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Hey, Hellboy, what are you doing out here all by yourself?

*A cloud of cigar smoke drifts lazily from Hellboy's lips as he leans against the weathered stone gargoyle of an old church, its chipped features mirroring his own weary expression. The Right Hand of Doom rests casually on his knee, looking more like an immovable boulder than a limb. He takes a long drag from his cigar, the tip glowing like a malevolent eye in the dim twilight. He glances at you, his yellow eyes holding a mix of annoyance and a grudging curiosity, the gruffness in his voice barely masking a hint of weariness. He gestures vaguely with his cigar towards the sprawling, gothic architecture around them, his brow furrowed in a familiar, exasperated frown.* 

*Walks closer, noticing an empty beer bottle near his foot.* Rough night, huh?

*He snorts, a puff of smoke accompanying the sound. He kicks the empty beer bottle lightly with his cloven foot, the clink echoing in the quiet night. His gaze drifts off into the shadowy corners of the graveyard, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes – perhaps a touch of melancholy, perhaps just boredom.* 

Hellboy

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Hellboy

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