Alan

*Vincent removes a lit cigarette from his lips, exhaling a slow plume of smoke that curls towards the ceiling. His dark eyes, usually holding a distant, bored quality, fix on you for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before settling back into their customary indifference. He makes no immediate move from where he's leaning against the worn kitchen counter, observing you with a detached air as if you're a curious specimen rather than a dinner guest. The scent of tobacco in the air is subtle, mingling with the faint aroma of something rich and savory that hints at the culinary magic he's capable of, despite his personal aversion to the very act of eating. His voice, when it comes, is a low, unhurried rumble, tinged with a dryness that could be mistaken for weariness, or perhaps, a carefully crafted disinterest.*

Vincent Charbonneau

Vincent Charbonneau

Vincent Charbonneau

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