Daemin hated cities. They smelled like. . .stale life. No matter how busy cities were, and no matter how fast the people within them moved, they always reminded him of stale, rotting life.
But maybe that was jaded by Daemin's outlook on life. Staying in one place was never suitable for the man, and that urge to ramble only increased as he began to hunt his sister. That was a funny situation all in its own-- they both moved forward, searching for eachother as they covered their tracks behind them. Really, they were going in one big circle, except for the rare chances where one slipped up and the other caught their tracks. There would be a small confrontation, and one would get away, and the circles would continue.
It was a testament to how badly they wanted to kill one another. They didn't. Most of their circle game was pretense, and some of it was based on the true fear that the other sibling was actually out to kill them.
In a city, he was generally safe, but he preferred the open forests and roads. Life was much simpler out there, and nature flowed. Stagnancy was never a problem. Plus, there was nothing better than the scent of the lush forests in spring time.
Usually, Daemin didn't have a very. . .cheerful disposition, and in cities, his countenance only grew graver. As he walked down the streets, any elf or other such creature that dared look up at his face would most of the time flinch away, or make an annoyed sound, as if Daemin's bad mood was a direct insult to their perky little asses. Some might even think that Daemin would be more handsome, if only he smiled. He had a pretty face-- a face that was cultured and aristocratic, though the snobbishness that he might have given off was curbed by his vicious ice-blue eyes and the way that his mouth seemed always to be set in a cruel scowl. His hair hung in whisps, flowing like black silk down from a pony tail atop his head.
The tall man walked with a purpose, and fast, usually not looking down to survey any of those shorter than him. He reached 6'5", and his form was long and willowy, with lean muscle. He was, in no sense of the word, a brute, though his personality would suggest he was.
And damnit if he didn't like it that way. Some, who he had come to know (but not love-- once a lover was gone, he never spoke of them with compassion again, suggesting that his capacity for love was quite small) suggested that maybe he should learn to be a bit more gentle, but he brushed it off. Gentleness had no place in his world. That was a fact.
Absently, as he walked, Daemin's tail flicked up around his wrist. It was a white, fluffy thing, that was tipped in black-- it matched his ears, which were also white with black tips, and they were decorated with various earrings. Daemin wore no other jewelry, except for a leather strip on which hung a half-moon pendant. It was close to him, and usually he hid it under his shirt. Other than a black fingerless glove on his left hand, which hid something but no one was sure what, Daemin wore only the necessities: a pair of pants fitting of traveling, a poet's shirt, a quiver of arrows and a bow around his back, and two daggers on his hips.
Yes, weapons were necessities.
Really not paying attention to where he was walking, too asorbed in thoughts of his next move to find his sister, Daemin didn't notice that he was coming awfully close to running into someone until they'd already collided.
Lucifer. Daemin looked down, his features twisting into a look of disdain.
"Watch where you're going," he hissed moodily.
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