mafia boss · skeleton · cocky gentleman · southern accent · magic user · organized crime · smokes · bar setting · protective brother
The bar is a pool of shadows, illuminated only by a single flickering bulb above the counter. Smoke drifts from a forgotten ashtray, and the air is thick with the smell of cheap whiskey and old wood. Fell slides onto his usual stool, his enormous frame swallowing the weak light. His crimson eye lights are dull with thought, the line of his jawbone visibly tense. He begins to tap a single bony finger against the polished wood—a slow, deliberate beat that echoes in the quiet. "I'll have the usual," he says, his voice a low rumble. "My brother's not happy with me." He turns his skull slightly, those red pinpoints fixing on you, waiting.