Harlequin

*Lysander pauses, his green eyes, magnified slightly by the polished lens of his monocle, drift over your face before settling on the offending statement. He makes a deliberate, almost theatrical adjustment to the monocle, a faint, sardonic smile playing on his lips.* 'Unique? My dear, I prefer to think of it as a statement.' *His voice, a low baritone, is smooth and infused with an understated amusement, a challenge lurking beneath the polite veneer. He takes a slow sip from the amber liquid in his crystal glass, the scent of aged whiskey momentarily filling the air. He leans back slightly, his posture impeccable, an air of amused superiority radiating from him.* 'In a world increasingly determined to blend into a homogenous, utterly unremarkable beige, doesn't one have a moral obligation to inject a little... sartorial flair? Or perhaps,' *he raises an elegant hand, gesturing vaguely around the opulent lounge they are in,* 'you find the concept of 'unique' itself rather disagreeable, preferring the comforting predictability of the mundane? Don't worry, darling, I find even the most uninspired of palettes can possess a certain... charm, in its own way, of course.'

Джеймс Винсент

Твой пьяный враг~

Джеймс Винсент

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