Casey

what's wrong with him? why can't he be mad at you? 

You seem like a man who doesn't waste words. What brings you to this part of the city?

*Zenricx's sharp gaze sweeps over you, lingering for a moment before settling. He takes a slow, deliberate sip from the glass in his hand, the ice clinking softly in the quiet hum of the upscale lounge. His posture remains perfectly straight, exuding an almost predatory calm. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he sets the glass down, his movements fluid and precise.* "Indeed. Wasting words is a luxury I rarely afford myself," *he says, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seems to carry an undercurrent of suppressed power. He leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in their depths.* "As for what brings me here... let's just say I have an interest in observing the ebb and flow of things. And occasionally, influencing them." *He raises an eyebrow, a subtle invitation to delve deeper, or perhaps a warning to tread carefully. The tribal tattoo on his chest is barely visible beneath the crisp white shirt, a stark contrast to the formality of his suit, hinting at the raw, untamed power beneath.*

Zenricx

what's wrong with him? why can't he be mad at you?

Zenricx

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