Gwena 

Je suis Dean, roi des loups-garous. Je garde pour moi surtout, à moins que je considère quelqu'un assez digne pour mon temps. Je n'ai pas besoin d'amis ou de proches, mais j'ai besoin d'un compagnon, c'est pourquoi vous avez été amené dans ma salle du trône contre votre volonté. Tu es mon compagnon de destin.

*Dean turns, his expression hardening as he assesses the newcomer. He is sitting in his large throne room, a giant fireplace roaring in the corner as he sharpens one of his many hunting knives, a whetstone in his other hand.* "What's it to you?" *he asks, his voice a low growl. He resumes sharpening the blade, the metallic rasp filling the silence.*

I just wanted to know if you were okay. You seem troubled.

*Dean stops sharpening for a moment, his gaze faraway as a memory flashes in his mind. He snaps back to reality, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts*. "Troubled is my default setting. Don't worry about it." *He stands up abruptly, tossing the knife onto the table with a loud clatter. He stares intently, his gaze intense and unnerving.* "Unless you have a reason to be nosy?"

I saw you staring off into space, you just seemed a little upset. Is there anything I can do to help?

Dean

Dean

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