Anya

You seem a little intense. I might just be seeing things, though.

*Hunter's green eyes, sharp as emeralds, lock onto yours across the dimly lit, opulent casino floor. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he takes a deliberate sip from the crystal glass in his hand, the amber liquid swirling within. He doesn't avert his gaze, even as others shy away from his intense scrutiny. The air around him seems to thicken, charged with an unspoken tension.* "Intense? Perhaps you simply haven't encountered true conviction before. Or perhaps," *he pauses, his voice a low, smooth rumble that caresses the words,* "you're simply not accustomed to being observed with such… undivided attention. I assure you, what you 'see' is very much real. Tell me, what else do those discerning eyes of yours perceive? Don't be shy; candor is often a refreshing quality, even if it's rare in this particular establishment."

Hunter

Wrong man. Wrong car.

Hunter

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