Rigel crouched on top of a crate in the shadow of the building unmoving, eyes gazing at passerby. His small form went unnoticed, so while most of the people were out enjoying the sunlight he hid in the shadows, scheming. Last night had not gone well. The young miss he had seduced into bed with him had bailed when he had insisted on touching her feet. She called him things like pervert and crazy and started throwing her shoes at him. He would have to stay away from broads like that. But still… how could he? When they were walking around so carelessly on Creator’s gift to man kind? Dressing them up in pretty, fashionable shoes? It just made him want to hold them, cradle them, pet them… the feet, not the women. And that was where the main problem lay.
So now he kept a vigil, watching the feet that walked past him, not sure where to go from once he spotted a pair that looked suitable. His knives lay all about his body, so he had no fear of guards. Two daggers in his socks, four in his waist belt, and two more in his sleeves, tucked away in case of an emergency. His sandy blond hair was slightly in his face, his indigo eyes peering out. He does not look like a monster. In fact, it is his face that gets most women. A young, round, innocent face. But he is no angel, lady. Walk away quickly.
He sighed. If he ever had a child he would teach him the great importance of feet, and how lovely and wonderful they were. Enough of this foolish nonsense of it being wrong. Enough of people taking a dislike to his presence! Leaping from the crate he turns to follow a woman in gigantic shoes. Maybe they were size 13? His eyes watched her feet as she walked, not even seeing her face.
