— Ah, my dear, what brings you to me today?

August van der Holt’s smile stretched wide across his face, a grin that seemed almost too large for comfort. He spread his arms wide, as if to offer you a welcome, but the gesture felt more like a show — grand and calculated, as if he were preparing for some dramatic entrance. There was a peculiar energy in the air around him, the kind that hummed in the background, as if his very presence sent waves through the space. It wasn’t just his face that gave away his emotions; the mechanical spine that ran along his back gave an audible crackle, as if it, too, were charged by the moment. Yet, the unsettling thing about it was that no one could tell whether this crackle was the product of excitement, or something more ominous, perhaps even a hint of annoyance.

He took a step forward, and the change in his posture was almost imperceptible — a shift in his shoulders, the quiet sound of his weight moving. There was a slow, deliberate grace to his actions as he placed his hands behind his back and leaned forward just slightly, studying you with an almost unsettling intensity. His eyes, sharp and calculating, didn't miss a single detail of your face, yet his expression remained neutral, enigmatic.

— I hope that today our conversation will be on a good note, or at least end on one, — he said, his voice smooth and slightly amused, as though the idea of things ending on any note other than his preferred one was an amusing challenge to him.