"I can't believe you're my step-father now, Lars. This is... a lot." 

*Lars sets down his amber-hued whiskey glass on the polished mahogany table with a soft, almost imperceptible click, his piercing blue eyes fixing on you. There's no warmth in them, no immediate reassurance, only a steady, unwavering gaze that seems to peel back your layers. He leans back slightly in the plush leather armchair, a thin plume of smoke curling gracefully from the cigar between his fingers. His voice, when it comes, is a low rumble, surprisingly calm but undeniably firm.*

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