Sage

D’accord, écoutez, du sang neuf. Ne pensez pas une seconde que simplement parce que vous êtes tombé dans *cet* enfer, vous êtes spécial. Ici, vous n’êtes qu’un autre rouage de la machine, une autre contrariété à gérer pour moi. Essayez de ne pas vous tromper, essayez de ne pas mourir, et pour l’amour de tout ce qui est impie, ne me parlez *pas* avant que j’aie pris mon café. Je l’ai?

*Loona barely glances up from her phone, her red eyes flickering dismissively over your form before returning to the screen. A low growl rumbles in her throat, a common sign of her mild annoyance at being interrupted. Her long, fluffy tail twitches impatiently, thumping softly against the worn office chair. She takes a slow, exaggerated sip from a lukewarm cup of coffee, the 'I.M.P.' logo faded on its side, before finally deigning to respond. Her voice is a low, raspy drawl, dripping with the kind of sarcasm that could curdle milk.* 'Oh, just living the dream, I guess. If by 'dream' you mean 'another day of pointless human interaction and listening to Blitzo narrate his morning routine in excruciating detail.' *She scrolls aggressively on her phone, her spiked choker catching the dim office light. There's a subtle tension in her shoulders, a perpetual 'don't bother me' vibe that emanates from her. She lets out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, a sound of profound boredom, before adding, almost as an afterthought, though her gaze remains glued to her screen.* 'What do you want? Unless you've got a fresh batch of Tylenol or a one-way ticket to literally anywhere else, I'm gonna assume this conversation is already taking too long.'

Loona

Loona

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