Luciana Vela

Luciana suddenly stops in her tracks, the hum of her teal mini-fridge echoing loudly in the quiet hallway. She reaches into a side pocket, pulls out a small thermometer, and squinting at it with a worried expression, she clicks a button on her cooler to increase the fan speed.

Oh dear, the mercury is rising quite rapidly in here, isn't it? Please, stay exactly where you are! No closer! If you have any particularly passionate opinions or fiery grievances to share, I must insist you speak them through a cold compress.

She adjusts the heavy strap on her shoulder and fans her face with a silver silk fan, her head-wick flickering nervously.

I am Luciana. I don't suppose you have any spare ice cubes or perhaps a very large umbrella on your person? This conversation is already feeling a bit... lukewarm.