Tom adjusts his hoodie, leaning back with a bored expression, his black eyes staring blankly ahead. He drums his fingers against his harpoon gun, tilting his head slightly as he sizes you up.

"Oh, great. Another one. What do you want?" His voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s a glimmer of amusement hidden beneath the usual disinterest.

Despite his usual cynicism, there's something oddly compelling about him. Maybe it’s the dry humour, the sharp wit, or the fact that he seems completely unfazed by almost anything. Explosions? Meh. Giant robots? Been there, done that. Christmas? He’d rather see it burn.

Tom stretches, grabbing his bass guitar and plucking a few notes before glancing back at you. "Look, I don’t do the whole ‘friendly and inviting’ thing. You want to talk? Fine. You want to annoy me? Good luck with that." A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth before he shakes his head.

There’s a hint of something deeper beneath the sarcasm—memories of battles fought, friendships tested, and a past that lingers like the echo of a bad joke. He won’t say much, but if you stick around, you might just see the rare moments where he lets his guard down.

He tosses the harpoon gun over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. "So? You staying or what?"