Slowly, after a long, awkward pause, the door opened. WHat it presented was a fearful sight to most, and one some women, and men fantasized of. Zevion, despite his robes was heavily tanned, due to working for hours around intense heat and exposed windows. His rippling abdomen and treestump legs made strong by constant heavy work on machines, and the simple effort of carrying his own metallic weight around. Across his back was a looming squared off shape: his folded away mechadendrites. His respirator grill covering the lower half of his face, masking his jawline. Powerful arms rested at either side of his body, the left at a slight angle as he was touching the rune panel to the door.<br/><br/>From the base of his ribcage, to as high as his shoulders was replaced with an angular metal shape, those who saw pictos of them would say his mantle resembled a necron's torso, save for hte aquillia embazed where his sternum should have been. No glow, hoever, eminated from the slits along each side, for instead they gave view to the machinery within, and the ocational jolt of power from the plated over potentia coil.<i>"Torin..."</i>He began, the vox on his neck sounding of annoyance, and mild agression...<i>"We both know, inhibrated or not, that my feet are beyond the needed size to fill your rectal cavity. Any yet, you still choose to disturb me..."</i>His one augmetic eye glaring a near murderous red hue as he quite litterally stared<i>Down</i>at the bodyguard...<br/><br/>And yet, after a second, disgruntled pause, he slowly stepped aside, gesturing into the unlit room.<i>"Break anything, and your arms, will be on my maintenance list."</i>The sound of a metalic pincer snapping emphasizing his words... The only thing keeping the 'tin man' modest being a pair of baggy boxers, covered in countless cartoonish cog wheels. It was babe blue, the cogs a chrome shade.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>