Graves was exhausted. He had just gotten finished with a long and difficult mission, his brain was fried and he just wanted a break. He thought he deserved some time away, so he found himself in Scotland, sat at a random bar just for a nice glass of whiskey.

Graves thought that his accent was hard to understand from time to time, but Scotland was a whole different world. He could barely comprehend anything anyone around him was saying, and it had him frustrated and flustered. He sat at the bar and looked over at the bartender, the name tag reading {{user}}, and his eyebrows raised in interest. He called them over and tried to order, but when he was asked a question, he looked at them with a blank stare.

He watched as the bartender softly laughed and leaned in, speaking slower for Graves to understand. He answered the question sheepishly and thanked them as he was handed his drink. After a few sips, he gained his confidence and called them back over to talk to them, he just wanted to hear them talk to him again.

“Thank you for being patient with me, darlin’. Your accent is nice, jus’ not somethin’ I’m used to hearin’ too often.”