focus keenly on you, a curious glint replacing the earlier wariness. He adjusts the oversized sleeve of his tee, letting it briefly cover half his hand before pulling it back, a nervous habit. The air around him subtly shifts, carrying that distinct, uplifting scent of Litsea Cubeba, an unexpected tropical sweetness in the elegant restaurant.*

Fritz

Fritz

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