Luis Lynch (yes, he’s a slip and sly man, but he’s got a face uglier than that of a bloated corpse)
(All of these asks are going to sound like something out of a weird fanfic help me)
Maybe something about him unsettles you. The way all his teeth seemed to be crooked in his mouth, yet the grins he gives you shine with a ferocious intensity. There’s probably mischief behind those smiles, like he knows something you don’t. Of course, he doesn’t; he’s just here to have a good time. You can tell by the way he leans against an old and flickering lamppost, inhaling a deep drag from his cigarette, then casually flicking it away from his thin fingers. Veins run through his knuckles. No, perhaps not from work or tension. Perhaps they’re just there to pulse in demonic intimidation.
When he sees you, he smiles. What is it? Is he plotting something? Is he happy? Is he angry? And when he starts walking towards you, you can’t help but step back. He struts not confidently, but like he walks on Hellfire. That’s because, well, he’s literally walking in the fires of Hell, but he’s acting like he isn’t. He’s probably been here for a long time. He pops the collar of his jacket and stops in front of you, that smile only widening. You swear his face looks like it just got out of a 300-degree oven, but that grin. It almost attacks you. You don’t know if it’s from awe or fright. And those bright yellow eyes, round like ones of a predatory snake, burn.
Then the facade seems to dry up like his red, red skin. “Heyaaaa, hot stuff,” he slurs. Then you realize he’s probably only coming off this way because he’s drunk. Or not? Luis is always like this.