He's exceptionally still, save for his hands, which are turning a juulan over and over, occasionally holding it up to the sun to confirm that yes, it does have a hole through the middle. The first person to get close enough to him, however, is going to receive a sudden snap of focus to them, accompanied by a thoroughly affronted look. "Your coinage has holes in it."
Because that's the thing to focus on when you've just been transported to a new world.
B; water sector;
Hunger's making him bad-tempered. More so than average. Melek knew this was going to happen eventually, when he'd first grasped the odd confines of this situation, but he had forgotten, a little, what it was to be this hungry. A gnawing at the inside of his bones, the staggering awareness of just how much life was in even a tiny city.
Fortunately for him, the first thing he'd learned was control. After a fashion. There would be no ripping of throats and savage rending of breasts, but neither was he trying to be subtle in the way he watched passersby from his fountain-edge perch, always tracking the nearest one with sharp eyes. Anyone with half an observation instinct would notice something off about him, from the too-still posture to the clenched jaw to the ever-flickering eyes; anyone who brushed too close would promptly find themselves hissed at, a distinctly inhuman sound.
Melek Angevine | oc | dusting off the vampire
Introducing: a man perplexed by a coin.
He's exceptionally still, save for his hands, which are turning a juulan over and over, occasionally holding it up to the sun to confirm that yes, it does have a hole through the middle. The first person to get close enough to him, however, is going to receive a sudden snap of focus to them, accompanied by a thoroughly affronted look. "Your coinage has holes in it."
Because that's the thing to focus on when you've just been transported to a new world.
B; water sector;
Hunger's making him bad-tempered. More so than average. Melek knew this was going to happen eventually, when he'd first grasped the odd confines of this situation, but he had forgotten, a little, what it was to be this hungry. A gnawing at the inside of his bones, the staggering awareness of just how much life was in even a tiny city.
Fortunately for him, the first thing he'd learned was control. After a fashion. There would be no ripping of throats and savage rending of breasts, but neither was he trying to be subtle in the way he watched passersby from his fountain-edge perch, always tracking the nearest one with sharp eyes. Anyone with half an observation instinct would notice something off about him, from the too-still posture to the clenched jaw to the ever-flickering eyes; anyone who brushed too close would promptly find themselves hissed at, a distinctly inhuman sound.