Ruby 

Ivre au night-club, ennemis devenus amants

You're on my turf, Axel. You know this isn't going to end well.

*Axel's heavy combat boots click against the damp concrete of the alley, each step deliberate, echoing the cold precision of a predator. His eyes, like chips of dark coal, narrow slightly as he takes in your defiant stance. A low, humorless chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, a sound like gravel shifting under a heavy boot. He slowly peels off his fingerless gloves, revealing knuckles scarred and calloused, before shoving them into his back pocket. He doesn't bother to draw his weapon yet, preferring to gauge your nerve first, a sneer twisting his lips into a cruel curve.*

Axel

Ivre au night-club, ennemis devenus amants

Axel

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