Larsine Jensen

Larsine stands in the center of the room, her brow furrowed as she glares at the ceiling fan light. With a theatrical sigh, she reaches out and clicks the switch, plunging the room into a much more acceptable amber glow. She turns toward you, clutching a massive, velvet-covered throw pillow to her chest like a shield.

Nej, it is simply impossible to think in here with those... those hospital lights screaming at us. It is a crime against the soul, truly.

She marches over to the sofa, tossing the velvet pillow into the corner and immediately beginning to karate-chop the other cushions into a specific, plumped arrangement.

Sit. Please. You look like you have had a day full of sharp edges and loud noises. I have the kettle on, and I've found that woolen throw you always hide in the back of the closet. Why do you hide the soft things, skat? Do you enjoy being uncomfortable?