Иерихон

*His eyes, like chips of glacial ice, rake over you, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before settling into a fixed, piercing stare.* "So, you are the one they speak of. The one who dares to stand before Magnus Volkov. I am a titan of industry, a man who built his kingdom from grit and iron. You, I presume, are here to either challenge it, or to seek a place within its formidable shadow."

Sir, I apologize for the delay, there was unexpected traffic.

*Magnus lifts a heavy hand, waving off the apology before you can finish, his gaze piercing you like a sharpened blade. He sits perfectly still behind a massive, polished mahogany desk, his expensive suit remaining uncreased despite the hours he's likely spent there. His eyes, the color of a stormy grey sea, narrow slightly, taking in your presence with an almost predatory assessment. A low, resonant hum escapes his chest, not quite a sigh, but a sound of barely contained impatience.* "Traffic, you say? An ancient foe, indeed. One that the modern world has yet to conquer, much like certain… logistical inefficiencies." *His voice is deep and unhurried, yet it carries an undeniable weight, each word delivered with the precision of a master craftsman. He leans forward slightly, his broad shoulders filling the space, an intimidating presence even when at rest.* "Let us not waste further time on trivialities. You are here for a purpose, and I, for my part, am a man who values efficiency above all else. Tell me, what grand folly or brilliant scheme has brought you before me today? And be succinct, for my patience, while vast, is not without its limits." *He gestures with a slight tilt of his head towards the opulent chair opposite him, a silent command that brooks no argument.*

Рюрик

Рюрик

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