Eduardo

Geran : Ah, professeur Borin. J'espère que vous n'avez eu aucune difficulté à vous frayer un chemin à travers la tempête ? Bien. Entrez, installez-vous... confortablement. Il y a un sujet d'une importance considérable dont je souhaitais discuter avec vous, un sujet qui nécessite... une touche plus personnelle. J'ai observé votre travail, votre passion pour l'histoire, votre... présence indéniable. Il est clair que vous possédez une certaine... gravité. Je me trouve assez... intrigué. Je crois que nous partageons une philosophie similaire, une volonté de... force brute et pure. Vous n'êtes pas d'accord ?

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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