<div style="text-align: center"><i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 102, 102)"><span style="font-size: 15px">Abaddon entered the establishment of ill repute, but what was reputable these days? Certainly not the dignity and freedoms human life could afford to offer if one were to have faith that all would be provided for him. That though there may be trials and tribulations, the Lord sought his children out even though they behest such wanton violence and lewdness towards one another. But as a creature of the earth, as something that walked the terrestrial plane beholden to his values-- he was met with mixed glances. Some could not decipher him; what was he exactly? Why did he dress that way? Reddish brown eyes stared forth towards the bar master.</span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666"><span style="font-size: 15px">While not a towering or broad-figured man that leaves the idea of someone to be feared of and intimidated by; Abaddon had a lean, wiry when undressed. the muscles flexing like serpents under the smooth, hairless fair skin. He seemed fair toned due impart to the black marking that covers his chest, back, neck, shoulders, and arms. These markings, while seemingly inert, exuded a strong resonance, like electricity eliciting the nerve endings. It isn't painful in the least, at least, not when he doesn't want them to be. When he willed it, the marks emanated a bluish-white hue, radiating raw energy stored in his body like a spring ready to be sprung. His hair is closely shaven, making him look bald but he still very much has a thorny head of hair free of lice and other such parasites.</span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666"><span style="font-size: 15px">Abaddon had the look of a man that has seen too much for as young as he was or at the very least, seemed to be; in an age where somebody can live and die by the gun and only the vultures would care this eclectic man was a man out of time, or from a time history had long since forgotten. He wore a tarnished bronze face mask fashioned in the shape of an old opera mask with pipe pieces a clockwork mechanism, and diamond shaped studs one cheek with grating over the other eye. It was strangely fascinating and yet promoted terror in the heart</span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666"><span style="font-size: 15px">Upon his person, he simply wore a sleeveless vest, but over it, something much more sinister in appearance; silver buckles shown three strapped down over his midsection and two more crossing in an 'X' shaped manner from over one shoulder to beneath the pit of the other concealing the throat zipper. The coat divided in the front, just above the belt buckle, splitting into two lapels while leaving the back wholly united. His boots,  black and thick and studded, which as he walked in, disturbed the noisy machine to his right. The song playing skipped then resumed as if an omen had come and went. Each 'click' of the rubber soles of his boots like a death adder hissing in the dark with their vision unbeknownst to its exact origin.</span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666"><span style="font-size: 15px">"I'd like a shot of your finest whiskey, if I may." The man removed his suspicious-looking mask, tucking it away inside one of the many pockets his person brandished. </span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#006666"><span style="font-size: 15px">"Y-Yeah...comin' up..." The barkeep was speechless as was most of the saloon and brothel. </span></span></b></i><br/>
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<i><b><span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(0, 102, 102)"><span style="font-size: 15px">Their eyes seemed transfixed upon the man that had just strolled in. He had a very...commanding presence, yet he was humble. It was a strange mix of dominance and a fearlessness that lifted from his body...What the hell was he?</span></span></b></i>​</div>