On one hand, it was as much like city life as he’d ever known--on another, the nutjobs came with more teeth. Not that he had a problem with the sharp bits, oftentimes--they were the best bits. But, folks didn’t seem so keen on flashing them as he hoped and he suspected it was but only a matter of time before his hands made work in the ways Salutem loathed. Cooking already, the little nagging voice at the back of his mind; was pushing the limits.Â
Something about the smell lingering, in his clothing--in his hands, a peculiar tint to his aura. But, with a distinct lack of fast food locations he found himself with a certain ire for the little township, maybe nowhere near the vein in which his fellow spooks did bristle but it was common ground all the same.Â
Thus, he plants himself on the nearest bench, next to the first soul he sees that was foolish enough to leave the space next to them an empty one and stretches out “Ya’ know, blows more dick than a dollar store whore but--at least it’s pretty,” he rolls his head towards them, indicating that yes he was indeed talking to them “Ya’ know what I’m sayin’ yeah?”
