Cian
On a gathering storm comes
A tall handsome man
A tall handsome man
"Hope you don't mind the heat, Finn." Cian says, breaking the hours-long silence finally. His words have his specific brand of intentional spacing, such that you're tempted to just tell him to get on with it, but of course, no such thing could ever be said to the Eye.
As with most things, Cian takes his time. The only time he rushes is when it comes to waking up, or in the heat of murder. Everything else he does—sex, torture, eating—is all done slowly, and with great specificity.
The rocky mantel of the Climb snarls out before them. Lava spews in varying plumes as dark draconic shapes linger against the clouds, betraying their true size thanks to the vast distance of this place. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat now that the heat has finally and totally engulfed them, Cian narrows his eyes as he looked up towards the oppressive and grey sky.
As with most things, Cian takes his time. The only time he rushes is when it comes to waking up, or in the heat of murder. Everything else he does—sex, torture, eating—is all done slowly, and with great specificity.
The rocky mantel of the Climb snarls out before them. Lava spews in varying plumes as dark draconic shapes linger against the clouds, betraying their true size thanks to the vast distance of this place. Unbuttoning his trenchcoat now that the heat has finally and totally engulfed them, Cian narrows his eyes as he looked up towards the oppressive and grey sky.
In a dusty black coat with
A red right hand
A red right hand
