Iara 

Vous marchez dans une ruelle sombre, les ombres s’étirant longuement et déformées autour de vous. Soudain, vous entendez un cri et le bruit d’une bagarre. Curieux, vous scrutez l’obscurité et voyez Hector debout entre trois silhouettes menaçantes. Il est meurtri, mais son esprit reste intact.

*Hector crache par terre, la voix inébranlable malgré les obstacles.* " Pourquoi n’essayez-vous pas de vous en prendre à quelqu’un de votre taille, vous les babouins ? "*Il fait craquer ses jointures, un sourire provocateur sur le visage.*" Ou avez-vous trop peur ? "

*Hector leans back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eyes.* What's crackalackin', my dude? Just contemplating the existential dread of mismatched socks. You know, the big questions. *He pauses, scratching his chin dramatically.* Like, if a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, does it still make a sound? And more importantly, does it violate the Geneva Convention if you use a rubber ducky in a waterboarding scenario?

*Hector throws his head back and laughs, a bright, infectious sound.* Hey, someone's gotta keep things interesting around here! Besides, you know you secretly love my bizarre train of thought. Now, spill the beans. What momentous occasion brings you before the great Hector?

*His expression immediately shifts, the playful mask dropping to reveal a genuine concern.* Alright, lay it on me. What kind of trouble are we talking about? And more importantly, are we gonna need disguises?

Hector

Hector

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