The Shade {Josiah Cole} (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deaths_head) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
genessia2018-08-13 12:24 pm
deaths_head) wrote in genessia2018-08-13 12:24 pm
1st reaping ~ i was born to death ~ [video;PUBLIC]
[The face that fills the network isn't a pleasant one. It's an older man's face, not unpleasant to look at--Irish complexion and coloring with pale skin, the faintest hint of broadly scattered freckles, slate grey eyes, and a neatly trimmed, vivid red goatee that matches the red hair streaming well past his shoulders. His brow is furrowed, his mouth turned down in a peevish scowl...
...then he holds his smart phone at arm's length, and more of the picture comes together.
For one thing, his look is very 'biker chic' courtesy of the chain around his neck, and the black leather vest he wears over a matching wifebeater. His arms are sleeved in intricate tattoos in a myriad of surprisingly vivid colors--mostly black and white, with the occasional splash of red, violet, green, or blue. There's plenty of canvas, given the newcomer's muscular build: broad shoulders, thick arms with subtle definition--not showy, but it's a body built for a heavy work load it's clearly accustomed to.
That's the other thing, and probably the main reason the man in question is so damn unhappy looking, and that's his size. The arm holding out the smart phone is long enough to get a nicely framed shot of him, and the backdrop of a room from the Genessia Commonspace. Based on some of the markers of his surroundings compared to the level of his head as he stands there, one might be able to peg his height somewhere in the uncomfortable range of well over six and a half feet...okay, closer to seven.
Even in his human guise--an approximation of the body he once inhabited as a living man--the Shade, Lord of the Vale and Reaper of the Wayward, sometimes known as Gentle Death, is too damn large to exist in the world around him.]
I been here five damn minutes, busted myself at least three times on somethin', and suffice to say I ain't remotely happy.
[The voice is deep, pleasant save for the aggravation in his tone, the accent Southern to those familiar with it--definitely something Texan, for anyone that might come from Earth or be familiar with that region.]
I get I'm stuck here. Can't do nothin' 'bout that. [Lord knows he's tried, and he can't transport himself anywhere but where he's at. Can't even move between the damn cities without that stupid amulet, a visible lump tucked under his wifebeater.] But at the very least, they could make the space a little more habitable for them of us that ain't goddamn ants.
[He glances over his shoulder towards the bed--thank God he has no need for sleep. Turning back to his phone, his scowl, impossibly, deepens.]
If I can't get out? I'm gettin' me somewhere I can stretch my damn legs for a spell. Anyone who knows where a body can get a decent room? Gets a round on me. Wherever there is in this godsforsaken world to drink, at any rate.
...then he holds his smart phone at arm's length, and more of the picture comes together.
For one thing, his look is very 'biker chic' courtesy of the chain around his neck, and the black leather vest he wears over a matching wifebeater. His arms are sleeved in intricate tattoos in a myriad of surprisingly vivid colors--mostly black and white, with the occasional splash of red, violet, green, or blue. There's plenty of canvas, given the newcomer's muscular build: broad shoulders, thick arms with subtle definition--not showy, but it's a body built for a heavy work load it's clearly accustomed to.
That's the other thing, and probably the main reason the man in question is so damn unhappy looking, and that's his size. The arm holding out the smart phone is long enough to get a nicely framed shot of him, and the backdrop of a room from the Genessia Commonspace. Based on some of the markers of his surroundings compared to the level of his head as he stands there, one might be able to peg his height somewhere in the uncomfortable range of well over six and a half feet...okay, closer to seven.
Even in his human guise--an approximation of the body he once inhabited as a living man--the Shade, Lord of the Vale and Reaper of the Wayward, sometimes known as Gentle Death, is too damn large to exist in the world around him.]
I been here five damn minutes, busted myself at least three times on somethin', and suffice to say I ain't remotely happy.
[The voice is deep, pleasant save for the aggravation in his tone, the accent Southern to those familiar with it--definitely something Texan, for anyone that might come from Earth or be familiar with that region.]
I get I'm stuck here. Can't do nothin' 'bout that. [Lord knows he's tried, and he can't transport himself anywhere but where he's at. Can't even move between the damn cities without that stupid amulet, a visible lump tucked under his wifebeater.] But at the very least, they could make the space a little more habitable for them of us that ain't goddamn ants.
[He glances over his shoulder towards the bed--thank God he has no need for sleep. Turning back to his phone, his scowl, impossibly, deepens.]
If I can't get out? I'm gettin' me somewhere I can stretch my damn legs for a spell. Anyone who knows where a body can get a decent room? Gets a round on me. Wherever there is in this godsforsaken world to drink, at any rate.
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