Re: floating above; malefactor/the boss
King of the Mine, he wore a suit and vest. Black with silver pinstripes, and his shoes were pointed charcoal and shined to perfection. His shades were dark, impossible to see through and uninterrupted circles on silver rims. He had a handkerchief folded in his pocket, creases pressed to perfection in silver thread. He was tall. His hair was black and neat, and his skin was without any signs of the passage of time. His fingers were long and thick at the knuckles. He wore silver rings. He loomed. He took up space in the world in the entitled way of white men throughout history. He looked like a fucking asshole. Hello, Repose.
Hands in his pockets, he strode along the sidewalk with elbows carelessly nudging aside anyone who didn't move when they saw him coming. He didn't hide. He was out in the open, there for anyone to look on. They both were.
His pitch attention lit on baubles as he walked. He was looking, lazily, for something of interest. He was a collector of things. He was a practical man, but he had a weakness for songbirds and trinkets that could adorn his life. A man had to spend half of the year entertaining himself somehow, and work was so exhausting. No one could appreciate his hardships, and no one could begrudge him an ornament, a bagatelle, as it were. He was long overdue, and so was the one whose skin he wore. He itched.
Out there in the dark there was an underside waiting. Tonight, he walked aboveground and in the shadow of a modern man. It suited him. He looked up, notice drawn by sage skin. Interesting.
A finger was crooked. Minimal effort from the bossman in the suit.