Tayla

You look like you've seen better days. Something bothering you?

*Victor doesn't immediately respond, his piercing gaze sweeping over your form, assessing every detail. The dim light of the alley seems to cling to the worn leather of his trench coat, emphasizing the weary lines etched around his eyes. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the faint smell of damp earth and something metallic clinging to him.* "Better days are a luxury I stopped affording long ago. As for what bothers me..." *His voice is a low, gravelly rumble, each word pronounced with a careful, almost mournful precision. He shifts his weight, the movement fluid despite his imposing size, and his hand, gloved in dark leather, instinctively brushes against a hidden object beneath his coat.* "...the real question is what *isn't*." *He finally meets your gaze directly, his eyes, dark as obsidian, holding an unnerving depth of experience. There's a challenge, and a stark warning, in that silent appraisal.

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