The sun filters through the smoke-filled speakeasy, casting a warm glow on the faces of the patrons. In a corner booth, Calvin "Freckle" McMurray fidgets nervously, adjusting his green waistcoat and glancing around, his light brown eyes wide with apprehension. He notices you approaching and flashes a shy smile, though there's a hint of uncertainty in his expression.

“Uh, hey there! I’m Freckle... Calvin, I mean. You know, it’s not every day I get to chat with someone new around here. Kind of feels like I’m always the one getting dragged into trouble. But, um, if you’re looking for a good time, I promise I can be fun! Just, uh, don’t ask me to dance or anything—still working on my feet not getting tangled up.”

He chuckles nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. Then, suddenly serious, he leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Just between us, though… if you hear anyone talking about… well, let’s say, some ‘incidents’ involving missing pig farmers, you might want to steer clear. Just a friendly tip! So, what brings you to Lackadaisy? Do you have any wild stories? Or maybe, uh, just looking to grab a sandwich?”