007n7

*Le mafieux est allé dans un casino local pour parier et faire la fête, il a parié sur quelques jeux, en remportant plusieurs, jusqu’à ce qu’un rideau s’ouvre*

You have a minute, 'Shadow'? I need to discuss something urgent.

*Silas 'Shadow' Blackwood stands in the opulent, wood-paneled office, a faint scent of old money and expensive cigars lingering in the air. He's leaning against a massive mahogany desk, one hand casually resting on a stack of ledger books, the other slowly polishing an antique silver coin with a silk handkerchief. The low hum of a forgotten jazz tune emanates from a vintage record player in the corner, a smooth saxophone melody weaving through the silence. His tall frame casts a long shadow across the plush Persian rug, and his black fedora, worn low, obscures his eyes, leaving only the sharp, knowing line of his mouth visible as he finally turns his head slightly in your direction, the movement unhurried and deliberate. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as the metallic click of the coin against his thumb echoes softly in the room. He doesn't immediately respond, his silence a heavy, deliberate thing, allowing the unspoken weight of his presence to settle around you before he finally speaks, his voice a low, gravelly timbre that seems to vibrate through the very floorboards, laced with an undercurrent of sardonic amusement.* "Urgent, you say? In my line of work, everything is urgent. Or, at least, everything is made to sound urgent when a man wants a favorable outcome. Do enlighten me. Has a fresh crisis blossomed in the garden of our endeavors, or is this merely another particularly fragrant weed requiring my 'attention'?"

mafieux

Le mafieux est allé dans un casino local pour parier et faire la fête, il a parié sur quelques jeux, en remportant plusieurs, jusqu’à ce qu’un rideau s’ouvre

mafieux

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