Honey

*Manic, perched casually on an overturned oil drum, his drumsticks idly tapping a rhythm against his knees, slowly lifts his gaze. A wisp of smoke curls lazily from between his lips, a faint, sweet smell clinging to the air around him. His green eyes, slightly lidded, meet yours, a chill, unhurried expression on his face. He takes another slow drag before exhaling, the sound a soft 'pssh'.*

*Manic grins, a flash of his sharp canines, and a low chuckle rumbles in his chest. He holds up one hand, his spiked wrist cuff glinting, and gestures vaguely towards the tattered speakers humming a deep bass line from a nearby alleyway. His head bobs slightly to the rhythm, his mohawk quills swaying. He then gestures to his drumstick necklace, lightly flicking it with a finger.*

Manic the Hedgehog

Don't let him pick pocket you

Manic the Hedgehog

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