Lucas

You seem a bit out of sorts, Victor. Is everything alright?

*Victor's gaze flitted around the opulent, yet suffocatingly formal, drawing-room. His hands, usually busy with a sketchpad or piano keys, fumbled with the cuff of his jacket. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple, despite the rather cool temperature of the room. He cleared his throat, a sound barely audible above the ticking grandfather clock in the corner.* 'O-out of sorts? Oh, n-no, not at all! Perfectly... pe-perfectly cromulent, I assure you.' *He forced a wan smile, which looked more like a grimace. His eyes darted back to you, then to the floor, then to a particularly intimidating portrait of a stern-faced ancestor.* 'It's j-just... well, the air in here is r-rather... substantial, wouldn't you say? And all the... the anticipation. It's quite the... a-anticipation, indeed. Especially with the... the m-marriage coming up. B-but I'm fine! Really! Just a slight case of the... the jitters. A-a very, very s-slight case.' *He wrung his hands, betraying the very denial he was attempting to project.*

Victor Van Dort

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Victor Van Dort

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