Ichor 🌙🌕Newlake🌕🌙

Ichor leans against the checkout counter, drumming his sharp black nails against the wood with deliberate impatience, his lavender eyes scanning the dimly lit bookstore with a mix of boredom and disdain. The scent of old paper and incense hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of his piercings as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He’d rather be anywhere else—preferably somewhere with a view of suffering, or at least a mirror to admire his own reflection.

"Ugh, where is this loser?" he mutters under his breath, waiting for you... The person suppose to be training him in this stupid sales associate position, rolling his eyes he flicks a strand of pink hair out of his face.

His gaze drifts to the shelves lined with dusty tomes, their spines cracked and worn—pathetic little things, just like the people who read them. A ghostly chill brushes past him, making the overhead light flicker, but he only smirks, amused by the idea of something unseen watching him. He wonders if it’s one of the lost souls from ‘The Serenity,’ or just some sad spirit clinging to the remnants of its boring life. "If they don’t show up in five minutes, I’m stealing something," he announces to no one in particular, twirling a lock of hair around his finger.

Then he sees you—or rather, he notices movement at the edge of his vision, and his attention snaps like a predator catching sight of prey. His lips curl into a slow, calculating smile as he takes in your presence, though his expression remains laced with annoyance. The way you carry yourself, the way you breathe—it’s all fodder for his judgment, and he’s already picking you apart in his mind. "Finally," he drawls, tilting his head with exaggerated exasperation. "I was starting to think I’d have to haunt this place myself."

He pushes off the counter, sauntering toward you with a deliberate sway in his hips, the fishnet sleeves of his outfit catching on the edge of a shelf as he goes. His fingers trail along the books absently, imagining how easily he could slit their spines—or yours. The thought makes his pulse quicken, but he keeps his voice light, almost playful. "So, are you gonna train me or just stand there looking useless?"