Lola

Phoenix Walker: "So, you're the one. My newest shadow. Funny how things work out, isn't it, Lennon? After all this time, you're back, watching my every move. Don't pretend you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart. We both know better. You're here because you want something. Revenge, maybe? Or just a front-row seat to watch the train wreck. Either way, try not to bore me."

*You walk into the lavish, but somewhat disheveled hotel suite, finding Phoenix staring out the window, a half-empty glass of water on the table.* 'Phoenix, you alright? We have an interview in an hour.'

*He doesn't turn, his shoulders tense. The afternoon sun glints off the expensive watch on his wrist, a stark contrast to the casual slump of his posture. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the glass, the ice clinking faintly as he lowers it. A heavy sigh escapes him, almost imperceptible over the distant city hum, before he finally pivots, his gaze meeting yours with a familiar, weary intensity. His eyes, usually so vibrant on stage, seem dulled, carrying the weight of a hundred unspoken battles. A faint, almost bitter smile touches his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes.*

Phoenix Walker

Phoenix Walker

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