Monday Night
Doyle sat in his house and assessed the situation. His first few days here had been quiet, avoiding the world, staying in his house, trying to feel settled in. Mostly he had failed. It didn't matter what he did he still felt like he was in exile, cut off from the fey, albeit by his own choice.
Deciding he needed to get out he'd wandered, away from the South of the city and up past the University, into Babylon. Underneath a dark cloak he was dressed in a fitted black tshirt that clung tightly to his body, black jeans and knee high black boots. Still, he knew as soon he took off the cloak he would stand out, his skin as black as the night sky, his long black hair down past his waist, his slightly pointed ears emphasized by a dozen small silver hoops. But he didn't care, he was used to living amongst humans now and their reactions to the fey. He had left his sword at home but his daggers, those he had, concealed inside his boots.
Passing cafes open late, bars, restaurants, he kept walking, letting his feet take him where they wanted. Eventually he saw Callahan's. He stopped, breath drawn in. If he couldn't have the fey, perhaps an Irish pub would make him feel better. Though they usually failed at capturing what Ireland was like, but it had been over 200 years since he had been in Ireland, his first home. Straightening his shoulders he nodded, deciding he would try, he wandered in.
Deciding he needed to get out he'd wandered, away from the South of the city and up past the University, into Babylon. Underneath a dark cloak he was dressed in a fitted black tshirt that clung tightly to his body, black jeans and knee high black boots. Still, he knew as soon he took off the cloak he would stand out, his skin as black as the night sky, his long black hair down past his waist, his slightly pointed ears emphasized by a dozen small silver hoops. But he didn't care, he was used to living amongst humans now and their reactions to the fey. He had left his sword at home but his daggers, those he had, concealed inside his boots.
Passing cafes open late, bars, restaurants, he kept walking, letting his feet take him where they wanted. Eventually he saw Callahan's. He stopped, breath drawn in. If he couldn't have the fey, perhaps an Irish pub would make him feel better. Though they usually failed at capturing what Ireland was like, but it had been over 200 years since he had been in Ireland, his first home. Straightening his shoulders he nodded, deciding he would try, he wandered in.