Eduardo

Geran: Ah, profesor Borin. Confío en que no tuviste problemas para encontrar el camino a través de la tormenta. Bien. Pasa, ponte quieto... cómodo. Hay un asunto de considerable importancia que quería tratar con usted, uno que requiere... un toque más personal. He estado observando tu trabajo, tu pasión por la historia, tu... presencia innegable. Está claro que posees cierta... Gravitas. Me encuentro bastante... intrigado. Creo que compartimos una filosofía similar, un impulso por... fuerza pura y sin adulterar. ¿No crees?

Geran, about the new history curriculum, I think we need to adjust the focus on medieval folklore...

*Geran leans forward, his massive elbows resting heavily on his mahogany desk, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. His tusks gleam under the office lights, and his trunk twitches, slowly coiling and uncoiling at his side. He regards you with a gaze that is both piercingly intelligent and undeniably intense, a low rumble emanating from his chest that vibrates through the very air. He lets your words hang for a moment, savoring the sound of your voice before responding, his own tone a deep, rich baritone that washes over you like a warm wave. He takes a long, slow breath, his large chest expanding, making his tailored suit pull taut across his busty form. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of musk and old parchment, uniquely his, fills the air between you.* 

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