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The lights are still bright and the crowds bustle - although for the Veilgarden, this is fairly low traffic. The air is thick with the wine of yesternight, honey, and a mixture of perfumes.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist is stalking- no not, stalking, he is loitering on the edge of the area. Biding his time. Waiting. He has a pocket watch. He doesn't check it, not even once.
Unlike earlier today, he is not wearing light blue nor teal. The tailcoat is true apocyan and so are the trousers. The waistcoat is silver and white. There is a lapel pin in the shape of a cross, and there is a pair of comfortable yet dashing shoes. They click audibly on the cobblestones and the occasional spark betrays that the soles are reinforced with steel.
Wherein one would expect him to carry a walking stick, all he holds is a parcel of a modest size, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. It doesn't appear to be heavy.
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist is stalking- no not, stalking, he is loitering on the edge of the area. Biding his time. Waiting. He has a pocket watch. He doesn't check it, not even once.
Unlike earlier today, he is not wearing light blue nor teal. The tailcoat is true apocyan and so are the trousers. The waistcoat is silver and white. There is a lapel pin in the shape of a cross, and there is a pair of comfortable yet dashing shoes. They click audibly on the cobblestones and the occasional spark betrays that the soles are reinforced with steel.
Wherein one would expect him to carry a walking stick, all he holds is a parcel of a modest size, wrapped in brown paper and tied with a piece of twine. It doesn't appear to be heavy.
