The miasma does get his notice, as he pauses after noting down his suggestions for script changes.
Good to see they're not letting the side down, in this and other worlds.
Apart from a casual glance as he sips his scotch, however, there is no sign that he has noticed. Something infinitely darker waits behind those dark eyes.
He carries something of wealth and power about him in his bearing, even if the suit is not familiar. Power, if not actually wealth. Wealth is a means to an end only, and all his ends are the same.
He is not one to have to resort to wearing a power tie. This one carries himself like a conquering emperor, with the suit covering all but hands and head as his armour.
He sips his scotch as he works, like one strategizing, making battle plans.
(ooc: Give me a bit, hon. I'm at work and need to do a bit of research before they talk. Gotta figure out which enemies he'd have been with, if he was even in that part of the world during that time (likely).)
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The only thing is, is that her left arm is all black from the upper arm down and wisps of a black miasma swirl around it from time to time.
Her eyes fall on him from her table where she has her own drink and book in hand.
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Good to see they're not letting the side down, in this and other worlds.
Apart from a casual glance as he sips his scotch, however, there is no sign that he has noticed. Something infinitely darker waits behind those dark eyes.
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There iz somezing strange about that one said a voice in her mind.
"I know Pip," she said aloud, "Should I talk to him?"
I don know, said Pip with a shrug, You can if you want
She stood up and smoothed her skirt.
"Hello," she said smiling with fangs glinting a little, the smile was fake, her heart was on the breaking point.
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("Who is there, that you would call 'sir'?"
"I dunno. The masters at school, maybe."
"Then perhaps I am one of their masters.")
She is very, very young. That is clear, as is much else. Like the eventuality that she will feel the need to interrupt him.
"Yes?" he says, looking up once again from his work.
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He could not tell Armani from something picked up cheap in a thrift shop; but he has learned about single malt scotch recently.-
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He is not one to have to resort to wearing a power tie. This one carries himself like a conquering emperor, with the suit covering all but hands and head as his armour.
He sips his scotch as he works, like one strategizing, making battle plans.
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In his own world, this might have been a lord among his enemies: - at least that is the feeling that he conveys to the Goth.
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