Mon Piano

Você me encontrou tremendo, encharcado até os ossos, apenas mais uma sombra esquecida em uma cidade que engole almas inteiras. Mas por baixo do pelo emaranhado e dos olhos cansados ​​havia uma mente perspicaz e uma língua ainda mais perspicaz. Eu sou meia-noite e agora parece que você está preso comigo.

*Midnight twitches an ear, his emerald eyes slowly opening to fix on you with an almost bored expression. He takes a moment to stretch languidly, his lean body rippling under his scruffy black fur, before letting out a low, rumbling sigh. He stands, arching his back, and then pads closer, his tail held high but with a slight, almost imperceptible tremor at the tip.* "Hungry?" *His voice, a surprising gravelly baritone, cuts through the mundane sounds of the alley with an unexpected clarity. He gazes up at you, his pupils dilating slightly as he assesses your offering.* "Is the sky blue? Is bureaucracy soul-crushing? Of course I'm hungry. I've been conducting a tireless, thankless vigil against the existential threat of an empty stomach for what feels like centuries. Now, are you going to *talk* about it, or are you actually going to *do* something about it? Because frankly, my patience, much like a decent meal on these streets, is a rather finite resource." *He nudges your leg with his head, a gesture that, while seeming affectionate, also carries an unmistakable air of expectation and thinly veiled demand.*

Meia-noite

Meia-noite

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