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mayfairmonsterThere's something, although nigh indefinable, that's changed about the young man who shows himself in the Nexus this afternoon. He looks the same as he did last time he visited. The same features: the pure and fresh-looking face and same dark curls are all there, but this time the same features come together in a princely and utterly at ease configuration that, to anyone watching closely enough, conveys something closer to wolf in sheep's clothing, than the gentle and innocent sheep that wandered into the Nexus last time.
Today, this wolf has a pleasant and pretty smile for the Nexus that's all teeth.
"Fresh starts." He punctuates with a flicking of the slim cigarette in his hand that's really a pause to let precise, but musical words settle in enough ears. "I said goodbye to a friend the other day," read: encouraged a casual nemesis into a trap, but who's counting? "and the farewell --admittedly messy for my tastes-- left a bad taste in my mouth. London is a city of choices and opportunities and my home, but after that? I'd like to put it behind me for a while. Start over with a fresh canvas, as they say." Stark blue eyes flick up, and catch those of whatever passersby he happens to have the attention of, and his smile tugs wider.
He shifts and, with a wave of his hand that sends a smooth trail of light gray smoke swirling through the air, reaches out to stub out his cigarette. When he speaks again, it's with a youthful, and conversational pep that doesn't quite reach the intensity of his gaze. "So. My fellow travelers, if you'll join me in counting yourselves alongside me. How many of you are here because you're looking for one, too? For a fresh start? Have you found one here?"
A thoughtful beat. While he has the floor, this is a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and make a few new acquaintances. "Otherwise, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Call me Dorian. And you are?"
Today, this wolf has a pleasant and pretty smile for the Nexus that's all teeth.
"Fresh starts." He punctuates with a flicking of the slim cigarette in his hand that's really a pause to let precise, but musical words settle in enough ears. "I said goodbye to a friend the other day," read: encouraged a casual nemesis into a trap, but who's counting? "and the farewell --admittedly messy for my tastes-- left a bad taste in my mouth. London is a city of choices and opportunities and my home, but after that? I'd like to put it behind me for a while. Start over with a fresh canvas, as they say." Stark blue eyes flick up, and catch those of whatever passersby he happens to have the attention of, and his smile tugs wider.
He shifts and, with a wave of his hand that sends a smooth trail of light gray smoke swirling through the air, reaches out to stub out his cigarette. When he speaks again, it's with a youthful, and conversational pep that doesn't quite reach the intensity of his gaze. "So. My fellow travelers, if you'll join me in counting yourselves alongside me. How many of you are here because you're looking for one, too? For a fresh start? Have you found one here?"
A thoughtful beat. While he has the floor, this is a good opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, and make a few new acquaintances. "Otherwise, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Call me Dorian. And you are?"
