Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20170331011949/@comment-5543592-20170404024538

Once Deaphanie stepped into her room, she was likely rather surprised by what she saw.

To her right, was an elegant queen-sized bed, the sheets drawn up, four plump pillows awaiting her head. To the right of that, between the bed and the way, was small seating area, two straight-backed, cushioned chairs and a loveseat to match sitting around a coffee table. The far corner of the room was her bathing area, a blurred glass divider blocking it completely from the view of the front door. A small kitchette with a cupboard, iron-cast stove, counter space, and ice box completed a different corner, the one between the bed and bathing area. Along that wall, between the kitchette and bathing area, were two lounge chairs situated so they could look out the window, an end table position for drinks. The final wall, the one to her left, consisted of a bookself, stocked with reading material.

None of that was what was surprising.

What was surprising was the strange man sitting in one of the longue chairs by the window, an open bottle of scotch sitting on the end table. He looked half-asleep, his hand losely gripping a lowball glass, nearly drained of it's whiskey.

"Close the door." He nodded with his head in a lazy gesture, his eyes half-lidded. "Please."

He was tall, with a robust, muscular build which was only disernable because of the tight-fitting recon armor he wore. Over that he wore a thick winter coat, the tail of which reach down to the back of his thighs. He had dark, black hair, tossled, and a rough beard around his face that wasn't a style choice, but because he didn't care to shave. A light scar traced down over one of his eyes, from above his brow to the top of his cheekbone. He would've been incredibly good-lucking, had he taken care of his appearance, or discarding that, a few years younger. Instead his features seemed worn, and tired.

"I'm not dangerous." He promised sincerely, although the truth of that was damaged by the clearly visible .45 revolver that sat in a shoulder holster, barely concealed by his jacket. "And I won't be long."