(no subject)
Faramir is in the bar, appearing as his usual coexistant contradictions. He is well-armed, but his face is gentle and open -- the kind of person you'd feel safe sitting next to on the subway, or asking for directions on a dark street. He is dressed in casual hunting garb, but seems adorned in a kingly air.
Tonight he is seated at a small round table near, but not next to, a wall. He has a cup of tea and a book, which he glances up from every so often, his grey eyes scanning the bar. The way he's sitting, it's a little hard to see his Security badge clipped to his belt just beside his sword, but you might notice it if the glint from the lights catches your eye. Or you might not. Either way, he's happy to chat.
Tonight he is seated at a small round table near, but not next to, a wall. He has a cup of tea and a book, which he glances up from every so often, his grey eyes scanning the bar. The way he's sitting, it's a little hard to see his Security badge clipped to his belt just beside his sword, but you might notice it if the glint from the lights catches your eye. Or you might not. Either way, he's happy to chat.