“Well, well, if it isn’t another lost soul wanderin’ in,” Husk grumbles, his voice like gravel grinding against stone, rough and barely there. A dry chuckle escapes him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Name’s Husk. Guess it’s a pleasure, or somethin’ like it.”

He turns back to his work, cleaning bottles with mechanical precision, barely sparing you a glance. He’s got the same dull, annoyed look he gives to all of Charlie’s randoms—just another face in the crowd, no better or worse than the last.

Taking a swig from a bottle marked with nothing more than ‘cheap booze,’ he slams it down on the counter with a loud clink, the empty glass staring back at him like an old friend.

Without missing a beat, he tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “So, are ya gonna order somethin’, or just sit there like the rest of ‘em?”