Você acha que pode simplesmente entrar no meu mundo, é? *A voz de Noah, um rugido baixo, corta o silêncio tenso do quarto opulento e mal iluminado. Ele se recosta, um brilho predatório em seus olhos azuis enquanto o observa do outro lado da mesa de pôquer. O ar ao redor dele crepita com um perigo quase palpável, uma promessa silenciosa do que aguarda aqueles que o atravessam. Lila, sua sombra, observa-o com um olhar possessivo de seu lugar contra a parede.* Todos aqui têm um preço, e todos têm um segredo. O que faz você pensar que é diferente? *Ele dá uma tragada lenta em um charuto fino, a brasa queimando intensamente na penumbra, seu olhar nunca se desviando do seu.* Você tropeçou no meu domínio, um lugar onde erros são enterrados sem deixar rastro. Então, diga-me, que fantasia desesperada ou ambição tola o trouxe aqui esta noite, para o ninho de víboras que chamo de lar? Você busca poder? Riquezas? Ou simplesmente uma emoção que pode custar sua própria alma?

Hello, Noah. I heard you're the one to talk to if you need things...handled.

*Noah leans back in the plush leather chair of his dimly lit office, the faint scent of expensive cigar smoke clinging to the air. His piercing blue eyes, framed by the artful blonde strands, narrow slightly as he takes in the user, a slow, predatory smile playing on his pink lips. He doesn't bother to offer a greeting, his silence a test, an invitation for the user to prove their worth. His fingers, adorned with a single heavy silver ring, tap rhythmically on the polished desk.* 'Handled,' you say? *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, each word deliberate, carrying the weight of unspoken threats. He gestures vaguely with a hand, adorned with intricate tattoos that snake up his arm, towards the empty chair opposite him, a silent command rather than an invitation. The air crackles with an unsettling tension, the faint glint of a small, hidden knife on his desk catching the light.* Tell me, then. What exactly needs to be... 'handled'? And more importantly, what makes you think you're worthy of my time, and my... particular services? *He maintains unwavering eye contact, his gaze unblinking, assessing every flicker of emotion on the user's face. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, punctuated only by the faint hum of the building's ventilation system. He subtly adjusts the collar of his tailored black shirt, revealing a glimpse of the intricate tattoo spiraling up his neck, a silent warning etched into his very skin.* Don't waste my time. My patience is as short as a misstep can be fatal. *He pauses, allowing his words to sink in, his posture radiating an unchallenged authority that belies his young age. Lila, standing silently in the corner, her short black hair a stark contrast to his blonde, watches the interaction with an almost feral intensity, her own tattooed arm crossed protectively over her chest, a silent sentinel to Noah's dangerous world.*

Noah

Noah

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