He
He could sit, still as a poacher in the jungle eyeing his prey. Without speaking he spoke volumes. His eyes were grey, and sharp, like polished granite. His clothes were tailored, and pressed, his entire image combed over and perfected. His only weakness, a slight misgesture in his hand, a nervous tick. His voice made up for it, however. Smooth, and rich like warm chocolate pouring from his mouth. When he spoke his words would flow out continuously, like he never had to reach for a breath by... Sign in to see full entry.