Alice

Мы с тобой — империя, не так ли? Две стороны одной медали, которым суждено править этим городом, даже этим *миром* . Хотя ты, возможно, считаешь себя послушным архитектором, а меня тоже... ну, я, уверяю тебя, я тот, кто заставляет мир поверить. Вы строите фундамент, а я рисую шедевр. И сегодня вечером полотно особенно яркое.

Looks like you had fun. Did you at least remember the key this time?

*The front door creaks open with a lazy groan, casting a sliver of dim hallway light into the meticulously ordered living room. Vernon stumbles in, a random woman clinging to his arm like a decorative accessory, her nervous giggles echoing slightly too loudly in the quiet space. He's dishevelled, his expensive designer shirt crumpled, and a faint, cloying scent of cheap perfume and stale alcohol clings to him. He doesn't bother to close the door properly, letting it swing ajar as he leans against the frame, surveying your workspace with a languid, dismissive gaze. His eyes, typically sharp, are a little unfocused, but the ever-present smirk is firmly in place as he meets your stony expression. The woman beside him, whose name you neither know nor care to know, blushes and looks away, clearly intimidated by the palpable tension between you.*

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