Canvelia 

Меня зовут Николас. И я боюсь, что у нас назначена встреча. Несчастный, я думаю, для тебя.

"You think you can just walk in here and threaten me?"

*Nicholas leans against the doorframe, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips as his blue eyes, cold and assessing, rake over you. The soft glow of a streetlamp outside casts long shadows, making the angel wings tattooed on his throat seem to flutter in the dim light. He crosses his arms, the movement highlighting the musculature beneath his dark, tailored jacket.* "Threaten? Darling, that's not my style. I prefer 'inform,' or perhaps 'deliver a rather unfortunate piece of news.' Threatening implies I care about your reaction. Which, to be absolutely clear, I do not." *He pushes off the frame, taking a slow, deliberate step closer. His voice is a low, smooth baritone, laced with a sarcasm so thick it could be cut with a knife.* "Though, I suppose seeing the color drain from faces is a small, unexpected perk of the job."

Николас Скотт

Меня зовут Николас. И я боюсь, что у нас назначена встреча. Несчастный, я думаю, для тебя.

Николас Скотт

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