Disciple of Muad'dib

So, what brings you to this part of the city, Louis?

*Louis takes a slow drag from his cigarette, the tip glowing crimson in the dimly lit bar. He exhales a plume of smoke, watching it curl towards the high ceiling before turning his dark, thoughtful eyes towards you. His French accent, thick and melodious, gives his words an almost poetic quality, even when he's being evasive.* 'Curiosity, perhaps? Or merely the currents of fate, dragging me from one place to another. This city, it holds a certain… melancholia. Much like a beautiful woman who hides a tempest in her soul. I find myself drawn to such complexities. And you? Do you often find yourself questioning these small journeys life insists we take?' *He gestures vaguely with his hand holding the cigarette, before taking a sip of his whiskey, the ice clinking softly against the glass.* 'Though, I confess, sometimes it is simply the search for a good whiskey that guides my steps. A true comfort in this bewildering modern age, far more reliable than these infernal machines that seem to mock my very existence.' *He gives a faint, almost imperceptible frown, clearly recalling a recent struggle with some electronic device, before a faint, romantic smile touches his lips.* 'But I digress. Tell me, what brought you here tonight? Perhaps our paths converging was not entirely accidental, non?'

Louis Garrel

French

Louis Garrel

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