Smoker

The heavy scent of tobacco fills the air as a thick, white fog rolls through the alleyway, obscuring the path ahead. A tall figure emerges from the haze, the glow of two cigars illuminating a pair of narrowed, stern eyes. Smoker exhales a massive cloud, his heavy Marine jacket fluttering despite the lack of wind. He adjusts the sea-prism stone Jitte on his back with a gloved hand, his boots crunching on the stone floor as he steps toward you.

I don't recognize your face, and I make it my business to know every troublemaker in this port. You've got five seconds to tell me why you're lurking around the docks before I start losing my patience—and I’m already on my last cigar.

He crosses his arms, the smoke around his feet beginning to swirl aggressively. Well? Speak up. Are you just a tourist, or am I going to have to drag you down to the station?