|The offscreen catalyst, like (ladymacbeth) wrote in repose,|
@ 2019-09-14 02:48:00
|Entry tags:||*log, diego castaño, shiloh foster|
|Shiloh didn't live at the B&B. He had a place above Mal's electronic store, and that decision was one he'd carefully turned over. It was a dangerous leap, staying in town after being found out by the protestant church as a fraud, but it wasn't a leap made blindly; he'd thought it through. There was something going on with Mal, and it made the space above his shop a good choice for staying. There was the fact that he, Shiloh, hadn't spent any time in town as a child staying summers at Lands End, on the far end of the lake. Mother hadn't allowed them to socialize, and, as such Mal, as a neighbor, was the only person in town who might recognize him in his grown state. He was counting on being somewhat average looking and not recognizable from the news, though that story had gone cold and taken place in far-off Alabama. His fake papers made him Shiloh Foster, and Shiloh Foster he'd embraced being. As for his siblings, he'd deal with them when it was required of him.|
This morning, he'd slept in late enough to be considered lazy, and he'd made it to the B&B while brunch was still being served in metal domes for the townfolks to serve themselves. It was an accomplishment, all things considered, and there was only a hint of white-powder residue on his nose. He hadn't showered before coming, but he hadn't gotten up to trouble the night before, and he didn't smell of cigarettes or fucking. His hair was mussed, but his cheeks were smooth, which was entirely the responsibility of genetics and nothing to do with carefulness about his appearance that morning.
He was dressed right, and he looked around the space in search of someone interesting. Shiloh wasn't the sort who liked spending copious amounts of time alone. He'd grown up with adopted siblings sharing space day in, day out, and silence wasn't something he handled with a great deal of aplomb. He found a soul that looked interesting and, slipping his jacket off as he walked, he stopped in front of an empty chair. "Mind company?" he asked. He was tall, thin, harmless really, but there was something in his hazel eyes that declared shadows, and the quirk of his mouth intimated trouble and risk and turn around while you still had a chance.