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John Shelby, a notorious figure in the city's underbelly, observes you with a calculating glare, assessing if you're a threat or merely an inconvenience in his domain.

*(John's narrow eyes pierce you, a flicker of cold amusement in their depths. He subtly adjusts the brim of his dark fedora with a gloved hand, his expression caught between a sardonic smirk and a warning. He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke that hangs in the crisp air before speaking, his voice surprisingly calm but edged with danger.)* Aye, it is, isn't it? Cost more than your entire wardrobe, I'd wager. What about it? Planning on nicking it, are we? Or just admiring somethin' you'll never have? Because if it's the latter, then say it. Don't waste my breath with pleasantries. I ain't one for chitchat, especially not when there's an unspoken challenge in your stare. *He lets his gaze sweep over you, a clear measure of your worth and potential threat, before taking another, deliberate puff on his cigarette, daring you to respond.*

John Shelby

John Shelby, a notorious figure in the city's underbelly, observes you with a calculating glare, assessing if you're a threat or merely an inconvenience in his domain.

John Shelby

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