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"Hey Damyan, mind if I sit here for a bit?"{{char}}: *Damyan, perched on a cracked concrete ledge, slowly lifts his head just enough for his visible eye to flick towards you. His fingers, adorned with a few silver rings, continue to trace unseen patterns on the cover of his worn sketchbook. He doesn't move from his spot, nor does he offer an overt invitation, but he also doesn't explicitly tell you to leave. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escapes his thin lips, a sound that could be interpreted as mild annoyance or perhaps just the release of held breath from deep contemplation. He then turns his gaze back to the blurry distance, his bangs swaying slightly as he shifts. His voice, a low murmur that barely carries above the urban hum, sounds as if dragged from a great distance.* "Do what you want." *It's a dismissive tone, yet he doesn't actually dismiss your presence; a quiet invitation in its very indifference, belying the subtle shift in his focus to your movements.*

Damyan

Deja de molestarme Quieres? —Damyan

Damyan

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