Re: Claire's: The Devil's Threeway
His jeans were ripped and his tshirt was dirty and his hair was held back from his face in a slick ponytail that looked several days unwashed. Beyond that, he looked younger than usual, and he took a drag on his cigarette, letting the smoke out in a slightly sulfer-tinged cloud. He hadn't seen Claire in weeks, and Janus in longer, and after the tumbling confusion of the night before and the realization that Mishael was nowhere that could currently be felt. He didn't have Claire's faith, so he needed to reassure himself that somethings, at least, hadn't changed. Because he couldn't deny any longer that he had changed.
Shoulders hunched like he was attempting to ward off an ache beneath his shoulders and along his spine, he didn't seem to notice the fact that a tshirt was ill-suited to Repose's cooling weather. He simply walked from up the block, having stepped through Hell to appear far enough away as to not be noticed, wanting Claire or Janus to neither see nor hear him when he faltered and stumbled on his step back up to earth, knees giving out for a moment and palm scraping the sidewalk, until he found his balance and stood up again.
When he knocked on her door, he waited for an answer, not letting himself directly inside. Instead, he lingered in the doorway with his hand braced on the trim. He wasn't propping himself up, not exactly, though it was nice to have something solid to touch. He tilted his head forward, able to catch her scent on the wisp of air that escaped around her front door, and he closed his eyes to let it settle in his lungs in place of the smoke he'd finished a few houses away. "Bella?"