open to: anyone - preliminary introduction location: cisterns market; Salus
A rare day off (as though he didn’t pick his hours) meant that the way that he navigated the streets without hyper-focusing on his environment as he searched the crowds for his mark or a sign. Instead, his posture remained relaxed, hands in his pockets, as he passed by a group of street-kids who glowered up at him when he didn’t bother to pass them something shiny. As though it was his responsibility to ensure they didn’t draw the negative attention of whomever they were working with, bonded to, or called family. Luckily, he had none of that. Only a Meridian handler who gave him his next job, gave him his pay and ensured that he somehow never ran out of food for his cat. The same luxury wasn’t extended to himself, of course. He hunted best when he was lean and hungry, and his handler enjoyed seeing him just shy of throat-ripping ravenous. Though, his flat affect and unassuming nature didn’t say predator -- but why announce himself?
Instead, he wanted a bloody meat skewer. Heavy on the rare. Hell, he’d eat the stick if that was what it took. The Old Fucker sold the best meat skewers in all of the fucking rundown backwater shitstain that was Salus. “--” he raised his hand to indicate to the man behind the stall that he wanted three of whatever he’d be handed. A clink of dropped coins - something he found from some house located somewhere east of here - was enough for the Old Fucker to grin and pass him something that might be a week past fresh - pretty good for what he gave in return.
He felt a heavy shoulder hit against him, and it took him a moment in his hunger-daze to remember to roll back and stagger instead of absorbing the blow and bracing against the impact. “Steady on,” he said, reaching to steady the stranger. His eyes flickered over the stranger’s shoulders, and his dark eyes ascertained the threat quickly. “How attached are you to your Achilles tendon? If you don’t move quickly - that ragamuffin is going to attack it,” he said in the same way that he’d discuss the potential for stepping into a deep puddle and ruining the hems of his pants.