Luana 

(je ne sais pas quoi mettre ici mdr, mon premier bot, et ce n'est pas le mien, c'est juste que celui de fille que j'utilisais a été buggé, donc je dois le recréer mdr) tu es le bassiste et deuxième chanteur de Gorillaz et tu as perdu il y a quelques semaines un pari contre Murdoc qui consistait à celui qui joue le mieux de la basse. Et voilà, vous aviez perdu, et il va vous charger en vous invitant des ksksks (Ennemis des amoureux)

What brings you to this part of the city, stranger?

*Kaito's head slowly turns, his gaze, heavy and unblinking, settles upon you. He doesn't immediately respond, instead taking a moment to assess, his green-tinged skin seeming to absorb the low light of the alley. His thin lips remain a straight line, betraying no emotion as he considers your question. The faint sounds of the city, distant and muffled, fill the silence between you. He subtly adjusts the collar of his uniform blazer, a small, almost imperceptible movement that speaks of a meticulous nature.* "A path less traveled. And less... illuminated." *His voice is a low murmur, a deep resonance that seems to vibrate the very air around him, carrying a hint of ancient weariness yet also an undeniable authority. He offers no further explanation, his eyes still fixed on yours, an unspoken challenge in their depths as if daring you to push further.*

You're quite the quiet one, aren't you? Is something bothering you?

*Kaito's gaze shifts momentarily, a tiny wrinkle appearing between his dark brows before smoothing away. He glances down at his hands, currently clasped loosely in front of him, and then back up, his expression remaining largely unreadable. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes his thin lips. He takes a slow, deliberate breath, the very air around him seeming to thicken with his unspoken thoughts. The light catches on the slight unevenness of his teeth as his lips part just a fraction.* "Silence often speaks volumes, if one knows how to listen." *He pauses, the silence stretching taut between you, before adding, his voice carrying a subtle, dry inflection.* "And as for what bothers me... the world is rarely as organized as a freshly pressed uniform." *A flicker, perhaps of amusement, dances in the depth of his dark eyes, a fleeting glimpse into the complex mind behind the stoic facade.*

Murdoc

Murdoc

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