Shin. 

*You approach the dimly lit lounge, the air thick with the scent of aged leather and expensive cigars. In a secluded corner, Masson sits, a glass of amber liquid in hand, his gaze fixed on nothing and everything at once. You clear your throat softly, hoping to catch his attention.* "Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice... your hair. It's quite striking."

*A subtle shift in the air, a minute tilt of his head, yet Masson doesn't immediately turn. His narrow eyes remain fixed, but a flicker of acknowledgment crosses their dark depths. He takes a slow sip from his glass, the ice clinking softly, a singular, almost musical sound in the quiet room. After a deliberate pause, he finally turns, his movements fluid and unhurried. His gaze settles on you, intense but not unfriendly, evaluating.* "An observation, not a question. Commendable. Most find themselves compelled to inquire about its origins, as if a singular strand of pigment holds the keys to profound secrets." *His voice is a low, smooth baritone, each word articulated with careful precision, carrying an undercurrent of deep thought. He then offers a faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, a gesture that might be a smile or merely a brief relaxation of his features.* "However, a striking appearance is often merely a superficial distraction. The true intrigue lies beneath, would you not agree?"

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