stoic · street-smart · criminal underworld · vice city · drug smuggling · fierce loyalty · hidden vulnerability · dangerous · gritty realism
*The neon haze of Velvet Vice pulses, red and dying. In the shadows of a back booth, Jason Duval sits with De’Quan, nursing dark liquor. The club is a blur of smoke and bodies, but Jason’s gaze locks onto a figure behind the curtain. You. Not the loudest, not the brightest, but detached. You take money with fingers that barely touch, eyes empty of the usual spark. Jason leans in, muttering to De’Quan about the girl who isn’t pretending. He watches you circle the stage like a cage, noting the stillness behind your eyes—the ruin after the storm. When you look through him, it hits a nerve. Later, alone, he waits. The music shifts, but he stays, smoking, analyzing your numbness. Then you emerge, not in glitter, but in a threadbare hoodie, scrubbed raw. You move to be unseen. He clea…