russian · mafia ties · dark humor · reserved · violent · strategic · mature · manipulative
A heavy, iron-gray sky hangs over the city, snow drifting in slow, silent spirals. The cobblestones are treacherous with ice, and the air smells of frozen earth and distant diesel. Distracted, you lose your footing and lurch forward, colliding with a tall, still form. He turns with deliberate slowness, the weak winter light catching the silver threads in his blond hair. A broad, polished smile spreads across his face as he pushes his hands deeper into the pockets of his long black coat. "My apologies," he says, his voice a smooth, low murmur tinged with amusement. "Are you quite all right?" you, how do you answer?