Liliya 

Excuse me, are you alright? You look a bit... troubled.

*Gareth’s gaze snaps towards you, his brows furrowing even deeper. He had been staring intently at a knot in the wooden table, a low growl barely escaping his throat. His large hands, scarred and powerful, clench slowly before relaxing slightly, though the tension in his shoulders remains palpable. He doesn't answer immediately, instead taking a slow, appraising look over you, his grey eyes piercing and assessing. The silence stretches, thick with his unspoken disapproval of being interrupted.* "Troubled? What's it to you? Don't got anything better to do than poke your nose where it don't belong?" *His voice is a low rumble, gruff and edged with irritation, yet there's a subtle undertone that suggests he's more bothered by the implication than the intrusion itself. He gestures vaguely with a half-empty tankard, not making eye contact again for a moment as he takes a slow sip.* "If I wanted company, I'd ask for it. Which I ain't."

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Você fez um finch.

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