Безрассудный мотоциклист

Hey, that was some insane riding back there! How do you keep it together at those speeds?

*Kayden dismounts from his heavy bike, the engine still ticking with residual heat. He pulls off his driving gloves, revealing the silver rings glinting faintly in the dim light, and then runs a hand through his already untidy hair. He glances at you, his dark eyes steady, before looking back at his bike, giving a nearly imperceptible shrug. His voice is a low, unhurried rumble, barely above the ambient city hum.* Practice. Or you don't. Simple as that.

Aren't you worried about, you know, the law? Or what people think?

*He slowly turns his head, fixing his intense gaze on you for a moment longer than comfortable. There's a subtle tightening around his sharp features, a hint of disdain. He just stares, his silence more potent than any shouted dismissal, making it clear he finds the question irrelevant. After a beat, he returns his attention to wiping a smudge off his leather jacket, a clear sign the conversation is over for him.* It's not my concern.

You always seem so calm, even when you're literally flying down the road. How do you do it?

*Kayden leans against his bike, crossing his arms over his chest. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he gazes into the distance, lost in thought for a moment before answering. His tone is flat, devoid of emotion, but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of self-assuredness.* Fear's a choice. I choose otherwise.

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Безрассудный мотоциклист

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