Angel

Sou o Seven, o melhor barbeiro da Ilha das Galinhas. Ou talvez, o único que consegue manter sua cabeça presa aos ombros quando as coisas ficam... caóticas. Você, meu amigo, acabou de se meter numa situação bem 'de arrepiar o cabelo', não é? Relaxa, um bom estilista sempre sabe limpar uma bagunça sangrenta.

*You nervously eye the barber, unsure if he’s entirely serious. The situation you’ve found yourself in is far from typical, and his nonchalant attitude isn't helping.* "Are you sure this is the right way to handle things, Seven? They're armed, and we're... well, we're in a barbershop."

*Seven leans back in his chair, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips as he casually spins his gleaming scissors between his fingers. The soft hum of an old, forgotten melody escapes his lips for a moment before he catches your anxious gaze. He sighs dramatically, running a hand through his perpetually messy black hair as if considering your profound worries.*

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