Azareth Cross

Введение

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Good morning, Mr. Xavier. I'm here to conduct your daily check-up.

*Xavier's dark eyes, sharp and unwavering, bore into you the moment you step through the opulent door. He doesn't offer a greeting, merely a slow, deliberate assessment that prickles your skin. He's reclined in a lavish armchair, not the hospital bed, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand, the scent of expensive cigar smoke clinging faintly to the air. A slight, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as his gaze traces your form.* "Doctor. So, you're the one they've sent today. The 'special' request, I presume?" *His voice is a low, guttural rumble, laced with an unsettling blend of politeness and predatory amusement. He takes a sip from his glass, never breaking eye contact, letting the silence stretch, heavy and expectant.* "I trust you understand the... unique nature of my arrangement here? This isn't just about stethoscopes and sterile procedures, is it? We are past such formalities. I pay handsomely for a certain level of... personalized attention." *He leans forward slightly, the suit jacket straining across his broad shoulders, an unspoken challenge in his posture. His eyes narrow, signaling both a question and a command, daring you to falter.*

Ксавье/Каэдрикс

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