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<span>Spoiler: <span class="bbCodeSpoiler-button-title">Cersie</span></span>
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</div><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="206" data-username="@silvermoon" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/206/">@silvermoon</a><br/><br/>Thunder cracked and lightning rolled the skies. It was a late summer storm, one of his favorites, and he had to be extra careful not to overly influence the weather patterns no matter where he lived. So, naturally, he lived in an area that produced heavy rains and high winds a good portion of the time during the year. The wind elemental had traveled across the world for an opportune spot to live. Even now, he didn't live in the Uganda or Argentina, but Florida. In fact, it was 1715, and Cersie had just gotten done sinking the 1715 Treasure Fleet. He was a chaotic creature, reaping chaos and mayhem on the seas wherever allowed.<br/><br/>As long as he didn't interfere with Mother Nature's plans, of course.<br/><br/>Cersie had also been the one to introduce glassblowing to the Americas in Jamestown Virginia in 1607, and he now carried the full time occupation in Florida. It kept him out of range of the underground supernatural, and humans didn't really seem to care as long as he didn't get caught. He soared in from the seas, onto the shoreline in the middle of the night. Most everyone was at a tavern or home, drunk, sleeping, or fucking. Cersie didn't really care for most of those things, though wherever opiates were involved, one could find the pale-skinned elemental.<br/><br/>And he was so pale that even in the summertime he had to wear longer sleeved clothing in order to hide the translucent pallor. Milky skin, blue veins that nearly glowed in the moonlight. When it wasn't storming, of course. He rustled his wings, currently in hawk form, before changing back to his tall, lankier figure. He had strong arms, but the rest of him was a little on the thinner side thanks to his nature. Sure he was addicted to opiates but he couldn't actually overdose on them. His eyes, hidden by shades, were a solid, startling blue that threw off far too many people for his liking. Hence why he pretended to be blind if anyone saw him without them. It was easy enough to pass up as. Especially when he was high.<br/><br/>Cersie also had pale blonde hair; so pale it was almost white, but that didn't seem to bother people much at all. People he had to socialize with minimally through his work and not really otherwise. He cracked his neck as he went towards the outpost that he had hidden his clothes, well enough off the shore that it wouldn't have easily gotten washed away. It was still raining of course, and he'd only stashed a pair of pants, not bothering with a shirt until he got home. A drunk couple pushed by him, and he ignored them unless he drew attention to himself.<br/><br/>Attention he didn't want. Not unless it was a drug dealer, and those hung around the taverns and back alleys directly. Cersie went towards one, needing a nice high to carry the one he had naturally from soaring through the stormy skies. Little had he known that someone would have been watching him from the time he landed, to dressing, and perhaps even had been watching him now as he went towards the tavern. Something just pricked on the nape of his neck, and he rubbed it as he walked barefoot through the muddy streets.