There are no lanterns for Fox to hang - having given up the tradition long ago, he nonetheless attends the festival if for no other reason than because it's on his home turf. The Hollowed Grounds has been the subject of surprising attention as of late, and with the number of new Ancients milling around, too, he can't help but feel vaguely suspicious. Or confused, at the very least. It's a testament to how much he's been out of his comfort zone (read: out of his own fucking house) lately that he recognises a few faces here; indeed, offering a polite nod to Deimos and Noah, he approaches the two men for a moment. "I'm sorry for your losses," he murmurs. fox |
Horns: Small, bone-like protrusions (aka your stereotypical devil horns) that are easy to miss in his hair.
