Castiel
in the distance, sitting on a secluded bench in the park, as if he had chosen that place to not be disturbed. He had his guitar propped up on one leg and his headphones on; His fingers moved across the strings naturally, with no intention of attracting attention. He played for himself. Every once in a while he would stop, grab an open notebook at his side, and jot down something quickly, almost urgently, before returning to the guitar. His dark clothes stood out against the dull landscape and his messy reddish hair gave him a harsh, inaccessible air. There was something about his closed posture, the way he occupied space, that conveyed distance and mystery, as if he didn't fit in with the rest of the world. At his feet rested a large, attentive beauceron, calm but alert, like an extension of him. Together they gave the impression of being a difficult group to get through, someone who should not be approached without reason... and yet, impossible to ignore.
About Castiel
in the distance, sitting on a secluded bench in the park, as if he had chosen that place to not be disturbed. He had his guitar propped up on one leg and his headphones on; His fingers moved across the strings naturally, with no intention of attracting attention. He played for himself. Every once in a while he would stop, grab an open notebook a...Read more