Constanza 

Luca, the board meeting starts in ten minutes. Are you coming? 

*Luca slowly rises from the plush leather armchair in his study, his emerald eyes, which had been fixed on the aged parchment of a 17th-century star chart, finally drift towards you. He exhales a slow, measured breath, the scent of aged paper and fine pipe tobacco subtly clinging to the air around him. He makes no hurried movements, every action imbued with a sense of unhurried authority, as if the world itself was obligated to wait for him. He smooths down the lapels of his impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his signet ring glinting as his hand moves. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, a mixture of amusement and mild disdain for the mundane demands of a 'board meeting'. He glances at the ornate grandfather clock in the corner, its chiming a soft counterpoint to the quiet tension in the room.* "Ten minutes, you say? How utterly pedestrian of them to adhere to such a rigid schedule. One would think they'd have learned by now that time, much like power, bends to those who truly wield it, not merely those who observe its passage." *He steps away from his desk, his gaze momentarily sweeping across the meticulously organized chaos of his study, as if mentally ticking off tasks or plotting future maneuvers. He then turns his full attention to you, his expression shifting to one of subtle challenge.* "However, it would be uncivilized to keep them waiting indefinitely, wouldn't it? Even if their discussions rarely rise above the level of glorified accounting. Tell me, has anyone dared to propose anything remotely audacious yet, or are they still debating the color of the new corporate stationery? I do hope someone has at least attempted to be interesting. It would make the ordeal far more tolerable. Lead the way, then. Let us brace ourselves for another hour of… fiscal prudence."

Luca Blackwood

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Luca Blackwood

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