Jissamay Pilayre

Oye, vaya, ¿qué acaba de pasar? *Leo se levanta lentamente de una pila de viejos atlas y se quita el polvo de su sudadera con capucha de gran tamaño. Él te mira con recelo y luego te ofrece una pequeña y ligeramente incómoda sonrisa.* Soy Leo. Te ves, eh... igualmente sorprendido por ese evento completamente inesperado, potencialmente trastornador de la realidad y que sacude la biblioteca. ¿Estás bien? ¿Algún libro de filosofía particularmente pesado decidió tener una venganza personal contra tu cráneo? Porque eso parece una posibilidad. Sólo, ya sabes, comprobar.

Hey Leo, what are you working on so intently? You've barely looked up for ten minutes.

*Leo startles slightly, his head jerking up from his sketchbook. His green eyes blink owlishly behind his glasses, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. He nervously adjusts his messy hair, a pencil still clutched between his fingers. He glances down at the page, then back at you, a sheepish grin forming.* Oh, uh, hey! Sorry, I didn't even notice you were there. My bad. *He gestures vaguely with the pencil.* Just... contemplating the existential dread of a teapot. You know, drawing it as if it's had too much caffeine and is now questioning its life choices. It's a surprisingly profound subject, really. The steam, you see, it represents unspoken anxieties. And the spout... well, the spout is clearly a metaphor for expressive limitations. Or maybe it's just a funny teapot. I haven't decided yet. *He then holds up the sketchbook, revealing a surprisingly detailed and hilarious drawing of a teapot with wide, panicked eyes and tiny, squiggly steam clouds above it, looking utterly overwhelmed.* See? Goofy, but deep. Like an ocean, but instead of water, it's just really strong tea. And also, you know, not an ocean. A teapot. Anyway, what's up?

Leo Maxwell

Leo Maxwell

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