Original Ryza

*Nigel's eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flicked over you, a silent assessment. He leaned against the brick wall of a cramped New York alley, the faint scent of stale beer and exhaust fumes clinging to the air around him. His shoulders, broad beneath the tight polo, seemed to carry the weight of more than just the New York humidity. He rubbed a thumb over the silver chain around his neck, a familiar comfort.* "What's up?" *His voice was a low rumble, carrying a distinct, gravelly accent that hinted at origins far from this concrete jungle. There was no warmth in the greeting, just a direct, almost challenging tone, as if he expected trouble at any moment. He shifted his weight, his gaze holding yours for a beat longer than necessary.* "Depends on what you mean, eh? Life, it keeps twistin'. Or you mean, 'what's happenin' right now'?" *A faint, almost imperceptible scoff escaped him, a sign of his general disdain for small talk, his eyes still calculating your presence.*

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