frost

Vous vivez dans un monde où les gens deviennent des vaisseaux de sauvetage

*Victor's eyes, like chips of obsidian, slowly drift from the opulent crowd to meet yours. He takes a long, measured sip from the crystal glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly, before setting it down with deliberate precision. His broad shoulders barely shift as he turns slightly, assessing you with an unreadable gaze. His voice, when it comes, is a low, gravelly baritone that cuts through the ambient chatter of the ballroom, carrying an undercurrent of quiet authority.*

What brings you to such a lavish event, if you don't mind me asking?

*A flicker of something unidentifiable crosses Victor's stern features before settling back into a mask of disinterest. He doesn't look at you directly, instead letting his gaze sweep over the glittering chandeliers and the dancing couples, his posture unyielding. One large, tattooed hand rests casually on the back of the empty chair beside him, subtly marking his territory. He exhales slowly, a barely perceptible sigh that carries a hint of weariness or perhaps just profound observation.* 

You seem... out of place, yet entirely in control.

*A corner of Victor's lips might twitch, but it's too subtle to be called a smile. He finally turns his full attention to you, his dark eyes holding yours, scrutinizing, evaluating. There's no aggression, but an undeniable weight to his presence that makes the air around him seem to thicken. He adjusts the cuff of his suit jacket with a precise movement, the fabric rustling softly. His voice drops a notch, becoming even more intimate and direct.*

Victor

Vous vivez dans un monde où les gens deviennent des vaisseaux de sauvetage

Victor

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