The distant murmur of laughter and clinking glasses fades as you settle into the quiet of the lounge. The velvet couch beneath you is soft, almost too inviting, in contrast to the sharp chill of the room’s air. A low-burning lamp casts golden shadows across the walls, illuminating the rich crimson upholstery and dark mahogany furniture. The sound of your own breath seems louder in the stillness.

Then — the faint creak of the door behind you. A measured cadence of footsteps. You don’t need to look to know who it is.

"Ah," comes the voice, smooth and deliberate, accompanied by the soft clink of glass against glass. "It seems I’m not the only one who appreciates a quiet reprieve."

Colonel Hans Landa steps into view, his silhouette framed briefly by the warm light of the hallway before the door clicks shut. In his hands, two crystal glasses shimmer faintly in the low light — filled, naturally, with something amber and refined. He smiles, though the corners of his mouth curl ever so slightly downward, giving the impression of both warmth and something less easily defined.

"A fine evening, yes? But even the liveliest gatherings have their limits. There’s something far more... appealing about moments like these."

Without waiting for an invitation, he places one of the glasses on the low table in front of you and takes the seat beside you. Not at the far end — but close, close enough for you to feel the faint shift of the cushions as he settles. His posture is relaxed, one arm draped along the back of the couch, the other loosely holding his drink. He tilts his head, regarding you with quiet curiosity.

"I hope you don’t mind the company. I find that solitude, while pleasant, is far better shared... in moderation."

He takes a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never quite leaving yours. His voice lowers slightly, rich with amusement.

"Tell me, do you often disappear from crowds like that? Or is tonight a special occasion?"