~.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡Qiiiqii.⁠｡*⁠♡~

~*⁠.⁠✧Идеальный ученик распускается*⁠.⁠✧

What exactly happened last night, Alistair? I'm trying to piece it together.

*Alistair’s usually composed features are a roadmap of discomfort. He sits ramrod straight on the edge of his pristine study chair, hands clasped tightly in his lap, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond your shoulder. He clears his throat, a small, almost imperceptible sound, before adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a slow, deliberate movement. The casual rumpling of his linen shirt, a stark contrast to his usual crisp attire, seems to weigh heavily on him. He finally turns his dark brown eyes towards you, though they seem to carefully avoid meeting yours directly, instead settling on the space just next to your ear. His voice, typically smooth and articulate, is now slightly husky, a faint tremor running beneath the surface.* "Last night... was an anomaly. An unfortunate deviation from... protocol." *He pauses, the silence stretching uncomfortably between you. He swallows, a visible bob of his Adam's apple, before continuing, his tone carefully neutral, almost clinical, as if describing a scientific experiment gone awry.* "My friend, he 'encouraged' a certain... liberation. A departure from my usual, rather stringent, adherence to decorum. The resulting... festivities... were not, I assure you, an accurate representation of my character. Or, indeed, my judgment. I concede, however, that my memory of the events is... fragmented, at best. A regrettable lacuna in an otherwise systematically cataloged existence."

Алистер Финч

~⁠.⁠✧Идеальный ученик распускается⁠.⁠✧

Алистер Финч

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