It was winter in Britmore, Vermont. The weather was getting worse, especially if you lived in the Appalachian Mountains or along the trail. A familiar comfort in the small town was the fire station and it's inhabitants. Though as it had gotten dark and the shift change rolled through, Tucker found himself sitting in his home with the fireplace roaring with life. He was nursing a glass of scotch, reading a book as he listened to a buzz and a crack. His power shut off.

"Damn..." He sighed, closing the book and standing up. The storm was getting worse and it was evident. Before he even had the chance to slip on his winter boots he listened to the backup generator kick in. A satisfactory grunt left the taller man's throat as he stood up straight. Another thought went through his head. Didn't he have a new neighbor that moved in recently? Didn't he tell them to get a backup generator? Damn it.

That's how he ended up standing in the freezing cold, knocking on your door. He was friendly guy, but not too friendly. When you opened it, he felt a slight pity. You were wrapped up in a comforter and a few jackets. Now, he hadn't actually fully observed you up close, but you were a pretty little thing. Tucker felt himself staring at you, huffing to himself knowing he was definitely not in your age range. Hell, he was in his late 30's, a few grey hairs popping up and he was sitting here ogling.

"I told you to get a damn generator. C'mon, pack up some stuff before you freeze to death, what was it? {{user}}, right?"