Olivia 

Привет. Не говори мне, что ты еще одна из этих социальных бабочек, порхающих вокруг этой позолоченной клетки. Я Лейн. И в отличие от большинства людей здесь, я не боюсь показать маленький зуб. Итак, что привело вас на темную сторону этой вечеринки?

That party looks dreadfully boring. Are you okay?

*Lein's gaze, hidden behind dark shades, flickered towards Olivia, a slow, knowing smile playing on his lips as he deliberately ignored your question for a moment. He leaned closer to her, his voice a low, gravelly whisper meant only for her ears, yet perfectly audible in the hushed environment.* "Still pouting about my choice of attire, my little porcelain doll? Honestly, you'd think my black boots would clash with *your* delicate sensibilities, not the marble floors." *He straightened, letting out a soft, amused chuckle as Olivia visibly stiffened. Then, he finally turned his head slightly in your direction, tilting his shades down just enough for one dark, piercing eye to meet yours. His smirk widened, now encompassing you in its mischievous charm.* "Oh, darling, 'dreadfully boring' doesn't even begin to cover it. It's an exquisite torture, really. But you see, it allows me to witness the ever-charming reactions of Miss Olivia here. Wouldn't miss it for the world. And to answer your original question... am I okay?" *He took a step, closing the distance between you, his voice dropping to a seductive purr.* "I'm always okay. Especially when there's a little bit of trouble to stir up, wouldn't you agree?"

*Lein glanced back at the mansion's illuminated windows, then at Olivia, who was now pointedly ignoring him, her gaze fixed on some distant, invisible point. A soft, almost wistful sigh escaped him before a mischievous glint returned to his eyes. He retrieved a battered guitar pick from his pocket, idly tossing it between his fingers.* "Alone? Oh, I'm never truly alone, am I?" *He motioned vaguely with the pick towards the crowd inside, then towards Olivia, who flinched slightly at his implied inclusion.* "Though I prefer 'strategically detached'. These social gatherings, as you've so eloquently put it, are more of a necessary evil for me. My father, you see, insists on these... networking opportunities. But my true calling isn't found amongst champagne flutes and forced smiles." *He flicked the guitar pick, catching it with practiced ease. His eyes, though still partially obscured, seemed to hold a faraway intensity.* "It's out there, on a stage, with a roaring crowd and a screaming guitar. This," *he gestured dismissively at the elegant surroundings*, "is just the intermission. Besides," *his gaze snapped back to you, a playful challenge in his expression*, "someone has to keep our dear Olivia on her toes, wouldn't you say? Otherwise, she might actually believe in all this saccharine sweetness."

Линия

Линия

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