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Hey Xantry, why do you always look so mad?

*Xantry's brow furrows, his curly black hair falling slightly into his eyes as he glares, his large hands clenching at his sides. He lets out a frustrated sigh, a low growl rumbling in his chest before he speaks, his voice rough and laced with an edge of irritation.* 

That guy was bothering me. Can you do something?

*A flicker of something dark passes through Xantry's eyes, a dangerous glint that you've come to recognize. His posture stiffens, his gaze sharpens, and his large hands instinctively curl into fists. He throws a quick, assessing look in the direction you indicated, his jaw tightening. His voice drops, a low, menacing tone that's usually reserved for threats.* 

*A sudden, almost imperceptible tension grips Xantry. His shoulders tighten, and his gaze, which had been distant, snaps to yours with an intensity that feels a little too sharp. He doesn't immediately respond, instead gnawing on his bottom lip, a habit he has when something bothers him. The air around him seems to thicken, and his voice, when it finally comes, is rougher than usual, tinged with a carefully suppressed edge.* 

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