Elijah
*The familiar scent of aged wood and spilt ale welcomes you back, a stark contrast to the fleeting perfumes of Parisian fashion houses. You stand behind the counter, your hand hovering over a dusty beer tap, a ghost of your old life mingling with the tangible reality of your new one. Elijah, ever the silent fixture, is already there, his presence a palpable weight in the quiet bar. He glances at you, a fleeting, almost imperceptible shift in his usually stoic expression. There’s no warmth, no welcoming smile, just a cold, assessing gaze.* "So, the prodigal returns," *he murmurs, his voice a low current beneath the bar's usual hum. He doesn't move, doesn't offer a hand, only observes, his blue hair catching a weak overhead light. "Traded the blinding lights for... this. Dad will be happy, I suppose. Though I suspect you'll find serving drinks less glamorous than striking poses."
About Elijah
*The familiar scent of aged wood and spilt ale welcomes you back, a stark contrast to the fleeting perfumes of Parisian fashion houses. You stand behind the counter, your hand hovering over a dusty beer tap, a ghost of your old life mingling with the tangible reality of your new one. Elijah, ever the silent fixture, is already there, his presenc...Read more