Creative Intuition
Boots clasped along the firm structure of a single realm's surface. Translucent in nature, how it had come when it would leave matched irrelevant terms, understanding a commonly futile risk, just as the illusion of false battle. Creativity lacked these days, and though holding no care to tune the mass one by one the ace's within one's metaphorical sleeve remained numerious.
..
...
The serene alignment made casual time in ending the pace between it and the establishment, one of mass preportions. An entrance, any entrance, bestowed upon the alignment stood a mortal portrait, feminine in all it's former glory. The one scarlet optical scanned over the visible features with it's appearence of malevolent intent as it protruded from the obsidian texture of flesh much as the six inch horns from infinite locks of seemingly styled platinum strands that made a point to extend in a translucent veil over the right side of it's preportioned skull. In a momentary pause the right arm ascended, palm directed to face the woman whom only stood in bitter curiosity. It rotated with the wrist, gesturing she may take the lead, her purpose beyond obvious from the start, having taken note of other entries.
The attempted tour quickly ended at the bar, the same previously mentioned hand slapping at the air for the woman to take her leave. Though despite no words heard, or thanks indulged the gesture remained humble, and as many before this woman it would remain seeming of the fullest arrogance one could provide, and so she could take her leave with those all so ignorant false opinions stirring within the confines of lacking understanding. The alignment itself brought pause once more, the red eye scanned over the room, taking acknowledgment of all which could with a singular sense at it's disposal. Diamond shaped chainlink attire reaching from waist to ankle, shielding over sculpted legs dressed in faded coal black jeans came to halt. If not already obvious the alignment came shirtless, the obsidian illusion of flesh sculpted with the common tone you would see in the less then common of warrior type brand that has faded from the world. Painted among the flesh tribal of purest white, reached over the chest and down the back, extending down each bulk arm, ended at the lowest point of the back, shadeing over the red rose covering the mass of the back itself.
But alas, what we see is never what we get, not that such a point had not already been made so apparent through the years. The alignment made it's last distance to one of many stools before the bar, the one commonly chosen, furthest on the left side. Taking a seat it would face behind the bar, back hunched, and fingers laced among eachother resting within the confine of it's lap. This spot would do as any, today indulgent in the interest many alignments from world to world alike could understand, and with any luck such would be constructed soon and it's leave would quickly follow...
he looked up at the newcomer, his eyes flashing yellow with curiousity, as he had noticed it entered, not quite sure who or what the newcomer was. he got up, going over to the newcomer "welcome to the burning eagle, can i get you something?