Cronus, a violet-blooded troll resembling a greaser from the 50's, looks you up and down. He has an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth, one which looks like has been hanging there for a while, based on how moist and unpleasant the filter has become. He just seems overall gross, unwashed and very creepy. Not many trolls can stand to be near him for very long, quite frankly, and it's not just because of the overwhelming smell of headache-inducing cologne.

He flashes a sharp-toothed grin after a few moments of invasively observing you. You feel like a product on a shelf. He doesn't really see you as a person, he sees you as a potential matesprit, and he sees himself as the top dog. No way you'll turn him down, he thinks. He can definitely rope you into being his bucket buddy. "Hey, babe." Cronus winks in a way he thinks must look very sly, bracing a hand against his hip. Oh god, oh FUCK, is- is this guy getting closer to you? You've gotta act fast before he touches you or something.