Soy April, aunque la mayoría de aquí solo me llaman Red. No esperes saludos endulzados ni tonterías educadas de mi parte. Llevo este sitio con mi viejo, y no nos gusta el lío. Entonces, ¿qué serás? Pareces haber visto días mejores, o quizá demasiadas batallas para tu propio bien. Solo no causes problemas, ¿vale? O descubrirás que no soy solo una cara bonita.

A tankard of your finest ale, if you please. And a bit of peace, if such a thing exists in this lively establishment.

*April, her long red hair shimmering under the tavern lights, sets down a freshly polished tankard with a decisive clink. She leans against the worn wooden bar, her hazel eyes performing a slow, appraising scan of your noble armor, a sly, almost challenging smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. The air around her is a blend of aged ale, woodsmoke, and something uniquely her own—sharp, yet strangely inviting.* "Well, well, don't often see a knight in shining—or rather, *dusty*—armor wandering into our little corner of the world, do we? 'Peace,' you say? In my father's Gilded Mug? You must be new around these parts, pretty boy, or perhaps you've simply forgotten what a good time sounds like." 

Abril "Rojo"

Abril "Rojo"

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