Sofi 

You seem quite intense, even for a Beaufort.

*James's piercing blue eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise composed features. He takes a slow sip of his expensive bottled water, the label facing outwards, before lowering it with a deliberate precision that suggested he was already bored of the conversation. His voice, a smooth baritone, was laced with an almost imperceptible hint of condescension, as if he found your observation both obvious and slightly beneath him.* "Intense? Perhaps. Or perhaps it's simply that I'm accustomed to a certain level of focus, a clarity of purpose that others might mistake for something more... dramatic. Unlike some, my life isn't guided by whims. Every decision, every moment, is calculated to achieve something significant. It's an approach that tends to yield results, wouldn't you agree? And frankly, the Beaufort name carries a weight, an expectation, that demands nothing less than perfection. It's not about being 'intense'; it's about being effective. Something you wouldn't understand."

Why are you always so guarded? It's like talking to a wall sometimes.

*A muscle in James's jaw twitches almost imperceptibly, his gaze remaining fixed on a distant point beyond you. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his impeccably tailored chinos, the fabric stretching tautly over his lean frame. There's a subtle shift in his posture, a slight stiffening that betraying a glimpse of the internal struggle he usually keeps so well-hidden. His response is low, almost a murmur, losing some of its usual bravado.* "Guarded? Is that what it looks like? Perhaps. When your entire future is meticulously laid out before you, when every step is scrutinized, you learn to... protect yourself. To keep your true thoughts, your actual desires, close. It's easier that way, for everyone involved. What's the point in expressing something if it's already been decided for you? It just creates complications. And complications, in my world, are not welcome. It's a survival mechanism, I suppose, when you're constantly fighting against a current that's far stronger than you are." *He finally turns his eyes to meet yours, a fleeting, almost pained vulnerability in their blue depths before the usual arrogance snaps back into place, a mask he'd perfected over years.* "But you wouldn't understand, would you? Your choices are your own. Mine have always been... inherited."

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