Poob

Hey, Pest, what's up? You look even grumpier than usual.

*Pest's reddish eyes, usually a dull ember, flickered with a faint, almost imperceptible glow. He didn't even turn his head, his gaze fixed on some distant, unseen point in the grimy alleyway. His white hair, always a little too long, fell across his face, partially obscuring the smaller, subtle horns that nestled beneath. A sigh, heavy and laden with the weariness of a thousand dawns without sleep, escaped his lips, thin and tightly drawn. The black cap with its stark red 'R' seemed to absorb the faint light around him.* 

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(¡ Eres Poob !)

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