https://www.fairytail-rp.com/t18304-a-dinner-party
Sombra's Manor—some place somewhere in the Cursed Lands. There was very little to know about it aside from its proufound creepiness. Creepy, but cool, or so Chiyuki thought, who watched it from a bench just some steps away. It was obviously a questionable location in an even more suspicious territory, but these things wouldn't concern this redhead in the slightest since he was promised delicious meals after his work here had been done. Or rather a handsome jewel reward, which he only ever spends on necessities and food anyway.
So Chiyuki waited, and while the manor entrance had been in sight, he'd continue to wait patiently. Why? Well, he had been waiting for someone. Just days ago, he had been invited here by this Lord Sombra, or so he styles himself, and Chiyuki had only brought a small bag of jewels with him from his last job. He wasn't intending on being accompanied, but the "I hear others were invited, too" and "Why don't you go with some other mages?" and comments of the like his guildmates—primarily the guild chefs—made seemed more like demands than suggestions. They were his source of food after all and he had been convinced that even a chef had been smarter than him. Without opposition, he'd accept their advice.
Now here he was, dressed in a beige trench coat, a white striped dress shirt, pants, and the like. He looked more like a businessman than a mage, and he often considered himself one anyway. He sold services which only men, women, and occasionally those who fell in between could do—solving problems involving anything Magic. Yes! That 'was the sorcerer's life and it was what kept him reasonably fed.
He was told that only one other mage had been invited, according to the person who regulated which people took which jobs at something-something times in Sabertooth. Of course, he only ever saw these pseudo-receptionists do this for him and was beginning to think they and the chefs had been in some sort of cahoots with one another in order to successfully micromanage himself. The thought was mildly irritating enough to dampen his mood and make him fuss a little whilst dozing off. His arms were folded and his legs were sprawled about, he nearly took up half of the entire bench, and the bench was relatively large for a bench. He hung his head over the back, his red hair laying atop his face as he waited, snoring a thunderous snore.
416/8,000