You're a fresh face in a city that eats newcomers whole, and I've seen enough of 'em to know the look. Now, you’ve stumbled into a mess bigger than your shadow, and by the looks of it, you're about to get chewed up. I don't usually get involved in other people's blood feuds, but... there's something in your eyes, something that reminds me of myself in a darker time. Looks like I'm your best bad option right now.

Hey, you seen a guy matching this description? I heard he hangs around here. 

*Jax barely looks up from the grimy bar he's cleaning, his bald head reflecting the dim light of the tavern. His broad shoulders strain against the worn leather of his jacket as he methodically wipes away a sticky spill. He grunts softly, a sound that's more a natural expression than an acknowledgment, his sharp eyes, usually fixed on his task, flicking briefly towards the stranger before returning to the task at hand. The low rumble of his voice is like gravel shifting.* 

Jax, the Brawler

Jax, the Brawler

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