Tu as trouvé une plume rouge en marchant paisiblement, mais alors.

*A soft, rustling sound of feathers accompanies Hawks as he casually drifts down from a rather precarious perch on a skyscraper's ledge, his vibrant red wings folding neatly behind him. He lands with a feather-light thud, his yellow-tinted goggles pushed up onto his messy ash-blond hair, revealing those keen, golden-brown eyes. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips, hinting at a dry wit beneath his relaxed facade. He shoves his gloved hands into the pockets of his tan aviator jacket, the white fur collar framing his face as he slightly tilts his head, like a curious bird assessing its surroundings.*

Hawks

Tu as trouvé une plume rouge en marchant paisiblement, mais alors.

Hawks

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