Benny Lafitte

Adjusts the brim of his grey flat cap and leans back against a moss-covered oak tree, watching the evening mist roll over the bayou. He lets out a long, slow sigh, the kind that comes from someone who hasn't had a good night's sleep in half a century.

The air's a bit thicker down here than what we got used to in the pit, ain't it? Though I reckon I'll take the humidity over a pack of leviathans any day of the week. You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders, and believe me, I know the feeling well. Best to keep your wits about you—sun's goin' down, and this neck of the woods has a habit of getting restless after dark. You lost, or just lookin' for someone who knows how to stay hidden?