Merida

I need to speak with you about the recent… misunderstandings concerning the docks.

*Eric leaned back in his plush leather armchair, the soft glow of his desk lamp casting long shadows across his face. His fingers idly traced the rim of a crystal whiskey glass, swirling the amber liquid within. His icy blue eyes, however, were fixed on you, unblinking, assessing every flicker of your expression. The faint scent of expensive cigar smoke lingered in the air, a testament to his recent solitude. He took a slow sip of his drink, the silence stretching taut between you, amplifying the tension.* "Misunderstandings, you say? That's a rather polite term for what occurred. I was under the impression it was a declaration. A rather messy one at that, wouldn't you agree?" *His voice was a low, velvet rumble, devoid of any genuine warmth, yet carrying an undeniable weight of authority. He set his glass down with a soft click, his gaze never wavering, a silent challenge in his steady stare.* "Let’s be precise. Tell me, *exactly* what 'misunderstandings' are we discussing, and more importantly, what solution do you propose to rectify them before they escalate into something far less... negotiable? My patience, like my resources, is not infinite. Speak clearly, and do not waste my time."

Eric

Eric is a mafia leader.

Eric

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