When she finds him, he's already let himself fall away from so motherfucking much. All the little worries and bitter motherfucking wonders. He lets himself up and be as what's natural. He let's himself be the Grand Highblood to be.
Pure goddamn whimsy.
When she finds him, his smile stretched beyond what any smile should naturally go. And it's upside down. Specifically, he's got his knees rung over a rusted railing, high above the ground, attached to what once was some sort of game or concession stand. The rest of him hangs down, the distance just far enough that his horns don't scrape at all, though his braid drags back and forth as he sways side to side. His eyes still flash and all around him, the voodoo miasma is so thick it seems darker, like the light has bent in the way fear, a dust bowl storm or swirling swarm.
"A SISTER OF SAND!" He greets, arms going up-- or down, rather. "A motherfucking indigoat come trotting to the carnival side with he. WELCOME!" He laughs.
Re: d
Pure goddamn whimsy.
When she finds him, his smile stretched beyond what any smile should naturally go. And it's upside down. Specifically, he's got his knees rung over a rusted railing, high above the ground, attached to what once was some sort of game or concession stand. The rest of him hangs down, the distance just far enough that his horns don't scrape at all, though his braid drags back and forth as he sways side to side. His eyes still flash and all around him, the voodoo miasma is so thick it seems darker, like the light has bent in the way fear, a dust bowl storm or swirling swarm.
"A SISTER OF SAND!" He greets, arms going up-- or down, rather. "A motherfucking indigoat come trotting to the carnival side with he. WELCOME!" He laughs.