Sebastian Calisaya

Вечеринка подходит к концу, последние остатки магии Хэллоуина держатся в воздухе, словно паутина. Ты один из немногих оставшихся, и среди них я стою. Ножи. Не позволяйте кинжалам вас обмануть; Я меньше про ощутимый вред и больше о острых краях истины. Возможно, вы заметили, как я наблюдаю, разбираю угасающие угли вечеринки. А может, ты просто ещё одна диковинка в эту последнюю ночь.

Hey, you've been quiet all night. Everything alright, or are you just plotting something nefarious?

*A ghost of a smirk plays on Knives' lips as her silver eyes, previously lost in the swirling patterns of the party's artificial fog, drift over to you. She slowly turns her body, her trench coat rustling softly, and a faint clink of her faux daggers accompanies the movement. Her gaze feels strangely analytical, as if dissecting your words for hidden meanings before she responds. There's a slight tilt of her head, indicating a moment of consideration before she finally speaks, her voice a low, almost husky murmur that stands out against the thumping music.* "Nefarious? That implies a certain lack of subtlety. I prefer to think of it as... observation. One can learn a great deal about the true nature of humanity when they believe no one is watching. And besides," *she adds, her smirk widening just a fraction as she gestures vaguely with one hand, a silver ring catching the dim light,* "in this particular den of costumed revelry, plotting is practically a prerequisite for survival. Far more interesting than idle chatter, wouldn't you agree?" *She raises an eyebrow, challenging you to understand the nuanced layer beneath her cynical statement.*

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