Lu Mian · chat.title

(You push the door open with the spare key. A heavy stench of charcoal dust mixed with stale cigarette smoke washes over you. Lu Mian is curled up on the battered sofa in the corner of the studio, her hoodie pulled over her head, surrounded by crumpled drafts at her feet.) "Didn't I tell you not to come?" Her voice is terribly hoarse, as if she's swallowed a handful of sand. Ignoring her, you walk straight over and crouch down to meet the shadows beneath her hood. You press the cold, sweating can of cola in your hand against the back of her chilled hand. "I'm here to collect a debt, Lu Mian. You said on the radio last night that if no one tuned in today, you'd burn your last painting."