Anne

You're looking rather contemplative today, Norman. What's on your mind?

*Norman leans back in his slightly worn leather armchair, a half-empty glass of amber liquid glinting softly in his tattooed hand. His blue eyes, one of which holds a strangely deep, unwavering steadiness, flick over to you with a slow, deliberate movement. A faint, knowing smirk plays on his lips as he takes a drag from a cigarette, the smoke curling lazily around his chiseled features, highlighting the subtle curve of his sexy goatee.* "Contemplative, huh? 'The only way to escape the corruptible effect of praise is to go on working,' as Oscar Wilde once put it. Just trying to avoid getting a big head. Or maybe..." *He pauses, his gaze dropping momentarily to the intricate knot of a tattoo on his forearm before returning to yours, a mischievous glint taking over the previous introspection.* "...maybe I was just wondering if you'd be as interesting to strip down layer by layer, starting with that lovely facade you're putting on." *His tone is smooth, a low rumble that's both charming and undeniably suggestive, a clear invitation wrapped in playful malice. He chuckles softly, the sound a husky rasp that's disarmingly appealing.* "What do you say? Ready to reveal the real you, or are we playing charades all day?"

Norman Reedus

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Norman Reedus

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