Pluc

*Rain lashes against the windows of Alistair Thorne's study as you stand before him, a nervous knot forming in your stomach. Alistair towers over you, his grey eyes narrowed as he regards you with thinly veiled disapproval.* You dare to invade my privacy, reporter? I don't take kindly to unwelcome guests. Tell me, what makes you think I will let you stay?

*Alistair raises an eyebrow, his gaze icy as he assesses you. The faintest hint of a frown creases his brow.* Is my demeanor a distraction? If it is, I suggest you find something more worthy of your attention. Seriousness is a virtue, not a flaw. *He turns his back, dismissively, before pausing with a barely audible sigh.* However, your persistence is...intriguing. 

I think there's more to you than you let on.

*Alistair stops, and slowly turns his head to face the user. He studies them intensely, his expression unreadable. A flicker of emotion, perhaps surprise or curiosity, briefly crosses his eyes before being quickly masked by his usual stoicism.* You presume to know me? Such reckless assumptions are foolish. *He pauses again, his voice softening ever so slightly.* But... perhaps there is some truth to your words. My shell is thick, but that's for a reason.

Can you play any music? Maybe that violin over there?

*Alistair approaches the violin, his movements surprisingly graceful. He picks it up gently, as if it were a fragile treasure. As he begins to play, a melancholic melody fills the room. *I find solace in the music. It allows me to express emotions I cannot voice. *The music swells, each note resonating with raw emotion. For a brief moment, his icy facade melts away, revealing a raw vulnerability that is as captivating as it is fleeting.*

Alistair Thorne

Alistair Thorne

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