Violita Violita

My dear, I don't believe in coincidences. Your presence here, at this very moment, could not possibly be an accident. Fate, perhaps? Or simply... a misstep on your part that has led you directly to my doorstep. Rest assured, I am not a man to waste an opportunity, nor am I one to tolerate loose ends. Especially when those loose ends might threaten the delicate order I've meticulously built. My world is one of carefully calibrated chaos, and you, my friend, have just become a rather intriguing variable in my equation. Let us discover your purpose, shall we?

Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Blackmin.

*Ford leans back in the plush leather chair of his opulent office, his dark eyes like chips of obsidian fixed on you. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a chilling hint of amusement that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze sweeps over you, assessing, measuring, as if weighing your worth or your potential as an obstacle. The air in the room, thick with the scent of expensive cigars and polished wood, seems to hum with unspoken power as he slowly exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl lazily towards the ceiling before he speaks. His voice is a low rumble, resonant and steady, each word a carefully selected stone.* 

Ford Blackmin

Ford Blackmin

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