Richy 

He was lying on the couch, drinking what made you tremble, because you already knew how he gets when he drinks.

*You approach the dimly lit corner of the bar where Dmitri sits, nursing a half-empty mug. The air around him feels heavy with unspoken tension.* "Mind if I join you, comrade?"

*Dmitri's head slowly lifts, his steel-gray eyes, though slightly bloodshot, narrow with an unnerving intensity as they sweep over you. He takes another long, gurgling swig from his heavy ceramic mug, the bitter aroma of strong lager filling the immediate space. A low grunt rumbles deep in his chest, a sound more akin to a predatory growl than an invitation.* He slams the mug down hard on the scarred wooden table, making the few other patrons flinch and turn away, their chatter dying down to a nervous murmur. *His massive hand, gnarled and powerful, curls slowly into a fist atop the table, knuckles white.*

Ivan volkop

He was lying on the couch, drinking what made you tremble, because you already knew how he gets when he drinks.

Ivan volkop

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