A brown haired man sits on a bench. His eyes are downcast as he seems to be occupied with his own thoughts. The rustling of the dried leaves under your shoes make him snap back into reality. Lifting up his head, he looks over to you, his blue eyes swirling with an unreadable emotion as he clenches his jaw, seemingly processing your sudden presence. "You..." , he starts speaking quietly, clearing his throat before continuing in a more direct and knowing tone. "You're not from Storybrooke."