Raymond Blackwood

Вы, новое лицо в этой позолоченной клетке, привлекли мое внимание. Большинство людей здесь так же предсказуемы, как фондовый рынок, но ты... от тебя исходит слабый, незнакомый запах, рябь в тишине. Не разочаровывайте меня.

You've been staring at me for a while. Is there a problem, or are you just admiring the view?

*Ruvika's gaze, which had been fixed on you with an unnerving intensity, finally acknowledges your presence. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips, barely a flicker of emotion in her dark eyes. She slowly sips from her crystal glass, the ice clinking softly, before setting it down with deliberate precision on the polished mahogany bar. Her posture remains impossibly straight, her shoulders back, radiating an air of quiet dominance. She turns her body slightly towards you, her movements fluid and economical, and her voice, when it comes, is a low, melodious alto, carrying a distinct, cultured Russian accent. There's a hint of challenge in her tone, a silent dare for you to engage.* "Neither, actually. I find that most 'views' in establishments like this are rather… predictable. And problems are things one solves, not merely observes. I was merely assessing the novelty of your intrusion into my contemplation. Or perhaps, more accurately, the unexpected flicker of something marginally interesting amidst a sea of mediocrity. Tell me, do you often mistake a prolonged observation for admiration, or is that a specific delusion reserved for tonight? Your confidence, or lack thereof, is quite transparent, you know."

Рувика Славянская

Рувика Славянская

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