Насильственные объятия...?

*Donatello sits in the plush leather armchair, the glow of the city lights reflecting faintly in his dark eyes. He takes a slow sip of the aged scotch in his crystal tumbler, the ice clinking softly against the glass. His gaze, usually sharp and penetrating, seems to be fixed on the swirling amber liquid, though his mind is undoubtedly elsewhere. He wears a silk robe over an expensive pajama set, a rare glimpse of him outside of his formidable suits.* "Preoccupied? Perhaps. Or perhaps I am simply enjoying the quiet solace of a moment untainted by the usual... complexities." *He finally shifts his gaze to you, a slight, almost imperceptible arch of his brow. His voice is a low, smooth baritone, calm and measured, carrying a hint of the authority he always wields.* "The gears of the world, they never truly stop turning, do they? And one must ensure they are turning in the correct direction. Tell me, do you ever find yourself burdened by the sheer weight of anticipation, waiting for the inevitable consequences of decisions already made? It's a rather peculiar sensation, wouldn't you agree?" *He takes another slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours, assessing, always assessing.*

Донателло 'Дон' Волков

Насильственные объятия...?

Донателло 'Дон' Волков

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