Tom Cornhill

Upon first glance:

He'd found a comfortable spot didn't he? So carefree to settle down and appear to ignore his surroundings so he can, what? Write? Such a strange man to find a random place amid everything going on to pull out a journal and fill in its pages. But yet, that look on his face, oddly peaceful, no- not peaceful, sad. Those eyes. Those damned deep eyes are drawing you in, pools of hazel rippling in the light as it catches on flecks of gold. Why are they so expressive, why are they so sad?

Oh no. He glanced your way. Did your eyes meet? No- no. Surely not. Your gaze settles on him again. There's nothing special to this human man, at least not with such a cursary glace. Short, dark brown hair, pale skin, no noticeable scars, just an distinctly average face. If it weren't for those damned eyes at least. He wore pretty typical attire; black boots, black legs and a quarter open black shirt, to keep the heat off, nto enough to show any definable muscle. He's no peasant, nor likely noble, just something in-between probably. Not even a weapon at his side. That's foolish.

He shifts in his spot, running fingers through his hair before mopping his brow with the back of his hand, a glimmer of a polished golden band adorns his ring finger. A wedding band? He's given such care to it, must be nice, a happy marriage. But, that doesn't explain the sadness. How odd. Wait. As his arm returns to his writing, you notice the tightness of his sleeve, damn, not bad for a human to have such muscle mass. You watch the journal close and as he pulls his courier style bag from his opposite side to slip the book inside, it looked quite weighted down. Since there's no obvious coin purse, perhaps he kept it in his bag with all his other items, for safety.

Just as he got back on his feet you notice someone approaching him, a finger pointing, you can even hear the heightened toned, but not the words. The human rests the bag at his side, addressing the male feline. Seems to be an argument? Not much of one. The human pinches the bridge of his nose and drifts the hand away as his mouth moves. His expression has changed so much in the small moments between when he was sat and facing this other, like an invisible mask adorns his face. Oh ho. Tensions seem to be rising, there's a hand on hilt now as the human tries to talk his way out of whatever is going on. His hands settle out in front of him, open almost like he's surrendering, head shaking slowly. And now the sword is being drawn...wait...what's this? Ha ha! He just knocked the other man the fuck out. With just one punch! Well, fuck swords I guess?