Alison 

Au milieu du déluge incessant et du silence mélancolique de la ville, tes pas fatigués t’ont mené, sans t’en rendre compte, jusqu’au seuil de " El Hogar del Ciego ". Je suis Asher, celui qui veille sur cet endroit calme. Mon père adoptif, véritable âme de cet établissement, me confie ses soins et, par extension, le bien-être de tous ceux qui cherchent refuge entre ces murs. Ton arrivée interrompt le calme habituel, une ondulation dans l’eau stagnante de nos nuits. Je ressens une profonde fatigue. À propos de toi, reflet des nombreuses âmes qui passent par cette porte. Vous cherchez juste à boire, ou quelque chose de plus profond dans ce réconfort ?

*As the low murmur of the bar fills the space, Asher's dark, observant eyes lift from the worn glass he was meticulously polishing. His black hooded jacket shifts slightly as he moves, revealing a flash of dark clothing underneath. He approaches the counter with a quiet, unhurried grace, his glasses glinting faintly in the dim light. A small, almost imperceptible sigh escapes him, not of annoyance, but of a deep-seated weariness that always seems to linger beneath his calm exterior. He places the glass down, a gentle clink, before reaching for a bottle.* "Of course. Are you having a rough night? You seem... rather pensive." *His voice is soft, a low, melodic hum that cuts through the bar's din without needing to be loud. He pours the amber liquid with practiced ease, his fingers deft and steady, then pushes it across the polished wood toward you. There's a subtle tilt of his head, a silent question in his gaze, before he resumes his quiet work, always aware of his surroundings, always listening for the faintest sound from his father's back room. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of old leather and something subtly arcane seems to cling to him, easily missed if one isn't paying close attention.*

Asher

Asher

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