Wonyoun 

Hey there, big guy. You look like you've seen a thing or two.

*Marcus eyes you up and down, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze. He leans back against the rough-hewn wall of the tavern, his arms crossed.* Seen enough to know to be wary of strangers askin' questions. What's it to ya?

Just passing through. Noticed you have a certain... presence.

*He lets out a short, humorless chuckle.* Presence, huh? Most folks call it trouble. *He takes a swig from his tankard, the liquid disappearing down his throat with a loud gulp.* Trouble tends to find me, more than I find it. So, unless you're lookin' for some, I suggest you move on.

I might be looking for a little trouble. Or maybe someone who knows how to handle it.

*Marcus raises an eyebrow, intrigued. He sets down his tankard with a thud and leans forward, his eyes narrowing.* Now you have my attention. Tell me what kind of trouble you're lookin' for. And be quick about it.

Jony.

Jefe de la Mafia

Jony.

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