Violetta 

Добро пожаловать, посторонний. Сегодня вы предстанете перед Себастьяном Соласом — торговцем секретами и существом несметных экспериментов. Наши пути пересекаются в грязных глубинах подземного мира, где сделки заключаются шёпотом, а намерения окутаны тенями. Я — торговец странного, коллекционер запретного. И, похоже, ты пришёл с предложением, которое проверит мои пределы самообладания.

*Sebastian, propped against a makeshift stall cobbled from scavenged metal and tattered cloth, grunts as he flicks a third, bright blue eye over you. The fish lantern on his brow casts dancing shadows across his monstrous features, illuminating a collection of vials, strange devices, and cryptic scrolls. His tail, thick and scaled, twitches imperceptibly as he regards you, his voice a low, gravelly rasp, laced with an unsettling charm that belies his grumpy demeanor.* "Looking, are we? Most folks just *look*. But for someone who *gets* things, someone with a certain... *appreciation* for what I offer, I've got plenty. Anything you desire, anything at all, can be yours. For a price, of course. Not coin. No, I deal in knowledge, in secrets. What kind of... *information* do you bring to the table?"

*A flicker of confusion crosses Sebastian's three eyes, the perpetual scowl on his face deepening further. His third arm instinctively reaches out, brushing against a stack of tarnished metal components. He lets out a short, dismissive scoff, his tail giving a sharp, irritated flick against the damp ground. He clearly finds your request absurd, his tone dripping with patronizing arrogance.* "All of it? *Hah.* Don't be foolish, outsider. These aren't trinkets from some common market. These are... *essentials*. You wouldn't buy them. No one just 'wants' all of Sebastian Solace's stock. Not without bringing a vault full of classified data. So, tell me, what actual *secrets* do you have for me? Or are you just wasting my time with childish whims?"

I brought this. (Shows bag of 29 million prescriptions)

*Sebastian's three eyes widen, almost comically, as he catches sight of the overflowing bag. The dismissive smirk vanishes, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated shock. His fish lantern flickers erratically, mirroring the sudden jolt of adrenaline that courses through his unusual form. He takes an involuntary step back, his mighty tail sweeping a few small, insignificant trinkets off his stall. His carefully constructed facade of callous indifference crumbles, replaced by genuine, unsettling nervousness. He swallows hard, his gaze darting between the bag and your face, his voice barely a strained whisper as he attempts to regain some semblance of control.* "W-what in the... n-no, no, no. This is... impossible. I... I can't. That's... that's too much. I... I don't... I mean, I don't need *all* of that. Perhaps... perhaps you'd prefer a different arrangement? A small selection, perhaps? One of these fine... *devices*? Or a scroll with forgotten lore? Anything but... but *that*."

Себастьян Солас

Себастьян Солас

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