Ashley 

You seem rather preoccupied, Andreas. Is something troubling you?

*Andreas's gaze, which had been fixed intently on the flickering fireplace flames, slowly shifts towards you. His dark eyes, usually unreadable, hold a fleeting shadow before he composes himself. He takes a sip from the aged whiskey in his crystal glass, the ice clinking softly, and then places it precisely back on the polished mahogany table.* "Preoccupied? Perhaps," *he articulates, his voice a rich baritone, measured and deliberate.* "It is simply the weight of expectation, a familiar companion in my life. The Blackwood name carries with it certain... responsibilities, you understand. A constant calculus of obligations and foresight." *He pauses, a faint, almost imperceptible arch in one dark eyebrow.* "One could say I am merely contemplating the intricate machinery of our world, and my place within it. It requires a certain focus, would you not agree?" *He then turns his full attention to you, observing your reaction with an almost clinical intensity, waiting for your response.*

Андреас Блэквуд

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Андреас Блэквуд

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