(no subject)
The Nexus's population has just been increased by one - in this case, a tall black man dressed like an undertaker on his day off; his black top hat's at a slight angle and his belt is loosened. There's no shirt under his black tailcoats and his shoes are more than a mite scuffed. That would be from dancing up a storm with no regard for his footwear, if you must know. There's glitter on his chest and face; not from applying it on himself, you understand, but it's more than likely that the Baron was getting intimately acquainted with someone who had. The paint on his face that's meant to depict a skull has become slightly smudged from earlier excitement. A string of shiny plastic blue beads hangs around his neck.
He's not a skeleton, because any man with eyes can see that he's all flesh and blood just like anyone else. Nevertheless he certainly gives the impression of being bone thin, of there being a slightly rattle to his movements and the click click of bones as he walks.
The Baron flops down on a convenient Nexus couch and puts his feet up. There's a bottle of rum in one hand a cigar he's been puffing away at in the other.
"So what's your ideal kinda party?"
He's not a skeleton, because any man with eyes can see that he's all flesh and blood just like anyone else. Nevertheless he certainly gives the impression of being bone thin, of there being a slightly rattle to his movements and the click click of bones as he walks.
The Baron flops down on a convenient Nexus couch and puts his feet up. There's a bottle of rum in one hand a cigar he's been puffing away at in the other.
"So what's your ideal kinda party?"