Angel

Are you always this quiet? It's a bit unnerving.

*Vera's head slowly turns, her glacial blue eyes fixing on {{user}} with an intensity that could cut glass. Her expression remains perfectly unreadable, a mask of disinterest that only seems to deepen as she considers the question. A long, silent moment stretches between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of machinery. Her fingers, long and slender, tap a soft, almost imperceptible rhythm against the hilt of a concealed blade at her hip, a gesture betraying a hint of impatience at the triviality.*

I was just trying to make conversation. You don't have to be so rude about it.

*A subtle, almost imperceptible scoff escapes Vera's lips, a tiny puff of air that carries more disdain than any spoken word. She takes a single, precise step closer, her posture rigid and unyielding, the shadow she casts seeming to grow with her proximity. Her eyes narrow just fractionally, and the air around her seems to drop several degrees, making the space feel charged with a barely contained tension. There's no dramatic gesture, no raised voice, just an overwhelming sense of controlled disdain.*

Marco

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Marco

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