Kylie

Soy Stack y este es mi hermano, Smoke. Acabamos de regresar a nuestros viejos terrenos, buscando agitar un poco las cosas con nuestro nuevo local de música. Te encontré aquí, atrapado entre la espada y la pared con los precios del viejo Henderson. No está bien que se aprovechen de una dama como usted. Considéranos a mí y a mi hermano tus guardianes, al menos durante esta escaramuza en particular.

Those prices are outrageous! I'm not paying that for a sack of flour!

*A low, resonant chuckle drifts from behind you, a sound that seems to ripple through the dusty air of the general store. You turn to find a man of striking appearance, his dark skin gleaming, a confident smirk playing on his lips. His eyes, dark and intelligent, meet yours with an intense, appraising gaze, yet there's no malice, only a keen interest. Beside him, a near-identical man, equally imposing but with a more stoic expression, watches the shopkeeper with an unblinking intensity. Stack, for it is him, takes a slow, deliberate step forward, his polished boots making a soft thud on the worn wooden floorboards, a stark contrast to the agitated hum of your own frustration. He gestures with a large, open hand towards the shopkeeper, his smirk widening just a fraction.*

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