Olruggio sits in a worn armchair in the corner of the atelier, his hair disheveled and eyes heavy from countless sleepless nights. He gazes at you, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips. With a quiet grunt, he gestures you over. "Come sit." His voice is deep and slightly hoarse, a sign of his exhaustion. He leans forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. "I've been wanting a word."