Syrcaid
What a perfectly dismal day. A cloud ridden sky, most of which were heavy with the prospect of rain or a storm. Cold, broke, and utterly miserable through and through and then it had to go and threaten to drench him.
The crack of thunder sent Jenys pressing his back to the wall of a building in a part of town he wasn't entirely familiar with. He glanced over his shoulder and double-taked. It appeared to be a common pet shop, but...
The sky grew more menacing, he ducked into the shop more quickly than he had planned to as the door gave way easily. He stood there, a thin frame in jeans and a denim jacket. Water dripped from his sneakers.
The crack of thunder sent Jenys pressing his back to the wall of a building in a part of town he wasn't entirely familiar with. He glanced over his shoulder and double-taked. It appeared to be a common pet shop, but...
The sky grew more menacing, he ducked into the shop more quickly than he had planned to as the door gave way easily. He stood there, a thin frame in jeans and a denim jacket. Water dripped from his sneakers.
Disinclined
It was a wet, dreary day, and Lucien had taken harbor in the corner of the nearest shop. It was the damned local petshop. Just where he wanted to be on such a day: stuck in a stuffy room filled with cat dander, smelling fish, algea, and obnoxious screeching birds. Part of Lucien wondered if being cold, soaked to the bone, and miserable out in the storm were better than the shop.
A glance out the window proved Lucien had done the right thing. To be stuck in a storm like that wouldn't have been any better. At least here he was dry and warm, despite the obnoxious smells and scents. The boy sneezed every now and then, though whether it was from the pet fur or a cold, it was difficult to tell.
Wiping his nose, pulling his long, pale jacket tigheter around his tiny frame, Lucien stared down at the reptiles.
Now that was the sort of animal he'd want. Something cold, uncaring. Those lidless eyes, that dry, cracked but patterned skin. If you left them alone, they'd leave you alone. Cold-blooded, there wasn't much friendliness which leaked out of their souls.
No, they were the broken oens of the animal kingdom, or so Lucien had agreed.
Tough as nails, nothing bothered a reptile.
And that was what he wanted to carve his life around. He could survive on his own, not care about others, or anyone for that matter.
Shanuh, on the other hand, was leaned boredly against the front register. His gaze flicked over to the window, while the thunder rumbled menacingly from outside. The windows shook gently from the force, but the man was far from intimidated.
Storms were storms. It would pass soon enough and, with the sun, would come the customers. The jingling of bells caught the violet haired mans attention, and he looked up at the thin figure who'd arrived.
"Welcome to the Birdcage," he repeated, his voice fakely pleased. It was difficult to tell. His attitude screamed apathy, but his voice held some sort of. . . . sense. . . of delight.
It was a shame though; any delight Shanuh took in a being tended to end disasterously.
Studying the wet child, he gave a little smirk. "Here," reaching under the counter, he pulled out a small, blue and white striped hand-towel. "it's not much, but it might dry you up a little."
Lucien also glanced over his shoulder at Jenys, dripping wet and appearing soaked. He gave a little snort, inwardly even more relieved he hadn't chanced out the darkening clouds.
The boy had moved over to the hamsters, and was weighing the thought of eat or not eat. Would anyone really miss one tiny, bony hamster? He could slip it into the pocket of his long jacket. . . .
A quick glance at Shanuh. He was busy.
But a hamster?
No, even Lucien, desperate for something to eat -- anything -- the pet food was looking appetizing at this point -- couldn't bring himself to eat an animal. Not one like that, at least. Not something so damned adorable.
A glance out the window proved Lucien had done the right thing. To be stuck in a storm like that wouldn't have been any better. At least here he was dry and warm, despite the obnoxious smells and scents. The boy sneezed every now and then, though whether it was from the pet fur or a cold, it was difficult to tell.
Wiping his nose, pulling his long, pale jacket tigheter around his tiny frame, Lucien stared down at the reptiles.
Now that was the sort of animal he'd want. Something cold, uncaring. Those lidless eyes, that dry, cracked but patterned skin. If you left them alone, they'd leave you alone. Cold-blooded, there wasn't much friendliness which leaked out of their souls.
No, they were the broken oens of the animal kingdom, or so Lucien had agreed.
Tough as nails, nothing bothered a reptile.
And that was what he wanted to carve his life around. He could survive on his own, not care about others, or anyone for that matter.
Shanuh, on the other hand, was leaned boredly against the front register. His gaze flicked over to the window, while the thunder rumbled menacingly from outside. The windows shook gently from the force, but the man was far from intimidated.
Storms were storms. It would pass soon enough and, with the sun, would come the customers. The jingling of bells caught the violet haired mans attention, and he looked up at the thin figure who'd arrived.
"Welcome to the Birdcage," he repeated, his voice fakely pleased. It was difficult to tell. His attitude screamed apathy, but his voice held some sort of. . . . sense. . . of delight.
It was a shame though; any delight Shanuh took in a being tended to end disasterously.
Studying the wet child, he gave a little smirk. "Here," reaching under the counter, he pulled out a small, blue and white striped hand-towel. "it's not much, but it might dry you up a little."
Lucien also glanced over his shoulder at Jenys, dripping wet and appearing soaked. He gave a little snort, inwardly even more relieved he hadn't chanced out the darkening clouds.
The boy had moved over to the hamsters, and was weighing the thought of eat or not eat. Would anyone really miss one tiny, bony hamster? He could slip it into the pocket of his long jacket. . . .
A quick glance at Shanuh. He was busy.
But a hamster?
No, even Lucien, desperate for something to eat -- anything -- the pet food was looking appetizing at this point -- couldn't bring himself to eat an animal. Not one like that, at least. Not something so damned adorable.
Syrcaid
Jenys smoothed his hair, wet as it was this was no chore, with the palm of his hand. Slick and darker blonde when wet, he looked like a drowned lab rodent in dirty denim. Faded patches of bands past their prime staggered upon the sleeves, pockets, and the back of his denim jacket.
"Welcome to the Birdcage," came a voice so smoothly through a mind full of chaos, but did nothing to bring it into any order. "Here, it's not much, but it might dry you up a little."
He wasn't thinking, too caught up in looking around to notice anything save the dry towel and someone looking a little too intensely at the hamsters. Jenys raised his head and have Lucien a sideways stare. Thunder rolled overhead, reminding him of his manners.
"Oh, uhm... I'm sorry," perhaps an apology was the best policy. "I... I've tracked water onto your floor."
His voice sounded on the brink of maturation, an octave or two shy of sounding almost too elderly for the rest of him. The hint of a moustache forming on his upper lip, perhaps for lack of a chance for a hot shower and a shave. Jenys was, for lack of a better term, common and plain save for a pair of expressionate hazel eyes. The rest of him was severely lacking.
"Welcome to the Birdcage," came a voice so smoothly through a mind full of chaos, but did nothing to bring it into any order. "Here, it's not much, but it might dry you up a little."
He wasn't thinking, too caught up in looking around to notice anything save the dry towel and someone looking a little too intensely at the hamsters. Jenys raised his head and have Lucien a sideways stare. Thunder rolled overhead, reminding him of his manners.
"Oh, uhm... I'm sorry," perhaps an apology was the best policy. "I... I've tracked water onto your floor."
His voice sounded on the brink of maturation, an octave or two shy of sounding almost too elderly for the rest of him. The hint of a moustache forming on his upper lip, perhaps for lack of a chance for a hot shower and a shave. Jenys was, for lack of a better term, common and plain save for a pair of expressionate hazel eyes. The rest of him was severely lacking.
