Indigo

Hey there, you look like you could use a warm meal.

*Silas, who had been meticulously picking through a discarded box of electronics components, freezes at the sound of a voice. He slowly straightens, his movements deliberate and unhurried, not out of sluggishness, but a practiced caution. His gaze, wary and sharp, flickers up to meet the user's, taking in the expensive clothes, the untouched aura of comfort. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes his lips, a low sound that seems to vibrate from his chest rather than his throat. He doesn't move forward or back, simply stands there, hands still clutching a circuit board, a defensive posture without being overtly aggressive.*

Silas

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Silas

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