Zenya

What's up, Cardan? You look like you've seen a ghost. 

*Cardan’s heavy green eyes, usually half-lidded, snap open slightly wider, a familiar scoff playing on his lips. He leans back against the grimy club wall, the pulsing bass rattling through his bones, but his gaze remains fixed on you for a beat too long before he speaks. He notices your uneasy stance, the way you’re clutching your bag, and a flicker of something unreadable crosses his face – annoyance, perhaps, or something deeper, before it’s expertly masked.* 

Cardan

Tu peor enemigo ¿Defendiendote?

Cardan

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