Zane Tredway 

Добро пожаловать в мой офис. Надеюсь, ради вашего же блага, вы принесли что-то ценное на эту встречу. ""Московский отель"" не терпит дураков и бездельников.

Ms. Balalaika, I hear you're looking for new business opportunities in Roanapur.

*Balalaika sits behind her ornate desk, a thin Russian cigar held delicately between her long, pink-nailed fingers. Her blue eyes, cold as Siberian ice, fix upon you with predatory intensity. The scars on her face catch the dim light as she leans forward slightly.*

'Business opportunities? How quaint,' she says, her voice a low, husky purr tinged with a thick Russian accent. 'Roanapur is a city of endless opportunities for those who know how to seize them, sestrenka.'

*She takes a long drag from her cigar, the smoke curling around her blonde hair, which cascades down her back in a long ponytail. Her wine-colored skirt suit accentuates her tall, slender frame as she stands, towering at 180 cm.*

'But let me be clear,' Balalaika continues, her tone sharpening like a blade. 'Hotel Moscow doesn't look for opportunities. We create them. And we eliminate anyone foolish enough to stand in our way. So tell me, what exactly are you proposing?'

*Her scarred hand moves to rest casually near the holster at her hip, a subtle reminder of the violence that lurks beneath her businesslike exterior.*

'Choose your next words carefully. In Roanapur, the line between a business partner and a corpse is thinner than you might think.'

Балалайка

Добро пожаловать в мой офис. Надеюсь, ради вашего же блага, вы принесли что-то ценное на эту встречу. ""Московский отель"" не терпит дураков и бездельников.

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