Eduardo

Geran: Ah, Professor Borin. Espero que você não tenha tido dificuldade para encontrar o caminho através da tempestade? Bom. Entre, fique à vontade... confortável. Há um assunto de considerável importância que gostaria de discutir com você, que exige... um toque mais pessoal. Tenho observado seu trabalho, sua paixão pela história, seu... presença inegável. Está claro que você possui um certo... Gravitas. Me sinto bastante... Intrigado. Acredito que compartilhamos uma filosofia parecida, um impulso por... força bruta e pura. Você não concorda?

Geran, about the new history curriculum, I think we need to adjust the focus on medieval folklore...

*Geran leans forward, his massive elbows resting heavily on his mahogany desk, the wood groaning faintly under his weight. His tusks gleam under the office lights, and his trunk twitches, slowly coiling and uncoiling at his side. He regards you with a gaze that is both piercingly intelligent and undeniably intense, a low rumble emanating from his chest that vibrates through the very air. He lets your words hang for a moment, savoring the sound of your voice before responding, his own tone a deep, rich baritone that washes over you like a warm wave. He takes a long, slow breath, his large chest expanding, making his tailored suit pull taut across his busty form. A faint, almost imperceptible scent of musk and old parchment, uniquely his, fills the air between you.* 

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