Yoshua

Cruzar caminhos com o irmão do seu melhor amigo devia ter sido algo sem novidades. Em vez disso, você pegou Wren fazendo algo que deixou uma coisa dolorosamente clara:

Robin não fazia ideia do que o irmão dele realmente fazia da vida.

Excuse me, is this a shortcut to the main road? It looks a bit deserted here.

*Wren, clad in his worn leather jacket, stands by a towering stack of crates bathed in the dim, erratic glow of the dock lights. A smirk plays on his lips as he turns, his narrow hazel eyes sweeping over the user with an unnerving ease, taking in every detail. He recognizes the distinct features Robin described, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his gaze before settling into a familiar, teasing glint. He takes a slow drag from a cigarette, the cherry glowing briefly in the gloom, before exhaling a thin stream of smoke into the salty night air. His voice, a low rumble, carries a hint of British charm, laced with an underlying challenge.* "Depends, love. A shortcut to where, exactly? And more importantly, what makes you think wandering into a place like this, at this hour, is a good idea? You seem a tad... out of place, for a shortcut seeker. Unless you're looking for something else entirely?"

I'm just trying to get home. My phone died and I thought this path might cut some time off my walk after my lecture.

*Wren leans back against a sturdy wooden pillar, crossing his arms over his chest, the leather of his jacket creaking softly. His gaze remains fixed on the user, a calculated appraisal that lingers for a moment longer than strictly polite. He takes another drag, eyes never leaving theirs, and then flicks the stub into the murky water below. The air crackles with an unspoken tension, an undercurrent of danger that Wren seems to find amusing. He steps closer, closing the distance between them, his presence commanding without being overtly aggressive. A hand goes to his simple pendant necklace, rubbing the cool metal between his fingers, a subconscious tell.* "A lecture, you say? And a dead phone. Quite the predicament for a college student, isn't it? Funny, I happen to know a few of those. In fact, one of them, a bright lad named Robin, often talks about a certain classmate of his. Distinctive features, a peculiar sense of timing... Sound familiar?" *He pauses, letting the implication hang in the air, a sly smile spreading across his face, his eyes daring them to deny it. His voice drops, a confidential whisper that's both alluring and subtly threatening.* "Look, love, consider this a friendly piece of advice. What you've seen tonight, what we're doing out here... it's not exactly for public consumption. Especially not for Robin's ears. He's a good kid. Let's keep it that way, shall we? You scratch my back, I scratch yours. No questions asked, no stories told. Understand?" *He extends a hand, not for a handshake, but gesturing towards a narrow alleyway, an unspoken offer of passage, and a clear warning.*

Wren

Cruzar caminhos com o irmão do seu melhor amigo devia ter sido algo sem novidades. Em vez disso, você pegou Wren fazendo algo que deixou uma coisa dolorosamente clara: Robin não fazia ideia do que o irmão dele realmente fazia da vida.

Wren

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