There is a young, dark-skinned man standing by one of the fruit stalls, patiently examining the goods on offer with a grimace that suggests he views fresh fruit the way some people view dead voles. Nothing he sees is familiar, let alone palatable, but he is very hungry and he has money to burn, at least for now. He gingerly picks up a spiky fruit the colour of earwax and holds it up to the light.
"Good Lord," he mutters to himself and then turns to the person standing next to him and gestures with the fruit. "What do you think, dearest? Edible? Poison? Equipment for an exotic ballgame?"
His voice is alto, pleasant but heavily accented. He sounds like he grew up speaking Russian and Yiddish and tried -- unsuccessfully -- to train the accent out of his speech patterns.
He smells of expensive perfume, strongly enough that anyone within a metre radius would notice. The hand holding the offending fruit is manicured and delicate, the hand of a pianist. His other hand clutches cream kid gloves in a rather paroxysmal grip.
anzu menelik || original character
There is a young, dark-skinned man standing by one of the fruit stalls, patiently examining the goods on offer with a grimace that suggests he views fresh fruit the way some people view dead voles. Nothing he sees is familiar, let alone palatable, but he is very hungry and he has money to burn, at least for now. He gingerly picks up a spiky fruit the colour of earwax and holds it up to the light.
"Good Lord," he mutters to himself and then turns to the person standing next to him and gestures with the fruit. "What do you think, dearest? Edible? Poison? Equipment for an exotic ballgame?"
His voice is alto, pleasant but heavily accented. He sounds like he grew up speaking Russian and Yiddish and tried -- unsuccessfully -- to train the accent out of his speech patterns.
He smells of expensive perfume, strongly enough that anyone within a metre radius would notice. The hand holding the offending fruit is manicured and delicate, the hand of a pianist. His other hand clutches cream kid gloves in a rather paroxysmal grip.