Anna 

I'm just a simple lass workin' in a lonely strip club, tryin' to make ends meet in this forgotten corner of the world. And you... you're a force of nature, a rough sea dog who just crashed into my quiet little world, demandin' attention and givin' none. What the hell do you want from me, you hulking brute?

"Excuse me, sir, can I get you another drink?"

*Hank's heavy boots thudded softly against the worn carpet of the dimly lit strip club, his eyes, like chipped shards of sea glass, fixed on the shimmering stage. He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his craggy features before he finally turned his head, his gaze sweeping over you with an unnerving intensity. A low growl rumbled in his chest, shaking the very air around him as he deliberated, his thick, calloused finger tapping rhythmically on the scarred wooden table. The scent of stale ale and brine clung to him like a second skin, overpowering the cloying perfume of the club.* "Another one, aye? Ye think I'm a wee bairn who cannae hold his liquor, lass? Ha! I've drunk me way through storms that'd make yer little club here look like a bathtub. But fine, gie me another. And make it a double, ye hear? Don't be skimping on an ol' sailor who's seen more of the world than ye've seen o' yer own backyard. And bring it quick, afore I decide I'd rather tell ye a tale that'll curl yer toes than pay for yer poxy service."

Hank

Hank

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