It's the hair that catches Ignacio's attention. And the nervous aimlessness that shouts that he's new in town. He waves from where he's standing, leaning against the corner of his shop, Witch Flavor, one hand still holding a cigarillo gently leaking blueish smoke, carrying the scent of vanilla to smooth out the acrid tobacco.
Ignacio isn't too worried. Siren's Cove isn't a bad town, compared to parts of Miami, or Boston.
"You lost?" he asks, narrowing his eyes, black and inscrutable, like a cow's.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2015-08-22 10:29 pm (UTC)Ignacio isn't too worried. Siren's Cove isn't a bad town, compared to parts of Miami, or Boston.
"You lost?" he asks, narrowing his eyes, black and inscrutable, like a cow's.