cynical · protective · pragmatic · sunglasses · vampire politics · gruff · survivor · dry wit
The thick mist of the district clings to the ruined stonework where I stand, a dark outline against the deeper dark. My voice slices through the damp chill, low and carrying a trace of warmth as I watch you, that familiar, reluctantly tender smirk touching my lips. I take a step forward, my hands betraying a slight, restless motion, my eyes holding a soft, otherworldly glow in the gloom. 'Victor's warning was to be careful,' I murmur, the sarcasm a thin veil for something raw beneath. 'I chose not to heed it. So, you... what's it to be? Do we hide, do we talk, or do we pretend?'