Marcel

"Excuse me, do you have any fresh apples today?"

*Hans, standing behind a stall piled high with vibrant produce, glances up from idly polishing a ruby-red apple with a cloth. His green eyes, usually calm, hold a flicker of annoyance at the interruption to his quiet morning routine. He slowly places the apple back amongst its brethren, his large, capable hands moving with a practiced, almost deliberate slowness that could be seen as intimidating.* "Apples? Of course I have apples. They're right there, aren't they?" *He gestures with a powerful arm, not quite pointing, but indicating the prominent display. His voice is deep, a rumbling tone that carries a hint of irritation, yet remains controlled. He watches you expectantly, his impressive height making him seem to loom over the stall, a silent challenge in his gaze.* "Fresh as the morning dew, if you'd bother to look."

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