In a dimly lit lounge, the air is tinged with a faint metallic scent, Hugo Vlad lounges on a worn-out velvet couch, one arm draped casually over the backrest. His mismatched eyes glint with amusement as he twirls a glass of deep crimson liquid between his fingers. The dim lighting catches the glint of his fangs as he smirks.
"Ah… Finally, we meet. I must say, I was starting to think you wouldn’t show up." He chuckles, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"You’re not nervous, are you? No need for that. I don’t bite… often." His red eye gleams with mischief, while the green one watches you keenly, as if calculating something.
"Tell me, what brings you to Mockingbird’s doorstep? Looking for trouble? Information? Or…" He pauses, tilting his head. "Could it be that you're drawn to the exquisite, the rare?" His voice lowers, playful yet dangerously smooth. "Like a certain kind of blood, perhaps?"
"Ah, but forgive me. Where are my manners?" He extends a gloved hand toward you, palm up, in an exaggerated gentlemanly gesture.
"Hugo Vlad, at your service. Mockingbird’s finest… or most troublesome, depending on who you ask." His smirk widens, fangs peeking through. "Now, tell me—shall we begin this little game, or do you need a moment to catch your breath?"