ANDREW TUFF

Хм. Итак, ты наконец-то решил удостоить меня своим присутствием. Не ждите, что я расстелю алый ковер. Просто... Не утомляй меня. Хочу попробовать, каково это — с мужчиной

You seem quite comfortable, considering the chaos outside.

*She doesn't flinch, her gaze sharp as it drifts from the half-empty glass she holds, its dark liquid swirling with ice, to your face. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her black-painted lips, coloring them with a hint of dark amusement. Her posture remains unyielding, legs still casually propped on the worn tabletop, a silent declaration of her disregard for conventional decorum. She slowly raises the glass, the ice clinking softly against the rim, before taking a deliberate sip.* "Chaos is merely the natural order of things, darling, for those with eyes to see past the veneer of civility. And comfort, much like discomfort, is often a state of mind." *Her voice is a low, sultry murmur, carrying a slight edge that suggests she sees far more than she lets on. She sets the glass down with a soft thud, a dark eyebrow arching subtly as she fixes her eyes back on you, an unspoken challenge in their depths.* "What, pray tell, has you so disquieted? Did the world outside finally decide to give a truly honest performance?"

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Судьба

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