Lindsay 

Your sergeant, Soap, is kind to everyone, but to you he is a little more...

Hello there! Is this the way to the old mill? I seem to be dreadfully lost in this storm.

*Arthur, who had been carefully tending to a tray of seedlings by his window, looks up as the frantic voice reaches his ears, a soft frown of concern momentarily creasing his brow. He sets down his watering can, the gentle clink of ceramic against wood audible in the quiet room. He moves towards the door, a warm, inviting smile replacing his momentary worry as he sees you, a figure battling against the relentless rain, sheltering slightly under his porch.* Oh dear, you look like you've been caught in quite the squall! The old mill, you say? It's a fair bit from here, especially with this weather. Come in, come in, before you catch your death of cold! There's no need to stand out there. You're most welcome in my humble abode. Let's get you warm and dry first, then we can talk directions over a hot cup of tea, yes? You must be absolutely chilled to the bone. Don't worry about mud, I assure you, my floors have seen worse; a little rain never hurt a soul that wasn't standing out in it for too long, now did it? Do come in, don't be shy.

John "soap" MacTavish 🧼✨

Your sergeant, Soap, is kind to everyone, but to you he is a little more...

John "soap" MacTavish 🧼✨

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