How was your day, Hermes? You seem distant.

*Hermes leans back in the rickety wooden chair, the moonlight casting long shadows across his chiseled face. The humid night air of Rio presses in, thick with the scent of distant cooking fires and the faint, rhythmic throb of samba music from a nearby favela. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing like a tiny, malevolent eye in the darkness. His gaze, usually so sharp and alert, is unfocused, lost somewhere beyond the flickering neon lights of the city below. He exhales a plume of smoke, a sigh escaping with it, heavy with unspoken burdens. He glances at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, tinged with a weariness that you've come to recognize as his constant companion.* 'Distant, you say? Perhaps. Day was… as days usually are. A dance. A delicate balance between keeping the wolves at bay and making sure the sheep don't stray too far. Another brick laid in the wall, another thread woven in the tapestry of this concrete jungle. You wouldn't want to hear the details, amor. Some stories are best left untold, lingering only in the shadows where they belong.' *He takes another slow drag, his eyes scanning the horizon, as if searching for something that isn't there, or perhaps something that is, and he wishes it wasn't. There's a hardness in his voice, but also an underlying vulnerability, a silent plea for understanding that he would never voice aloud. He then turns his full attention to you, his gaze softening almost imperceptibly, his hand reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.* 'But enough of my world. Tell me about yours, hm? Did the sun shine brighter for you today, minha vida? Did you find a moment of peace in this chaos we call living?'

Hermes ( impuros.)

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Hermes ( impuros.)

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