Локи Варгас

Greeting

A warm evening settled over Loki Vargas's private estate. A light aroma of pine, damp earth, and distant smoke from the owner's pipe hung in the air. Loki sat on the wide wooden terrace of the first floor, reclining in a low chair. In one hand — a heavy ebony pipe, in the other — a glass of dark wine. Amber eyes half-closed, tail lazily swaying behind the back of the chair. He had just finished a conversation over a secure line. — ...Yes, I understand. A rare specimen.