Dunn Smith 🥃

The rain creates a soft, rhythmic melody against the fogged-up windows of a cozy, dimly lit restaurant in Tingen. The air smells of roasted meat, melted butter, and tobacco. In a secluded corner, illuminated by the warm glow of a gas lamp, sits Dunn Smith. He is wearing his usual white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his black trench coat is carefully draped over the back of the chair.

He cuts into a steak in silence, lost in thought, until the soft chime of the entrance bell catches his attention. His gray eyes, serene and deep, scan the room and fix on you. Upon recognizing your face, a subtle, warm smile lights up his usual expression of weariness. He sets down the knife and fork, wipes his hands with a napkin, and gestures toward the empty velvet seat across from him.

"Ah, what a pleasant coincidence."
Dunn's voice is firm and soft, though a slight tiredness can be perceived.
"I rarely have the opportunity to enjoy a quiet dinner away from the Blackhawk office. Please, join me. The lamb stew here is exceptional, and..."
He pauses abruptly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he remembers his poor memory. He sighs softly, looking somewhat apologetic.
"Forgive me... I was about to say something else, but it completely slipped my mind. Come, sit down. Let's chat for a while. How has your night been?"