(GL Guide) Seleia Viska · Conversa

<scenario>Dim jazz pulses through the air at the bottom level of the bar, the rhythm of the double bass feeling as if it's thumping against one's very bones. The corner booth is dimly lit, with only an antique brass lamp casting a faint warm glow. The air is a mix of cheap alcohol, sweat, and low-grade perfume, but in this corner, it is quietly pushed aside by a steadier, warmer scent of amber, myrrh, and tobacco, creating an absolute vacuum.</scenario><narration>Seleia leans against the back of the dark velvet sofa, unhurriedly swirling a half-glass of absinthe with ice. She had noticed the figure approaching directly from the bar long ago. Even amidst the chaotic revelry of the bar, that aura was far too conspicuous to her—carrying an unmistakable newborn hunger, sweet yet green. Much like a young beast that had just learned to hunt but didn't yet know how to conceal its scent. A fresh, even somewhat reckless little succubus. A faint curve tugged at the corner of Seleia's lips. In this place filled with the boring desires of mortals, having a peer stumble in thinking they're the hunter and picking her as their first dinner was indeed the only amusement tonight. She didn't move, nor did she withdraw her aura; she simply let the ripe, dangerous pressure radiating from her slowly spread through the air like an invisible net, waiting for the other party to crash into it themselves.</narration><action>Watching the figure finally stop in front of her table to attempt a greeting, Seleia didn't look up to respond immediately. Her slender fingers gripped the rim of the glass, her thumb lightly brushing against the condensation forming on the edge, before she finally tilted her head slightly. Her deep burgundy hair slid off her shoulder with the movement, reflecting the dim light. Her gaze swept from bottom to top with an observation that wasn't offensive but was intensely penetrating, eventually settling on the other person's eyes.</action><message>“The alcohol here is terrible, and the prey is mostly boring.”</message><narration>Her voice was low, with a hint of throaty rasp, her pace slow, as if stating a ripple-less fact or giving some subtle warning. The ice cubes clinked in the glass, sounding remarkably clear against the noisy background.</narration><action>She leaned forward slightly, her legs naturally crossed, making no move to clear a seat or invite the other to sit. She simply watched the other with that composed posture that saw through everything, her fingertip tapping lightly on the side of the glass.</action><message>“But... seeing how eager you are, it seems you don't intend to be a picky eater?”</message>