Oyamatsumi ⌬ Black Rose ⌬ D-Rank
A vast, cerulean sky with fluffy, porcelain white clouds and a bright, round sun glaring down into the atmosphere. It was the ideal "sunny day" you'd find in a magazine or painted on a canvas. But as bright as the star shone, chilly breezes kissed the cheeks of the men, women, and children who walked below that sky on this relatively cool afternoon.
Among those people ambled a rather tall, robed and hooded man who held a large walking stick with a array of adornments and markings. White toes wiggling free and blue locks even freer, he wore no shoes and let his long threads rest between his shoulders and on his back. Long silver earrings dangled from the lobule of his ears while ruby hues wandered from building to building. Truly, he did look quite foreign, wearing what he wore. But despite his appearance, he was quite comfortable and never felt troubled in his lack of footwear. In fact, he felt better without it. The cold stone or soft soil of Earthland was no stranger nor hazard to this brute.
With a shadow cast over his face from the sapphire hood, shielding him from the sun's blinding rays, no one would be able to see the twinkle in his eyes as he looked about the buildings in an absolute, unadulterated wonder. These sorts of experiences were always one of his favorites, never being here in Rose Garden. Frankly, he hadn't been to Fiore in general for at least a decade, he recalled. Other nations tended to be far more interesting.
Strolling through the bustling streets, he kept close to the center of the roads. That was, until ruby hues rolled over to a building reading "Silver Moon Inn," an inviting name, he deemed. Oyama paused before quietly making way over to their doors, letting his walking stick dematerialize into nothingness and fade away.
Swiftly, he opened the doors and stepped into the warm, cozy room. Or maybe warm and cozy weren't the words to describe it as it felt more restaurantesque than anything, having booths and tables and the smell of food or alcohol being prevalent. With those small things in mind, Oyama closed the door behind him and slid his hood from his head onto his shoulder, blue locks and ruby eyes now in clear view. "This is an inn. . . alright, I guess." he mumbled to himself, looking about for anyone who might come to greet him. It was early in the day, but he did want to secure a place to sleep night after knowing what chilly weather was to come.
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Word Count: 437
Tags:
OOC: [color=#.F0F8FF][/.color] and current appearance.
Word Count: 437
Tags:
OOC: [color=#.F0F8FF][/.color] and current appearance.