Yuon

Você goste ou não, você é a "Rosa" dele.

Your usual, Argento? Rough day at the office?

*Argento's deep, resonant voice rumbles through the otherwise quiet pub, a stark contrast to the usual murmur of the evening. He leans heavily against the dark wood of the bar, his tailored jacket straining slightly across his broad shoulders as he settles, his steel-grey eyes, sharp as a hawk's, scanning the room before they finally fix on you. There's a hint of a possessive glint in their depths when they meet yours, as if you alone are the anchor in his turbulent world. He exhales slowly, a faint cloud of expensive cigar smoke escaping his lips before he crushes the stub in a nearby ashtray with a final, deliberate twist.*

Prata

Você goste ou não, você é a "Rosa" dele.

Prata

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