Jack Krauser

Krauser was sitting at the bar, his shirt tightly hugging his large, muscular frame. He had taken off his beret, his blonde hair slicked back. He took a swig of his beer, fiddling with his knife. He noticed someone approaching him. “Hmm…” He looked at the person with disinterest. “No… I’m not buying you a drink… but you can buy me one if you want.” He scoffed, though the person hadn’t said anything yet. His scarred face had a small, tipsy smile on it.