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<div style="0px; padding:0px;  width:290px; height:300px; background: #c7ff8c; overflow:hidden;"><div style="0px; padding:5px; width: 130%;height: 100%;padding-right:75px;overflow-Y: scroll;overflow-X: hidden; font-family:Raleway; font-size:10px; letter-spacing:0.2px;color: black; line-height:13px; text-align:justify;margin:auto "><span style="font-family:Lexend Peta"><b><span style="font-size: 18px">silas reaper</span></b></span><br/>
<span style="font-family:Raleway">Slinking in the shade,  just at the brink of the tree line, Silas lurked like a vulture over fading life. His skin, almond in shade, assisted in his clandestine recess. His darker <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fbb%2F1d%2F64%2Fbb1d6444f378192b0d7674ba08224e4d.jpg&amp;hash=4e869b4ca2849d6db7e39c032ebfec66" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/bb/1d/64/bb1d6444f378192b0d7674ba08224e4d.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">clothes</a> offered a silent declaration of the trademark mood for Sy. "Fuck off." It was his classic. His always. His steel toed boots were the only thing brighter in shade, and that was merely due to the polishing they'd received to buff out some fresh blood splatters. He'd been watching Neviah agonize over the precision of her placement all the way until everyone congregated like a big happy family. Even after Zephyr had commenced the feast, Silas remained statuesque in by the sidelines. Only after everyone had served themselves and began plucking the petals of their available conversation topics did he join them.<br/>
He snatched up the nearest space, piling food onto a pristine looking plate. His stormy teal eyes flickered between his food and drink. Nothing else. No acknowledgement was offered. If he opened his mouth, it'd only be something acidic to administer third degree burns to all surrounding.<br/>
The food was incredible. He'd know. He hunted the meat. He seasoned and prepped the marinade, too. Someone else had done the actual <i>cooking</i> aspect, which he felt was a mistake. Should have taken it into his own hands. Others probably liked it like this, but it was a little too well done for his taste. He appreciated a slit of red at the core of his choice cuts, but it'd have to do. He was fuckin' starving.<br/>
It wasn't easy to maintain table manners, so he didn't. Instead, the man devoured the necessary calories before him like it was a last meal pre-execution. His eyes shut with bliss upon tasting the potatoes - why were potatoes so god damn exquisite?<br/>
Conversation mingled with the sounds of clanging silverware and shifting bodies. Sy pondered his moves for later, resolving on taking his wolf out for a spin up to a cliff with a sensational view. The air became spangled with constellations of fireflies around this time there. He often toyed with throwing knives at that cliff, and the luckless tree that rested there told tales of the damage with its marred trunk.<br/>
Some people got up to leave early. Some never arrived. Some looked like they didn't give two shits about being here. All of them had harm to give. He didn't want any of it.</span><br/>
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<div class="bbCodeBlock-content">Slinking in the shade,  just at the brink of the tree line, Silas lurked like a vulture over fading life. His skin, almond in shade, assisted in his clandestine recess. His darker <a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fbb%2F1d%2F64%2Fbb1d6444f378192b0d7674ba08224e4d.jpg&amp;hash=4e869b4ca2849d6db7e39c032ebfec66" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/bb/1d/64/bb1d6444f378192b0d7674ba08224e4d.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">clothes</a> offered a silent declaration of the trademark mood for Sy. "Fuck off." It was his classic. His always. His steel toed boots were the only thing brighter in shade, and that was merely due to the polishing they'd received to buff out some fresh blood splatters. He'd been watching Neviah agonize over the precision of her placement all the way until everyone congregated like a big happy family. Even after Zephyr had commenced the feast, Silas remained statuesque in by the sidelines. Only after everyone had served themselves and began plucking the petals of their available conversation topics did he join them.<br/>
He snatched up the nearest space, piling food onto a pristine looking plate. His stormy teal eyes flickered between his food and drink. Nothing else. No acknowledgement was offered. If he opened his mouth, it'd only be something acidic to administer third degree burns to all surrounding.<br/>
The food was incredible. He'd know. He hunted the meat. He seasoned and prepped the marinade, too. Someone else had done the actual <i>cooking</i> aspect, which he felt was a mistake. Should have taken it into his own hands. Others probably liked it like this, but it was a little too well done for his taste. He appreciated a slit of red at the core of his choice cuts, but it'd have to do. He was fuckin' starving.<br/>
It wasn't easy to maintain table manners, so he didn't. Instead, the man devoured the necessary calories before him like it was a last meal pre-execution. His eyes shut with bliss upon tasting the potatoes - why were potatoes so god damn exquisite?<br/>
Conversation mingled with the sounds of clanging silverware and shifting bodies. Sy pondered his moves for later, resolving on taking his wolf out for a spin up to a cliff with a sensational view. The air became spangled with constellations of fireflies around this time there. He often toyed with throwing knives at that cliff, and the luckless tree that rested there told tales of the damage with its marred trunk.<br/>
Some people got up to leave early. Some never arrived. Some looked like they didn't give two shits about being here. All of them had harm to give. He didn't want any of it.<br/>
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