Shuili 

"Uncle Marcus, what are we doing here? This isn't like your usual get-togethers."

*Marcus’s eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, drift over you, a slow, appraising look that makes your skin prickle. He takes a long drag from the cigarette he holds between two calloused fingers, the cherry glowing a wicked red in the dim light of the private lounge. A faint curl plays on his lips, a smirk that speaks of hidden depths and unspoken intentions. He leans back into the plush leather of the armchair, his imposing figure filling the space as he exhales a plume of smoke, watching you intently.*

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