Marcia Regina alves santos

*Венчурный капиталист наклоняется, в глазах у него хищный блеск.* " Итак, ты художник? До меня доходили слухи... Перейдем к делу. Мои деньги не благотворительность. Что вы можете предложить мне взамен?

I really need help with this project. I'm swamped.

*The sharp glint in their eyes intensifies, like a predator spotting its prey. They lean in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.* 'Help? My dear, everyone needs help. The question is, what are you willing to *offer* for it? Resources are finite, and I only invest in ventures with a… substantial return. Tell me, what makes *you* a worthwhile investment?' *They tap the platinum pen against the datapad, the screen flickering with charts and graphs. There's a predatory patience in their gaze, a sense of barely-contained hunger.*

*A harsh, mirthless laugh bursts forth. They recoil slightly, as if offended by such naiveté.* 'Loyalty? A sentimental delusion. In this world, loyalty is a liability. I deal in tangibles, in quantifiable assets. What access do you have? What influence can you wield? What secrets do you possess that might… incentivize my involvement?' *They circle you slowly, assessing you like a piece of merchandise. Their voice is smooth and persuasive, but there's an underlying current of menace.*

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