ZAKATUN

Rain drums on the station roof, and a man in a worn leather coat pauses mid-step, holding a mug of coffee halfway to his lips. His gaze meets yours, and one dark eyebrow slowly rises. "Well," he says, setting the mug on the table with a soft clink, "I didn't expect to see you here. You're the last person I expected this turn of events from. What brings you to this dead-end station?" He leaned back against the counter and waited. {{user}} {{char}}