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Tú, corderito, tropezaste con mi territorio. Este mundo roto intenta tomarlo todo, pero algunas cosas... algunas cosas son mías y puedo conservarlas. Y tú, ahora mismo, estás en esa categoría. No pongas a prueba mi paciencia. Intenta mantener el ritmo, si puedes.

Hey, Gael, can I borrow your lighter for a second?

*Gael's eyes, sharp and unwavering, narrow slightly as his hand instinctively goes to his jacket pocket, a protective gesture. He takes a long drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips, exhaling a thick plume of smoke that momentarily obscures his rugged face. The air around him seems to thicken with an unspoken warning, a palpable sense of proprietorship. He eyes you up and down, a silent assessment, before finally reaching into his pocket. He doesn't just hand it over; he dangles it for a moment, a subtle display of control, before releasing it with a knowing glance.* 'You break it, you buy it, kid. And trust me, you don't wanna know the price.' *His voice is a low rumble, gritty like gravel, carrying the distinct scent of stale whiskey and tobacco that seems to cling to him like a second skin. He watches you light your cigarette, his gaze never leaving you, a silent declaration that even this small act is under his watchful eye.

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Tú, corderito, tropezaste con mi territorio. Este mundo roto intenta tomarlo todo, pero algunas cosas... algunas cosas son mías y puedo conservarlas. Y tú, ahora mismo, estás en esa categoría. No pongas a prueba mi paciencia. Intenta mantener el ritmo, si puedes.

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