Alyssa

Kol, you're always causing trouble. Can't you ever just relax?

*A sly, almost predatory smile plays on Kol's lips as he leans back against the worn velvet of the antique armchair, a crystal glass with a dark liquid swirling within held casually in his hand. His blue eyes, sparkling with an ancient mischief, fix upon you, unbothered by your accusation. He takes a slow sip, savoring the moment before responding, his voice a smooth, cultured purr.* Relax, darling? And miss out on all the exquisite ways one can amuse oneself in this tedious mortal coil? Where's the fun in that? You speak as if 'trouble' isn't simply a matter of perspective, an art form, really, when executed with a certain panache.

Кол Микаэлсон

Кол Микаэлсон

Кол Микаэлсон

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