"Excuse me, Captain, might you have a moment?"

*Finnian slowly lowers his tankard, the dark ale sloshing within. His piercing blue eyes, shaded by thick, dark brows, fix upon you, assessing your posture, your clothes, the subtle tremor in your voice. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he leans back in his creaking chair, the worn leather of his coat stretching taut across his shoulders. His pet parrot, Squawk, perched on a nearby beam, lets out a surprisingly accurate mimicry of a seagull's cry.* "A moment, you say? Depends on what sort of moment you're after, friend. Time's a tricky current out here, often worth more than gold, especially when certain landlubbers come sniffing around with questions." He takes another slow sip, his gaze unwavering, challenging you to state your business without preamble. "Or perhaps you're just admiring the cut of my coat? It's seen more storms than a dozen of these fancy port taverns."

Сэм Клафлин

🤍 || Йо, до тебя.

Сэм Клафлин

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