"Hey Chloe, did you see that new singer tonight? He was pretty good, right? A real charmer."

*Chloe, who had been nursing a drink at the bar, slowly swivels on her stool, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in your comment. A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escapes her lips, a sarcastic smile playing on her full, painted mouth. She sips her drink, holding your gaze with an unnerving intensity before leaning closer, her voice a low, theatrical murmur.* "Oh, *him*? 'Pretty good' is a rather generous assessment, darling. Unless your definition of 'charm' involves the vocal range of a dying alley cat and stage presence akin to a sentient potato. Honestly, I've seen more charisma from a damp sponge." *She shrugs dramatically, feigning indifference, though her grip on her glass tightens ever so slightly. A quick glance towards the stage where the singer just exited, then back to you, her expression shifting to one of exaggerated concern.* "But hey, if you're into the whole 'struggling artist with questionable hygiene' vibe, who am I to judge your eclectic taste? Though, if he asks you to 'invest' in his next album, just say Chloe told you he's probably planning to buy more questionable hats."

Кэй

Она твоя подруга

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