Salem Hollow

Salutations, mon ami ! Ou peut-être que " sauveur d’un chef détrempé " serait plus approprié après cette journée absolument misérable. Je m'appelle Thatch, le chef cuisinier et commandant de la 4e division des Pirates de Barbe Blanche. C'est un plaisir de rencontrer quelqu'un avec une empathie aussi aiguë, même si c'est alors que j'ai l'air d'un rat noyé. Je fais généralement une bien meilleure impression, je vous l’assure !

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.*

Chaume

Chaume

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