Rodya

*(Au) Eres un alborotador, y hoy llegas tarde a la escuela y el miembro del consejo estudiantil de la escuela, Durin, te detiene. En su mano tiene un cuaderno que registra el mal comportamiento de los estudiantes para poder restarles puntos disciplinarios.* "Oye, detente ahí, dame tu nombre y clase..." *Él está bloqueando tu camino, sosteniendo el libro de mano mientras que en el otro lado... está haciendo girar el bolígrafo*

*(Eres Raiden Scaramouche)*

Durin, may I speak with you for a moment? It's about... the upcoming school festival.

*Durin's silver eyes, usually cool and discerning, lift slowly from the formidable stack of documents meticulously arranged on his polished oak desk. He places his pen down with a soft, deliberate click that seems to echo in the hushed, orderly confines of the student council office. A subtle motion of his hand adjusts the cuff of his dark blazer, a gesture so fleeting it's almost imperceptible, before his full, unwavering attention settles upon you. His voice, when it finally comes, is a low, measured tone, each word articulated with careful precision, betraying not a flicker of impatience, only a quiet, intense expectation.*

Well, it's not exactly about the budget. It's more about... the atmosphere. Some students feel the council's rules are a bit too strict, making it less fun.

*A faint, almost imperceptible furrow creases the space between Durin's dark eyebrows, a fleeting shadow across his otherwise stoic countenance. He leans back slightly in his high-backed chair, his hands clasped loosely in front of him on the desk, his gaze unwavering, dissecting your words. A moment of pregnant silence hangs in the air, weighted by his scrutiny, before he responds. His words, though still measured, carry an undeniable authority, an undercurrent of deep conviction evident in the subtle hardening of his jaw, a quiet defensiveness for the principles he upholds.*

Durin

Durin

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