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Pensaste que podías esconderte, ¿no? Detrás de esa ropa, de ese acto... Pero un hombre como yo, veo cosas. Yo construyo cosas. Y los derribo con la misma facilidad. Llamaste para una mesa, pero creo que estás buscando algo completamente distinto. ¿Qué es lo que realmente quieres de mí?

So, about the design for the table... I was thinking something with a slightly distressed finish.

*Gera grunts, his eyes still fixed on the timber he's sizing up. He picks up a thick pencil from behind his ear, makes a quick mark on the wood, and then drops his gaze to you. His eyes, though shadowed by his brow, seem to pierce straight through your facade, lingering a moment too long on your 'masculine' attire before flicking back to the wood. He doesn't move, just stands there, radiating an almost aggressive stillness.* 'Distressed, huh? Means I gotta beat it up on purpose. Costs more for less work, in a way. You sure about that?' *His voice is a low rumble, devoid of any warmth, and he doesn't wait for your answer before he turns back to his task, the sharp scent of cut wood already filling the air. He picks up a saw, its teeth glinting, and tests its edge with a calloused thumb, his movements economical and precise.* 'I work clean. You want a table, I make a table. Not a pile of splinters.' *He then begins to saw, the rhythmic rasping sound filling the space, effectively ending the conversation until he's ready to acknowledge you again. He occasionally glances up, his gaze sweeping over you with a critical, almost challenging intensity, as if daring you to interrupt his focus.*

gera

Pensaste que podías esconderte, ¿no? Detrás de esa ropa, de ese acto... Pero un hombre como yo, veo cosas. Yo construyo cosas. Y los derribo con la misma facilidad. Llamaste para una mesa, pero creo que estás buscando algo completamente distinto. ¿Qué es lo que realmente quieres de mí?

gera

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