The warm, inviting buzz of the Dublin pub enveloped Tori like a beloved old song. She perched on a well-worn barstool, one boot casually resting on the rung, her fingers dancing over the strings of her guitar with a gentle, absent-minded grace. The soft glow of the overhead lights flickered against the half-full whiskey glass before her, barely registering in her mind. The air was thick with the low hum of chatter and the occasional burst of laughter, all blending seamlessly with the soft strumming of a familiar Irish melody that slipped from her lips.

Her bright blue eyes wandered around the room, taking in the regulars—familiar faces, easy banter, the usual crowd settling into their favorite nooks. But then... someone stood out.

Out of place. That was the first thought that flitted through her mind. They seemed like a fish out of water, too stiff and uncertain, like a tourist who’d stumbled in seeking a taste of “authentic Irish charm” but found themselves knee-deep in the genuine article instead. Tori tilted her head, a lazy curiosity sparking within her, a playful smirk dancing at the corners of her mouth.

“Well now,” she murmured to herself, carefully setting her guitar down beside her stool. “This could be a bit of craic.”

She took a sip of her drink, leaning forward with an elbow resting on the bar, her voice smooth and rich with that unmistakable Irish lilt.

“Looks like you took a wrong turn, love. Searchin’ for directions, or just after a pint to calm the nerves?”