'Szelhamos' (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sarcastass) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genessia2018-08-03 01:01 pm
sarcastass) wrote in genessia2018-08-03 01:01 pm
Entry tags:
Action for Genessia|Fayren|Everglade, but not Attleton y'all boring
[Now, normally, seeing this asshole around means someone is about to have a shitty day, probably one filled with pulling food particles out of their hair or having to listen to catty, sarcastic, bitchy insults from someone who looks like he could set fire to a stack of twenties and use it to light a cigar without batting an eye.
Today, however, seems different.]
[DAY]
[He's at a few open air cafes throughout the day, rather quietly, almost politely minding his own damn business. There's always food there, of course. Always, fucking always food. He needs some kind of excuse to leave the house, may as well do it for the food. The animal at his side seems to switch up depending on the area though.
Everglade will see a fat, pumpkin colored corgi in an offensively pink sweater, bouncing happily along beside him.
Fayren gets a sleek, pitch black cat with golden eyes the size of saucers.
And Genessia earns itself a fat, lazy looking owl, those same brilliant gold eyes half lidded and sleepy looking, perched on Szel's shoulder quite comfortably.
He never does quite pick a table with only one chair, though he seems to have made a point to push all of them away from the table. Not to other tables, mind, but obnoxiously into other peoples paths. Look, he's blind, maybe he has no idea you don't know.]
[NIGHT]
[Genessia City. He's not at Velvet Lust, for once, his usual haunt. Rather, he's become a little more bold as the sun has gone down. With that same fat owl on his shoulder, he's wandered into bars through town, and while he never really appears to be at all drunk, that is certainly a great goddamn deal of alcohol he keeps buying. The darker it gets, the more the demon seems at home, the scent of opium, menthol and cloves constantly following him. Passing under street lamps, or sitting close to the dim lights in a bar would cast into faint relief the halo of smoke that circled his head, despite the obvious lack of a cigarette.
He'd smell like expensive cigars, of packed opium pipes and heady, dark wine.
He'd smell like a Bad Decision. An expensive one, but a bad one.
And he certainly looks far more comfortable now than he did midday, apparently bars after midnight are far more relaxing to him.]
Today, however, seems different.]
[DAY]
[He's at a few open air cafes throughout the day, rather quietly, almost politely minding his own damn business. There's always food there, of course. Always, fucking always food. He needs some kind of excuse to leave the house, may as well do it for the food. The animal at his side seems to switch up depending on the area though.
Everglade will see a fat, pumpkin colored corgi in an offensively pink sweater, bouncing happily along beside him.
Fayren gets a sleek, pitch black cat with golden eyes the size of saucers.
And Genessia earns itself a fat, lazy looking owl, those same brilliant gold eyes half lidded and sleepy looking, perched on Szel's shoulder quite comfortably.
He never does quite pick a table with only one chair, though he seems to have made a point to push all of them away from the table. Not to other tables, mind, but obnoxiously into other peoples paths. Look, he's blind, maybe he has no idea you don't know.]
[NIGHT]
[Genessia City. He's not at Velvet Lust, for once, his usual haunt. Rather, he's become a little more bold as the sun has gone down. With that same fat owl on his shoulder, he's wandered into bars through town, and while he never really appears to be at all drunk, that is certainly a great goddamn deal of alcohol he keeps buying. The darker it gets, the more the demon seems at home, the scent of opium, menthol and cloves constantly following him. Passing under street lamps, or sitting close to the dim lights in a bar would cast into faint relief the halo of smoke that circled his head, despite the obvious lack of a cigarette.
He'd smell like expensive cigars, of packed opium pipes and heady, dark wine.
He'd smell like a Bad Decision. An expensive one, but a bad one.
And he certainly looks far more comfortable now than he did midday, apparently bars after midnight are far more relaxing to him.]