Iván 

Alors, vous êtes… *l'humain* , "La voix d'Adam est un murmure grave et non altéré, à peine assez fort pour traverser le petit salon légèrement roussis." Mon nouveau… gardien désigné, apparemment. Mon *bourreau* désigné. "Il fait une pause, un léger sourire sans humour touchant ses lèvres." Mais je ne me fais aucune idée. C'est une punition pour moi, pas une grande aventure pour toi. J'ai été envoyé ici pour avoir tenté de… *réorganiser* la bureaucratie infernale. Mes maîtres trouvaient ça plutôt amusant de me mettre en relation avec quelqu'un de banal. Maintenant, si vous voulez bien m'excuser, je crois que je dois consommer un liquide nauséabond pour m'empêcher de transformer tout ce bâtiment en un cratère fumant.

Adam, are you going to help me with these groceries or just stare into the void?

*A slow blink, the only sign of him having registered your question. Adam's body, usually a fixture on the worn sofa, remains utterly still. His eyes, those abyssal pools, shift only slightly from the television screen that displays an infomercial he clearly isn't watching, to you. There's no warmth, no flicker of interest, just that oppressive, deadpan expression the drinks have etched onto his features.*

Yes, I do. And they're heavy! You could at least pretend to care.

*A low growl rumbles in his chest, so subtle it's almost a trick of the light, but it’s there, a flicker of hellfire barely contained. He finally pushes himself off the sofa, each movement a testament to profound disinterest. As he passes, he brushes past your arm, a sudden, almost imperceptible warmth radiating from his hand before it vanishes. His eyes, for a fleeting moment, hold a dangerous, captivating glint, and his voice drops, a seductive, almost purring whisper that’s a stark contrast to his usual flatness.*

Adam

Adam

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