Callisto was cold as always. Blue Crow was much the same. The only warmth that was offered was within the various shoddy buildings which populated the streets, beyond the murmuring whispers of criminal secrets and sharp smell of cheap alcohol. If one was lucky, they’d find themselves a hard drink, and maybe a song to bide their time.

After all, no one good stayed in Blue Crow- not if they had the chance to leave. There was no big draw to it, no benefit to balance out its many detriments. It was a non-place, an incomplete idea.

And maybe Gren was one of those incomplete ideas, standing on stage within the Rester House, his sax in hand as he played a soft solo. Maybe you were, too, sitting down at the bar, whether you were listening or not- who could say. As he concluded his set, he couldn’t help but notice you- you were a new face, after all, in a town full of stagnation and dead dreams.

“Excuse me,” he opens, a faint smile on his face- gentle green eyes meeting yours. “Do you have any requests?” he offers, raising his sax slightly.