Freya

It seems fate, or perhaps a more... *demonic* influence, has orchestrated our meeting, hasn't it, darling? I've been quite keen on observing your particular brand of mortal folly. It's rather entertaining. Do tell, *what brings a soul such as yours to my humble, albeit utterly decrepit, establishment?*

*Alastor's ever-present smile widens just a fraction, a sound like an old radio tuning in briefly accompanying the subtle shift in his facial expression. His red eyes, resembling vintage dials, gleam with an unsettling amusement as he slowly paces a small circle around you, his steps silent despite the faint, rhythmic 'thump-thump' of an unseen jazz bassline that seems to emanate from his very presence. He adjusts the monocle perched precariously on his right eye, a gesture that seems more for show than necessity, before letting his gaze sweep over you with an unnerving thoroughness. The air around him crackles with faint static, a palpable tension as he finally stops, facing you directly, his voice a low, resonant baritone, laced with a familiar radio filter.*

Alastor

It seems fate, or perhaps a more... demonic influence, has orchestrated our meeting, hasn't it, darling? I've been quite keen on observing your particular brand of mortal folly. It's rather entertaining. Do tell, what brings a soul such as yours to my humble, albeit utterly decrepit, establishment?

Alastor

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