[By the time he makes his appearance, the last shreds of day are slowly starting to drape along the buildings in town. Streaks of burnt orange and scathing red dash from roof top to roof top; forcing the sky into a brimstone washout. With the commotion still in full effect, most of the day-fairing shops have already closed their doors for the evening. Doors are barred and locked; steps are laced and strung with charms, salt and candles to stand guard through the haunting hours. But unlike months previous, the streets aren't entirely dormant and as night's clutches grow closer and closer, small torches begin to ignite in a collective, whoofing flurry.]
[And with them comes the military march of law, order, and the ever-quick trigger.]
[It's one of the reasons he travels incognito these days. Albeit briefly - he's not interested in getting one of his involved should this meeting turn sour. Instead, he abandons the body a bit away(s) from the intended spot. All with promises that if things should get messy, he always has an exit.]
[Clean or otherwise.]
[As daylight switches hands for the airy shudder of gas lamps and lanterns, the Sin's body slowly molds itself out of a hanging stretch of smoke. It blackens out his chosen alleyway, leaving it with dark corners that seem to plummet on and on and on. Small sparks tease inside and as he moves closer to his destination, that cloud of his follows. Like that of a black fog rolling in with nothing by ill intentions.]
[But it's the sharp click-a-click-click of his heels that announce him first.]
[They shoot off cobblestone like lonely gunshots; as strained fire and brimstone thin under the sway of square-cut plastic. The ash trapped beneath his boots seems to act under a pressure and as soon as one foot lifts, the stones underneath plume outward; like that of fallout that's been disturbed after a long, timeless settle. However, even that disappears when his smog drags in. Leaving behind nothing more than red crescents to broil and scar into the ground below.]
[The situation in of itself isn't unheard of, but it also certainly isn't his usual. Wars of politics and the like have always been something he's avoided. But when push inevitably comes to shove and his own wants are on the table, well.]
[The choice is a pretty simple one.]
[Yet, his own-worldly restraints have always left him face to face. No anonymous tip to string him along, no question as to who or what was behind the next door. Here, those rules have been tossed out the window and when the Sin finally makes it to the coordinates given, the heat trapped inside his throat blooms to aglow. It erupts along blackened scales, showing his razor-cut grin in a terrible sheen of back-lit, yellowing-white.]
[Because, in the end, the devil's always got an ear for a deal.]
➥ ACTION
[And with them comes the military march of law, order, and the ever-quick trigger.]
[It's one of the reasons he travels incognito these days. Albeit briefly - he's not interested in getting one of his involved should this meeting turn sour. Instead, he abandons the body a bit away(s) from the intended spot. All with promises that if things should get messy, he always has an exit.]
[Clean or otherwise.]
[As daylight switches hands for the airy shudder of gas lamps and lanterns, the Sin's body slowly molds itself out of a hanging stretch of smoke. It blackens out his chosen alleyway, leaving it with dark corners that seem to plummet on and on and on. Small sparks tease inside and as he moves closer to his destination, that cloud of his follows. Like that of a black fog rolling in with nothing by ill intentions.]
[But it's the sharp click-a-click-click of his heels that announce him first.]
[They shoot off cobblestone like lonely gunshots; as strained fire and brimstone thin under the sway of square-cut plastic. The ash trapped beneath his boots seems to act under a pressure and as soon as one foot lifts, the stones underneath plume outward; like that of fallout that's been disturbed after a long, timeless settle. However, even that disappears when his smog drags in. Leaving behind nothing more than red crescents to broil and scar into the ground below.]
[The situation in of itself isn't unheard of, but it also certainly isn't his usual. Wars of politics and the like have always been something he's avoided. But when push inevitably comes to shove and his own wants are on the table, well.]
[The choice is a pretty simple one.]
[Yet, his own-worldly restraints have always left him face to face. No anonymous tip to string him along, no question as to who or what was behind the next door. Here, those rules have been tossed out the window and when the Sin finally makes it to the coordinates given, the heat trapped inside his throat blooms to aglow. It erupts along blackened scales, showing his razor-cut grin in a terrible sheen of back-lit, yellowing-white.]
[Because, in the end, the devil's always got an ear for a deal.]