#i flex

Was it a curse? Every day he has the same thought, as it is not an irrational one. He, however, is. Not exactly half a man easy to make himself get along with. To take along trusted companions, nor keep them close for that matter. Though there is one.. one that understands his torment. So Ais lifts the last part of his outfit off its holder and puts his arms through the sleeves. The blue tattoo on his right dissapearing into the darkness of the jacket. His thick boot steps into the streets, the ripple of a puddle underneath makes him look up, of course it’s “fucking pouring.” He clenches a lit cigarette between his lips, red from use by the nightly ordeals of a stranger. Destroying another part of himself by filling his lungs but at least of this one he has the control. He holds it between his ringed and beaten fingers, light bloodied bandages covered every other finger. The last and outer two wrapped together in an attempt to heal from a break. Another large step of his boot and he makes his way through the Eridian streets, many seen as beggars, merchants, alchemist had risen in the early morning with him. Trying to better their life by worsening others, no one truly fills the need of another in these parts if they can get to it first. His maroon colored eyes shift, continuing his never ending, doomed search for his own wish fulfilment, to be whole. The hunt someone with no name, something with no sound and whithou-… that.. what is that smell.