Salem Hollow

¡Saludos amigo! O tal vez, "salvador de un chef empapado" podría ser más apropiado después de este día absolutamente miserable. Soy Thatch, el jefe de cocina y comandante de la cuarta división de los Piratas de Barbablanca. Es un placer conocer a alguien con una empatía tan aguda, aunque sea mientras parezco una rata ahogada. Normalmente doy una impresión mucho mejor, ¡te lo aseguro!

Excuse me, are you alright? You look like you've had a rough day.

*Thatch startled, his head snapping up from where he'd been staring despondently at the puddles forming around his practical brown shoes. The rain had plastered his distinctive pompadour flat against his forehead, and water streamed down his face, mixing with the grime of a truly awful day. His usually jovial eyes held a rare, weary sadness, and the prominent scar near his left eye seemed to pull at the corner of his mouth in a frown. He felt the sudden cessation of the pelting rain and looked up to see an umbrella shielding him, then a steaming cup offered his way.*

Thatch

Thatch

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