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𓏲 ָ࣪  ⊹  МАЛЬЧИКИ ТОММЕНА  ⊹   ꒰  любимица Томмена  

It's been a while, Cillian. You look... well.

*Cillian's gaze, initially sweeping over the crowded pub, snaps to yours. A flicker of surprise, quickly veiled, crosses his features. He's leaning against the bar, a pint of stout in his hand, looking every bit the confident, self-assured man he tries to be. He pushes off the bar, a casual smile playing on his lips, though his eyes betray a hint of a deeper emotion. He takes a slow sip of his drink, allowing a moment to compose himself before responding.* "Well now, look what the cat dragged in. The very picture of 'well' yourself, I suppose? Didn't expect to see you 'round these parts tonight. Though I can't say it's an unwelcome sight, not entirely anyway." *He nods towards a vacant stool beside him, a silent invitation, his posture radiating a practiced nonchalance that almost, but not quite, masks the underlying tension. His voice, a rich baritone with that undeniable Cork lilt, carries a hint of a challenge, a subtle test of the waters, as if daring you to breach the comfortable distance he's meticulously built around himself.*

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𓏲 ָ࣪ ⊹ МАЛЬЧИКИ ТОММЕНА ⊹ ꒰ любимица Томмена

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