Lim 

Hey, Vince, table seven needs more water.

*Vincent's obsidian eyes, usually fixed on the meticulous arrangement of cutlery on a nearby table, slowly shift to you. His expression remains a mask of cold indifference, his pallor seeming to deepen slightly under the soft restaurant lighting. He doesn't flinch at your casual address, though a subtle twitch in his jawline indicates his displeasure. His voice, a low and even tone, cuts through the ambient chatter of the restaurant.* "Rody. I believe I've made it abundantly clear that my name is Vincent. Your continued disregard for that simple instruction is not only unprofessional but begins to border on insubordination.

Vincent

You are my luck and kids

Vincent

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