ā @khionics ā ā” for a starter
Alcohol was a human vice, a tool used to dull the senses, to drown emotion, to (lose control.) It was an escape from reality, a means of running away, a fear of accountability. Of the world. Of themselves. Thaal Sinestro cared little for it. & yet here he is, tucked away upon this (miserable) planet, wrapped in clothes that did not belong to him, hand pressing to a door, (stepping inside.) Secrecy was not his preference- but there was a job to accomplish. There was a greater goal to be met. For now, he will hide his appearance. For now, he will play along. Only so long as it is necessary. Only so long as it will serve him. He is tall, this man. Tall, & lean, with lithe muscles that coil under the leather jacket he wears, hood pulled up over dark hair, head tipped downward to hide the light from magenta features. The door shuts behind him. A cool breeze seems to have slipped in after him, uneasy, wrong. Something about him is not quite right. Hands tuck into pockets. The Lantern steps forward, catches the eye of a stranger. In their drunken stupor they reel, double-take at the golden eyes; but Sinestro is moved past them, & they forget in favor for their drink. His steps are long, too poised, militaristic, paced. He makes no attempt to acknowledge the bartender- he does not acknowledge any worker, or guest alike. Instead, he slips, solitary, into the far booth, at the corner. Instead, he settles by himself, with hood pulled low, & eyes burning from the shadows of it. Quiet. Watching, waiting. A strange & predatory animal on the hunt.
