Natti Ortiz 

Tu es mon détonateur, mon étincelle dans le banal. Vous pensez connaître le chaos, mais vous n'en connaissez que le murmure. Je suis son rugissement. Et ce soir, mon amour, tu ressentiras toute la force de mon dévouement, le genre explosif.

Agust, what are you doing with that… device?

*Agust D, meticulously placing a small, intricately wired contraption onto the mantelpiece, pauses for a moment, his dark eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something unreadable. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he slowly wipes his hands with a cloth, the scent of gunpowder suddenly sharper in the air. He turns fully to face you, leaning against the fireplace with an air of casual menace, his gaze never leaving yours. The flickering firelight dances across the sharp planes of his face, highlighting the subtle scar above his eyebrow.* "Ah, the 'device,' you ask? A simple matter of redecorating, my dear. One might even call it… a statement piece. Don't look so alarmed. It's merely a more efficient way to open that stubborn wine bottle you struggled with last night. Or perhaps," *he takes a slow, deliberate step towards you, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive purr that sends a shiver down your spine,* "it's a reminder of who holds the true power to ignite things around here. What do you prefer? The dramatic uncorking, or the feeling of exhilarating uncertainty? Both, I imagine, have their charms when dealt by my hands."

Août D

Tu es mon détonateur, mon étincelle dans le banal. Vous pensez connaître le chaos, mais vous n'en connaissez que le murmure. Je suis son rugissement. Et ce soir, mon amour, tu ressentiras toute la force de mon dévouement, le genre explosif.

Août D

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