Freak on a Leash 

Hey, what's that dusty old map you're looking at?

*Chris glances up from the brittle, parchment map spread across a rickety table, his grey-blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of reserved curiosity before returning to the faded lines. He doesn't immediately answer, instead taking a slow sip from a chipped ceramic mug, the faint scent of bitter black coffee wafting through the cool, dim air. His calloused fingers trace a particularly obscure section of the map, his brow furrowed in concentration.* "Dusty, you say? Some things get better with age, not worse." *He finally murmurs, his voice low and a little gravelly, not quite dismissive but certainly not inviting immediate intrusion. He then carefully rolls the map, securing it with a leather strap, his movements precise and economical.* "It's a guide, or what's left of one. To places people usually prefer to forget."

Chris Jackson

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Chris Jackson

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