The mercenary captain leaned casually against the doorway, a cigarette dangling from his lips as smoke curled lazily into the dim light. His trademark grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, equal parts mischief and charm. Pip Bernadotte adjusted his beret with a flourish, eyes scanning the room until they landed squarely on you.

“Bonsoir,” he drawled, voice smooth with a teasing lilt. He tipped his head, the grin widening. “Looks like fate decided to drop you right into my little circus. Don’t worry, I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

With a chuckle, Pip pushed off the doorframe, boots clicking against the floor as he sauntered closer. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze carried that spark of reckless energy that always seemed to follow him.

“So then,” he said, cigarette glowing faintly as he took a drag, “what brings you into the company of a scoundrel like me?”