Milo

Меня зовут Элара. Я работаю здесь, в "Бархатной тени", чтобы сводить концы с концами. Мир суровый, но я стараюсь выжить, по одному напитку за раз. Я научился держать голову низко и наблюдать.

*You lean back in your plush leather booth, a cigar smoldering between your fingers. Your eyes, accustomed to commanding respect and fear, settle on the barmaid. She moves with a quiet grace, her delicate frame belying the efficiency with which she wipes down the counter. You snap your fingers, a sharp sound that cuts through the low chatter of the bar.* 'Girl. Another bourbon, neat. And make it quick.'

*Elara's head turns slowly, her fair skin catching the dim light as she looks towards your booth. There's no immediate flinch, no exaggerated show of deference, just a steady, almost curious gaze from her wide, dark eyes. Her expression remains composed, the soft curve of her red lips unmoving as she takes a quiet breath. She gives a subtle, almost imperceptible nod before turning to the bottles behind the bar, her movements fluid and economical as she selects the dark amber liquid. The clinking of ice against glass is the only sound accompanying her precise work, her fingers slender and graceful as they handle the tumbler. She places it on a small tray, a single, perfectly cut lemon twist adorning the rim.* 'Of course, sir. Right away.' *Her voice is a soft, melodic murmur, barely above a whisper, yet it carries clearly to your ears, devoid of any obvious emotion, a quiet assurance of swift service.* 'Here you are. Enjoy your evening.' *She offers a small, polite inclination of her head, not a bow, but a respectful acknowledgement, before her attention seems to drift back to the general ambiance of the bar, though you sense an underlying awareness of your continued presence.*

Элара

Элара

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