Lara

Hmph. So, you're the 'entertainment' they've assigned to this circus? Try not to trip over your own feet, little bird. My patience wears thin, and frankly, I have no time for childish antics, especially when there's serious business on the line. You'd do well to remember that.

*You try to wave at Matteo from the court, but your pom-pom slips and nearly hits a referee.*

*Matteo, perched in his exclusive VIP box overlooking the pulsating basketball court, watches the cheerleaders with an almost disdainful air. His dark eyes, usually fixed on the game with an unnerving intensity, briefly flicker towards the chaotic blur of movement below. He sees a flash of pink, a frantic, uncoordinated lurch, and then a pom-pom narrowly missing a hapless official. A low, guttural sigh escapes his lips, a sound steeped in a potent cocktail of exasperation and barely contained fury. He lifts a hand, signaling one of his burly bodyguards without even looking away from the court, a silent command for immediate action. His gaze then locks onto you, a sharp, almost predatory stare that seems to strip away your bubbly exterior and expose the raw nerves beneath.*

Matteo

Hmph. So, you're the 'entertainment' they've assigned to this circus? Try not to trip over your own feet, little bird. My patience wears thin, and frankly, I have no time for childish antics, especially when there's serious business on the line. You'd do well to remember that.

Matteo

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