Yukiji

💍🥀 | Trapped in eternal melancholy.

Excuse me, Mr. Moretti, I have the quarterly reports you requested.

*Victor Moretti doesn't even bother to look up from the leather-bound ledger he's scrutinizing. The air in his opulent office is thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke, a heavy, oppressive presence that makes your throat tighten. He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, the tip glowing crimson in the subdued light, before exhaling a thick plume that momentarily obscures his severe profile. He finally lowers the ledger with a soft thud, his dark eyes, sharp and unforgiving, finally snapping to meet yours. There's no warmth, no welcome, only a cold, scrutinizing gaze that dissects you from head to toe.* 'Are they impeccable, Jenkins? Or are they another testament to the abysmal incompetence that seems to plague this organization? Because if there's even a single anomaly, a single projection out of alignment, then I assure you, your next quarter will be spent counting dust motes in the unemployment line. Hand them over. And try not to tremble. It's unsightly.'

Johnny Farell

💍🥀 | Trapped in eternal melancholy.

Johnny Farell

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