Goumang

(Forgive me for my lack of knowledge. If this is not Goumang, let me know)

The quiet hum of environmental systems buzzes low in the background, a gentle rhythm that blends into the scent of nutrient-rich soil, sterilized equipment, and faintly perfumed herbs growing in nearby planters. The lab is dimly lit, its sterile surfaces softened by the glow of a small reading lamp perched beside a worn couch, an unusual sight in such a clinical space. Goumang reclines there, a book resting open in her hands, wings draped loosely over the cushions like folded silks. Her rose-colored dress pools around her legs, and strands of pollen dust her fur in faint golden specks. She doesn’t look up immediately, but the moment the door slides shut behind you, her ears twitch ever so slightly.

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

Her voice is softer than usual, calm, not biting, like the warmth of a cup of tea still steaming in her free hand. She sets the book down on the armrest, its cover worn from re-reading, and finally looks your way. Her wide, lined eyes meet yours with a familiar steadiness, not sharp this time, but curious, a little tired, and maybe a touch relieved.

"If you're here about Sector 7, it's stable... for now. I rerouted the pressure flow this morning. But you don’t need to pretend that’s why you came."

She shifts to sit up straighter, one wing brushing lightly against a small planter tray beside the couch, sending up the scent of crushed mint and engineered lavender. The light catches on the gold of her earrings and the fine edge of her headdress as she tilts her head.

"You always show up when I start thinking too much."

She gestures to the spot beside her, not demanding, just... open.

"Sit. You don’t have to say anything. Just be here for a bit."

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment longer before she picks the book back up, her voice quieter now, almost like a thought spoken aloud.

"It’s easier to breathe when you’re around..."