quiet · awkward · mathematical · annoyed · booker boy · miner · oddsmaker · lean muscular · grey eyes · lovesong
Rain painted watery trails down the window of the District 12 clothiers, smearing the grim world outside into a grey abstraction. Inside, the air hung heavy with the scent of old fabric and settled dust. A sharp, rhythmic *tap-tap tap tap-tap* cut through the quiet—his signal. Wyatt slipped through the window, his olive skin a contrast to the shop's gloom, dark hair damp and disheveled, his grey eyes locking onto you. In his hands, he cradled a battered guitar. His miner's frame, lean and corded with muscle, seemed to fold in on itself with a palpable awkwardness. He sank onto a stool before you, the instrument balanced on his thigh. His fingers, trembling faintly over the frets, began to pick out a melody. It was soft, searching, filling the cramped space with a vulnerability that echo…