The sun was dying off, lengthening shadows and sinking away beneath the horizon, casting that eerie and somewhat sickly orange glow against the profiles of old men and the exteriors of whitewashed buildings. The dust of dirty street sparkled like so many tiny, glowing insects, luminescent and temporary in the subtle metaphor for death that was rolling away while others chose to begin emerging. The setting sun was a signal, for some it was to end the day and lay their heads to rest, for others it was to rise and greet the callous moon with a grin and well-rested mind. It was the time in between that everyone was making the transition, and the time in between at which Zellan couldn’t decide exactly which one he wanted.
Strolling the streets of the busy town of Ketra, he watched the varied faces pass him by. It amazed him how so many people could all look so different, and how he always managed to forget those beautiful and innocent faces as they passed him by. He watched with tired eyes as a mother herded her children along to the front door of their small dwelling, hushing the distraught young girl in her arms, and smiling casually at the boy who ran circles around her heels. It was time for them to sleep, and dream what only a child could dream.
The lights of the local taverns still burned brightly, and citizens and travelers alike were wandering in droves toward the open doors and the loud, bustling atmosphere. It was somewhere to hide away or make a raucous, to wallow or dance atop the tables, and in the morning no one would remember, and no one would care, save for the splitting head ache there to greet you with a cheery grin and an ironic sense of humor, and perhaps the lonely remnants of a bottle or two on your bedroom floor.
As the last rays of the sun withered away and vanished with the sound of breath beneath the treeline, Zellan made his way toward the nearest tavern. His pale skin matched the night around him, and his face was framed by somewhat short and raggedly cut hair, black save for the patch of red over his left eye. Brilliant green eyes offset equally bright red lips, which were just odd enough to turn heads. But, what usually caught the attention of the people around him were the leathery wings which sprouted from his shoulders, and which were now tucked neatly behind him, shifting slightly as he walked and creating a vicious shadow against the street. He was built slim, which had always caused Zellan frustration, since he would never been one of the buff demons to cast fear into the hearts of the crowd with just a single glance, but there was something malicious about his presence, something askew and off-balance, that caused the pure and good-willed to skirt around him.
As he entered the tavern, a few heads turned to glance with curiosity at the tall, winged and pale man who entered, but most were too drunk to notice, and a good portion had seen things far more strange than him, so he wasn’t anything all too special. The voices were loud and the music was louder, and all around people were swinging mugs of every species of drink, talking with their hands just as much as they were talking with their mouths, leering at the bar maids and pounding on the tables. In the corner there was a heated match of darts ensuing, and it seemed that the pointed ends of those darts were getting closer and closer to the opponents’ faces with each throw.
Moving toward the bar, Zellan stole a seat facing the door, ordering a drink and settling in, one elbow resting on the bar top, the other holding his drink and occasionally bringing it up toward his face so he could take another swig, his red lips drawing in the liquid before he replaced it on the counter and continued to watch the antics of the tavern. Tonight, this demon had no purpose, and although it would take a lot of drinks to get him thoroughly drunk, that was exactly what Zellan intended to do.
((Eep, sharing a computer with three other people can be bad for posting sometimes P: ))
