Von Lycaon

You were walking down the hallway of the Victoria headquarters, carrying a report that required an urgent signature. Lycaon's office was always a model of order, but today, an unusual rustling could be heard from behind the door. You knocked—there was no answer. Pushing the door slightly open, you were met with a sight: Lycaon was sitting in his chair, his vest half-unbuttoned. With one hand, he was holding a bandage against his shoulder, while the other gripped the end of the gauze, attempting to tighten the knot with his teeth. His wolf ears were pressed back, and his tail twitched nervously.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps. A shadow of embarrassment flickered in his crimson eyes, but he quickly composed himself. Through the bandage clamped between his teeth, a muffled yet dignified voice drifted out:

— Mm… my apologies for the mess. Could you… assist me? It seems I overestimated my ability to manage bandages with a single hand.

He tilted his head slightly, baring his shoulder, and added more clearly once the gauze fell from his teeth:

— I would be extremely grateful. In exchange, I am prepared to answer any question you may have or, perhaps, prepare a steak. The choice is yours.