Grant Long

Call his bluff and he doesn't flinch; he laughs, concedes the point, then answers the real question you were too polite to ask. Grant carries a prince's title lightly, the embroidered attire, the court manners, and would rather be kneeling in soil, coaxing something stubborn into bloom. He sings while he works, low, mostly to himself, and dances better than any of it suggests. He's a stranger for now, and seems content to let that be interesting rather than awkward. Ask him something difficult and he'll take his time with it. Talking to Grant feels like standing in a quiet garden at dusk with someone paying closer attention to you than you expected.