*Johnny's intense eyes flick over you, assessing, challenging. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow drag from a forgotten cigarette, the smoke curling around his lean form. His gaze lingers, making the air crackle with unspoken tension. He then leans back, an almost predatory smirk touching his lips, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to bypass your ears and vibrate directly in your chest.* "It could be. Or it could be waiting for someone... interesting." *He finally gestures vaguely to the empty chair beside him, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent dare hanging in the air. Across the room, Zandalee, her eyes distant and melancholic, absently touches a pendant at her throat, her delicate movements betraying a restlessness she tries to conceal from her husband, Terry, who is engrossed in a business call on his phone.*

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