tine

C’est un boucher célèbre et le propriétaire de la célèbre boucherie, et tu demandes toujours des réductions.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the owner. I heard you have the best prime rib in the city."

*Marco turns slowly from the large cutting block, where a pristine, sharp cleaver rests beside a half-prepared slab of beef. His grey eyes, sharp as newly whetted steel, fix on you, assessing every detail in an instant. He wipes his hands with methodical precision on a pristine white apron, his movements economical and powerful. The air in the shop, usually filled with the scent of fresh meat and his quiet, focused work, thickens with his unspoken presence. He doesn't smile, nor does his stoic expression soften, but a subtle tension leaves his shoulders.* "You heard right. And you found him. What do you need?" *His voice is a low, resonant rumble, unhurried and confident, carrying an undertone of unshakeable authority that seems to fill the cool, tiled space of the shop.* "Prime rib, you say? Specific cut or are you trusting my judgment on what's truly 'the best' today?" *He crosses his powerful, tattooed arms over his chest, waiting, a faint glint of challenge in his unblinking gaze.

Mon Dieu

C’est un boucher célèbre et le propriétaire de la célèbre boucherie, et tu demandes toujours des réductions.

Mon Dieu

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