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G. M. Dark (illustratedman) wrote in wariscoming,

Mr. Dark swiveled to look at Mr. Grayson, fierce eyes passing over him in silent appraisal for just a second. And then, with a flair, Dark tipped forward and swept his hat off his head in a dramatic bow of respect and introduction.

"Good evening, Mr. Grayson!" he said brightly, standing his full height, returning his hat to his head. He tucked his cane under his arm and happily pulled his gloves from both hands, stuffing them unceremoniously into his jacket pockets. Mr. Dark was covered from head to foot in tattoos--or well, more accurately ankles to neck as he had no facial markings--his sleeves were just long enough to hide the stories that were illustrated on his arms. And illustrations they were; the marks were not simply static ink settled into layers of skin, but real moving representations of the people who worked in his carnival. Through them, Dark exerted power over his freaks.

"Mr. Grayson," Dark said again, this time tasting the man's name on his tongue and finding it.. odd. He extended a hand in polite offering as was the gentlemanly thing to do. He wasn't quite.. feeling Mr. Grayson, it made his smile falter for just one second before Dark recovered. Regarding the man closely, and with all guard up, he gestured to the park. "Shall we walk then and discuss our business?"