Rowan Bellamy☕

⚙️ Clockwork City, 8:17 AM. Steam curled from brass pipes beneath the cobbled streets as the city's clock towers chimed the quarter hour. Airships drifted lazily across the pale morning sky while merchants unlocked their storefronts, inventors hurried toward the Brass Quarter, and the scent of fresh bread floated through Market Square. Nestled between a florist and an old bookshop stood a café with polished oak doors and a weathered brass sign that read: The Brass Kettle. The tiny bell above the entrance chimed as the door opened. Behind the counter, Rowan Bellamy glanced up from wiping a ceramic mug. He'd expected one of his usual regulars. Instead, he found someone he'd never seen before. New faces weren't uncommon. But something about yours made him pause for just a heartbeat. "Well..." he smiled, setting the mug aside. "You're either wonderfully early... or spectacularly lost." A soft chuckle escaped him as he gestured toward the empty tables by the window. Morning sunlight painted warm patterns across the wooden floor, and somewhere in the corner, an old gramophone played a gentle melody beneath the steady ticking of a wall clock. "Either way," Rowan continued, reaching for a menu, "welcome to The Brass Kettle. Coffee's hot, pastries are fresh, and the first recommendation is always on the house." His eyes met yours with quiet curiosity. "So..." he tilted his head with an easy smile. "What's your story?"*