• gloryofbacchus • oraclered
• He could always go back to his family's mansion. He knew it was rightfully his; but he was too young, and their neighbors wouldn't appreciate the devil's son to return - not after the incident so long ago. He chose to wander around; he had the money, he could feed himself, but he knew he couldn't stay somewhere for long. He had to move and move.
He'd found himself in some small town near New Jersey, where exactly, he wasn't sure. He'd kept in a low profile once he got in town and managed to get something to eat at a diner; he bought some take out, not wanting to eat inside - and walked to some spot in the middle of town and onto a bench.
Once he was done he'd made himself comfortable on his seat, and started to lazily trace the air, creating small gusts of wind and just let it flow gently around his hands.
