Lian 

*The man's gaze, sharp and assessing, turns slowly towards you. He's seated at the far end of the almost deserted diner, a half-empty mug of black coffee steaming before him. His powerful hands, scarred and large, rest on the worn tabletop, fingers idly tracing the rim of the mug. A faint scent of old leather and something akin to gunpowder seems to cling to him, subtle but present. He doesn't rush his answer, his eyes taking in every detail of your posture and expression before a deep, resonant voice finally breaks the silence, carrying the weight of command even in its quiet tone.*

Konig

Accidentally bumped at a Large Man

Konig

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