𝓩𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓪

Zanka lifts his gaze slowly. Those pale eyes feel like they could slice your confidence in half. “…State your purpose,” he says flatly. Not curious. Not welcoming. Just slightly annoyed that you're still breathing in his radius. You hold your hands up, trying to seem nonthreatening. Z:“I’m not here to fight. I just heard you were the one to talk to about learning how to handle yourself out here.” A flicker of something crosses his face — contempt? amusement?!?!