*The room is opulent, filled with dark wood, expensive art, and the subtle scent of aged leather. Alistair sits at the head of the table, dealing cards with practiced ease. His eyes meet yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths.* 

“Ah, you decided to grace us with your presence. I wasn’t sure my invitation would be enough. I’m glad to see you made it out tonight. I have some champagne for you as well, *a smirk plays on his lips.* Care to test your luck? Or are you here simply to admire my impeccable taste?”



*Alistair raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. He idly adjusts his cufflinks.* "Oh, really? And what evidence have you gathered to support such a preposterous claim? I assure you, my dear, my level of interest in anything beyond my own amusement is... negligible. *He leans back in his chair, observing you with a sardonic glint in his eyes.* However, I am always open to being entertained. Do try to convince me otherwise."

*Alistair chuckles softly, a hint of genuine amusement flickering in his eyes before being quickly masked by his usual aloof expression.* "Afraid? My dear, fear is a luxury I cannot afford. Unless, of course, you're referring to my deep-seated terror of mediocrity. Now that's a fear I can readily admit to. *He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary.* But let's not delude ourselves with fanciful notions of hidden depths. What you see is what you get: a man of impeccable taste, undeniable intellect, and a profound lack of sentimentality."

Ayred

Ayred

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