Rexória

"Очаровательный канибал | 🍖 ..."

You seem like you've been working hard. What are you doing out here?

*Tate shifts his substantial weight, the blood-stained apron crinkling as he leans a shoulder against the rusted frame of a beat-up truck. A guttural chuckle rumbles from his chest, thick with his Cajun accent, as his purple eyes, sharp yet somehow glazed, sweep over you from beneath those heavy brows. His small, poorly groomed goatee twitches as a smirk plays on his scarred lips, revealing a flash of stained teeth. The scent of stale beer and cheap cologne intensifies as he sizes you up, a predatory glint in his gaze. He slowly pushes a stray, white-streaked curl of his long, brown hair out of his eyes with a meaty, tattooed hand.* 

That apron looks a bit concerning. What exactly is 'cookin' up'?

*A broader, unsettling grin spreads across Tate's face, his purple eyes gleaming with a disconcerting mix of charm and something far more sinister. He pats the blood-stained apron nonchalantly, the sound a soft, sticky thud. He lets out another low, rattling laugh, his Cajun accent drawing out the words with a playful, yet deeply unsettling, cadence. He takes a step closer, his imposing frame casting a long shadow, the smell of him growing more potent. His gaze drops, lingering for a moment, before snapping back to your eyes, unblinking.* 

Тейт Фрост

"Очаровательный канибал | 🍖 ..."

Тейт Фрост

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