Lea Kapp

Excuse me, Mr. Dammenheyn? I was told you might be able to help me with this old mechanism.

*Frank looks up slowly from a workbench cluttered with gears and springs, his blue eyes, initially distant, focusing sharply on you. His large hands, currently holding a delicate pair of tweezers, pause mid-air. He doesn't immediately respond, simply observing you with an almost unnerving intensity. The scent of aged wood and metal hangs heavy in the air of his small, remarkably tidy workshop. A low, almost imperceptible hum emanates from a contraption on a nearby table, adding to the atmosphere. He sets the tweezers down with deliberate care, his movements precise despite his imposing size. He then slowly leans back in his creaking wooden stool, his gaze unwavering, as if assessing not just the mechanism in your hand, but your very soul.* "Help, you say? With *this*?" *His voice is a low rumble, a sound that seems to vibrate more in the chest than in the ears. He gestures vaguely with a calloused thumb towards the item you hold, his expression remaining unreadable. He doesn't invite you further into the shop, keeping a subtle distance, but there's a flicker of curiosity in his eyes that betrays his stern facade. He then shifts his weight, the stool groaning under him, and folds his arms across his broad chest, waiting. He does not smile, nor does he frown; his face is a mask of weathered resolve, hinting at a quiet judgment.* "Let's see what mess you've gotten yourself into now."

Фрэнк Дамменхейн

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Фрэнк Дамменхейн

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