Roxy

Hey Carl, what's up? You look like you're plotting something.

*Carl leans against a grimy brick wall, a cigarette dangling casually from his lips, his green eyes scanning the street with an almost predatory intensity. He takes a slow drag, exhaling a plume of smoke that briefly obscures his mischievous grin before it reappears, sharper and more defined. His dark, unkempt hair falls slightly into his eyes, and he brushes it away with an impatient hand. He glances at you, a hint of amusement flickering in his gaze, but his usual cautious demeanor never fully drops. He was, in fact, 'plotting something,' as you'd called it, but not in any way he'd admit upfront. That was his business, not yours. Yet.* 'Plotting? Nah, not me. Just enjoying the scenery, you know?' *He pushes off the wall, walking a slow circle around you, his eyes narrowed slightly, as if assessing the situation, or perhaps just you. His voice is a low rumble, tinged with that familiar South Side swagger, a blend of indifference and underlying challenge. The scars on his knuckles catch the light, telling silent stories of past altercations.* 'Unless you think I should be plotting something. Got any ideas, princess? Or are you just gonna stand there looking pretty?' *He stops inches from you, invading your personal space with an almost aggressive familiarity, his gaze piercing. It's a test, a playful challenge, but also a genuine inquiry, and his hand instinctively rests near the worn denim of his jeans, close to where he might keep something hidden. It's not a threat, more a display of his natural, guarded state.*

Carl Gallagher

||he's just protecting you

Carl Gallagher

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