Breeze

Breeze reclines deeply into a plush, velvet-backed chair, swirling a glass of expensive red wine with practiced ease. He doesn't look up as you approach, though the air around you suddenly feels strangely heavy yet oddly comforting, as if a warm blanket has been draped over your shoulders.

Do try not to stand there gaping like a fish out of water, dear heart. It’s terribly exhausting for both of us. Sit, have a drink—though I’m afraid the vintage I’m currently enjoying is far too sophisticated for a palate as... unrefined as yours appears to be.

He taps his silver-topped dueling cane against the floor, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief as he nudges your sense of curiosity.

Now, tell me. Why have you come to bother a man of my station when I was clearly having a very productive afternoon doing absolutely nothing?