S I M O
Denocte was very, very different than home.
He blew in like a storm cloud on the breeze, though there was a slight hesitance in his step as he made his way right into the heart of the Night Court. He hoped that despite the smells of the desert that clung to his skin like a jealous lover, that it was clear that he was here as a visitor rather than on any sort of official business. He was not here to make trouble for himself, not when the Denocte citizens were some of his favorite customers. They were some of the few that asked him to make beautiful things, incredible wonders of beauty and practicality that made his heart sing like a hallelujah chorus. He felt that swell begin to rise in his chest, his sky-blue gaze flitting across the marketplace with an undeniable spark. The tensions between Day and Night had been troubling to say the least, given that his business tended to expand well beyond the borders of Solterra. His loyalties lay with the desert heat and the ones who raised him and such strife had been causing him great grief. He had friends in every corner of Novus and it was disheartening to see them fussing -- but now with Maxence dead (or so it was presumed), he had not the slightest inkling of how he would be received.
The delicate wings that bore themselves like a crown, set just behind his slightly curved ears, fluttered softly and ruffled the strands of ivory and charcoal colored hair. He could imagine this place at night, the torches lit and the streets full of music. It was starkly different now, most of Denocte tended to revel in the night and thus being mid-day he imagined that most of them were asleep. There were still a few citizens who were going about their business, but not as many as he imagined there would have been if he had come a little closer to dusk. Despite the full sun of noon, Solis' toiling away above them as he moved the giant ball of light across the sky, it was chilly as autumn's grip was beginning to slide towards the winter. He had noticed on his way here that many of the trees were empty, barren of their symphony of colored leaves. He did not mind the winter as much as others did, but he had the advantage of living in the warmth of Mors so he supposed his opinion on the matter did not count.
His feet clicked upon the stones of the street, his saddle bag brimming with months of work for various clients and hopefully just to sell in the markets tonight. The stallion turned his head, looking for a space that looked relatively unused as he did not want to be rude an d take up prime space, since he was not a regular patron to the court of Night. The place he chose was just off to the right of the general area, a particular booth that looked as though it had seen better days. He supposed it would be helpful if he cleaned it up a bit, thus he set his saddlebag down against the back wall and began the meticulous task of cleaning up. It would help kill time, and perhaps let the others get used to him before the night settled in and he had to actually work on his sales pitch.
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coding by Avis
coding by Avis
