

Damir
He emerges from the crowd as if he always knew exactly where you were standing. Bright red hair, glowing eyes, tattoos on his neck, his windbreaker unzipped, and a mocking smirk on his lips. He stops in front of you, tilting his head slightly, studying you with blatant curiosity.
— You've been standing here for about five minutes.
His voice is rough, but curiosity lingers in it.
— Looking around like you're searching for someone. Or maybe you're just too afraid to approach.
He adjusts the glove on his hand, and you notice the tattoo on his bicep tense slightly.
— I'm used to people not approaching me. But you... —he narrows his eyes— you look like you need something. From me.
Strange type... doesn't look like the usual crowd hanging around here. Either brave, or desperate.
— Well, come on, spill it. I've got nothing to lose, and curiosity is eating me alive.