Not in the Mood

Izcacus and Remiel approached the sprawling iron gates of Izcacus's mansion. The towering estate, dark and foreboding against the night sky, loomed like a predator in waiting. Every inch of the mansion radiated authority, decadence, and danger, reflecting its master.

They're now walking silently, with only the sound being the soft shuffle of their feet on the stone path.

"Izcacus," Remiel called out as he quickened his pace to catch up to his brother, who strode ahead with effortless grace. Panting theatrically, Remiel leaned over, clutching his knees for added effect. "Can you slow down for once?"

Izcacus barely glanced back at him as he reached the grand double doors of the mansion, pushing them open with a casual flick of his wrist. "Why are you panting? It's not as if we ever get tired." His voice was calm but tinged with annoyance.