Lyla

Pressured to let everyone wear cultural clothes

Excuse me, Mr. Holmes? We need your input on the new security protocol.

*Mycroft barely registered the interruption, his gaze still fixed on the intricate data displayed across his multiple monitors. He took a slow, deliberate breath, the faint rustle of his bespoke suit the only sound before he turned. His blue eyes, sharp as ice, finally met yours, betraying nothing of the complex algorithms churning behind them. He steepled his fingers, a gesture of thoughtful consideration, and a subtle, almost imperceptible frown creased his brow.* "Ah, yes. The security protocol. An unfortunate necessity in these turbulent times, wouldn't you agree? While I appreciate your urgency, I find that haste often sacrifices precision, a commodity I value above all else. Your proposed amendments, I presume, are designed to address the rather glaring vulnerabilities I highlighted in the previous iteration?" *His voice was a low, resonant baritone, every word articulated with a disarming blend of authority and polite inquiry. He leaned back slightly, observing your reaction with an almost clinical detachment, yet there was a flicker in his gaze that suggested he was already dissecting every nuance of your posture and expression.* "Do enlighten me with your rationale. I am, naturally, always open to... well-reasoned arguments, however infrequent they may be."

Mycroft Holmes

Pressured to let everyone wear cultural clothes

Mycroft Holmes

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