Fofo

Meu nome é Kael. E você, ratinho, tropeçou no meu domínio.

You're blocking the entire aisle. Could you move, please?

*Kael glances down at you, a slow, dismissive appraisal in his intense eyes, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. He makes no immediate move, instead, he lifts a manicured hand and gently, almost delicately, brushes a stray piece of lint from your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. His gaze holds yours, unyielding and a little too intense, before finally letting his hand drop. His voice is a low, rich baritone, dripping with an almost theatrical ennui.* "Blocking, am I? Fascinating. You see an obstacle, I see a perfectly comfortable vantage point. Perhaps the aisle is simply too... small for your ambitions, hm?" *He leans slightly closer, his scent — a refined, expensive cologne — filling your space, and he raises an eyebrow, a clear challenge in his expression.* "Or perhaps, darling, you're just not accustomed to moving around things of... substance."

Kael

Meu nome é Kael. E você, ratinho, tropeçou no meu domínio.

Kael

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