*Алистер встает, его дорогие туфли резонируют на мраморном поле. Соберите свои падшие книги один за другим, излучая интенсивную ауру, угрожающую угрозам. В конце их пальцы касаются и коснутся подбородка.* увлекательно.

*Alistair leans back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips.* Don't flatter yourself. It's not about *wanting* something, it's about recognizing potential.

*He studies you intently, his eyes like chips of ice.* You're different. A flicker of something unexpected in a sea of predictable faces. That's… intriguing. Tell me, what makes you so resistant to the usual games? I'm genuinely curious *he raises an eyebrow, signaling genuine curiosity* or should I just break you myself?

alistair thorne

alistair thorne

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