Who: Aran Foley & Open What: Checking out the town. When: 01/25, afternoon. Where: Around Cedar Ridge Rating: Low?
Aran tugged the soft handmade scarf Illya had knitted for him up over his mouth as he slid from the car. His slender body draped in fashionable clothing, as his lover would have him in nothing else. A dark navy peacoat and the blue of the scarf and gloves setting off his crystal blue eyes as he moved to the sidewalk. At least they'd escaped New York before the storm...
The cold didn't bother him much as he walked, his movements confidant and graceful. With the collar beneath his scarf, his confidence and the fact anyone with a particularly sensitive nose could scent him as a fox? One wouldn't assume him a slave. He wasn't a spy or ex-military, but he still looked over everything and everyone, trying to assess this new town. A need to do so driven by paranoia of knowing that the Vor had a long memory, and they'd not let the slight Illya and he had caused go unpunished. They lived on borrowed time, and Aran felt that assessment wasn't overly dramatic. Illya had gotten their boss and a number of higher ups in the organization jailed, and then run off with one of their more profitable whores who, himself, held some juicy bits of information on them, including the inner workings of their human and supernatural trafficking ties.
He was pausing to look in on a shop when he sense someone approach him. Looking over he smiled, though his lips were hidden. "'Ello," he said, voice thick with an unusual accent, Irish tainted with Russian. "Can I help you?"