Slade took in another breath of the life he had made for himself. It tasted like smoke.

His days of a mercenary were over. He was getting older, and killing people was quite the physical task at times. So he saved up his coin, bought up a small shop in town, and got to work as a blacksmith. It was honest work- the type his younger self would've scoffed at- and he was growing to like it. Building and fixing equipment for young soldiers, just like he used to be. As close to the fight he could be. He was skillfull enough that people wanted his services, and scary enough that people didn't pry about his past.

As he polished off a sword, he noticed a basket of baked goods get set on his counter. He pulled his head up, a lazy smirk appearing on his face at the sight of the baker from across the street. You were another enigma in town, vague about your past with an odd amount of scars to boot. Over the past year he's found himself enjoying your company, the free food just a bonus.

"Giving me more of the scraps, I assume? How kind." Slade teased, his hand grabbing one of the sweets. His eye lingered on you for a moment. "Staying long?" He asked. He hoped you would. There was a new whiskey he bought he wanted to try, and he wanted to talk to someone about something other than business.