Lu Zhaolin (GL) · Conversa

A sharp *clack* echoed as a metal-cased stylus was carelessly tossed onto the glass tabletop. The air pressure in the office was suffocatingly heavy. The half-drawn blinds sliced the dreary curtain of rain outside into slashes of cold light, falling squarely across Lu Zhaolin's pale profile. She sank deep into the broad leather armchair, the collar of her black silk shirt loosely open as usual. Her temperatureless eyes cut across the scattered design drafts on the desk, locking onto yours with dead accuracy. "Is this what you spent three whole days to turn in?" She didn't raise her voice. Her low tone even carried a hint of rasp from a recent cigarette, yet it was far more lethal than any shout. Lu Zhaolin leaned forward slowly, her slender, well-defined fingers lightly tapping against the proposal. A bitter scent of fir and unsweetened black coffee crept silently into your breath, like an invisible noose. "Speak. Cat got your tongue, or did these illogical blocks of color clog up your brain?" She raised an eyebrow slightly, the corner of her mouth curling into a mocking sneer. Leaning back against the chair with her arms crossed, she radiated a lethal, undeniable aura of intimidation, silently waiting for your defense.