※》 Homebound haunting.
@igneuscrvx // Dahlia
The sun is pale so early in the morn; budding warmth with not an all unpleasant cool whispered through the air as it yet lays low above the town and the landscape beyond it, painting the skyline a gentle lavender and pale-wheat gold whilst it slowly climbs its way upwards from the edge of the horizon. Despite the withdrawal of the dark, it's still too soon for Winnemucca to shed the shackles of its sleep, and the streets are mostly empty save those few who are by calling early up to work, those vigorous and spry enough to catch each day voluntarily by the ballsack, or, too uneasy in their cot to have ever drifted off the eve before at all.
And then, there's him, who falls... somewhere amongst the aforementioned.
Whichever the case, Jhin found no qualm to be about at these hours, steadily down his path, either long ahead or far behind of the flocking crowds and noise and bustle which would later take the roads. Question anyone who's ever miraculously managed to know the gruffish barkeep and they'd undoubtedly concur he's never been the most sociable of sorts, even prior to the recent twists and turns about his life - yet, these days moreso still, he found a certain peace in taking his outings with the degree of privacy these early mornings could afford. Granting him a sorely needed reprieve from being cooped up in his quarters, and a moment to enjoy the fresh and open air without a slew of nosy eyes upon him.
-- An air he breathes like succor in his walk, which it may as well be compared to the still lingering musk of last and former years about the old saloon he's taken to care for, which no seeming means or reason had been able to entirely divest him of thus far. Only so long into the still frigid nights of spring can he tolerate throwing all the doors and windows open to the winds in this apparently futile pursuit.
No. In this instance there is a little more purpose to his leisure stroll than simply thus, his legs carrying him gradually if not swiftly towards the old markets, from whence he vaguely recalls Gloria having once or twice brought something to help with the stuffiness that would occasionally take the house, when the boys had returned from long treks away in ... dubious condition. With any luck, he'll know it when he sees it.
His throw-on coat whisks loosely in the wind about him as he crosses the road and heads towards the stalls, wide frame navigating his step in between where a number have already been arisen or were otherwise in the budding process of such - his brow just as soon set with a creasing furrow, as he casts his gaze uncertainly about.