even at the best of times i'm out of my mind // intro

[teef]

jikai 'toji' horrel -- male - witchling - 21 - homosexual polyromantic - attack in #FFD700 & tag [member=1929]jikai ![/member] - speech/thought in #151B54

a man easily in the beginnings of his twenties and the later end of his teens stood just outside of the entrance to San Creado, his dirt covered hand resting on the scratched and marred pole of the town's sign. his eyes swept over the torn and tattered road, breath resting on his lips as he rolled his shoulders, neck popping and cracking as he looked down at himself after a slow languorous stretch. sighing once he brushed the dust from his suit, the white jacket marred by a day's travel with his knee high brown boots faring not much better.

taking in one last critical look of the city that lay before him he began his trek inward, his feet making soft prints in the dust littering the road, his body at ease even if his nerves and ears searched for every little noise or presence that might indicate danger. a wound over the man's right eye bleed profusely, mingling with the thick dark ichor seeping from a jagged slice on his left cheek. the dust and wind stung the open wounds, his body accustomed to the unrelenting pain of facial wounds. ruffling long black hair he gave a mighty huff, coughing at the dirt and dust he had breathed in.

there was one question he had as he observed his surroundings, noticing the relevant silence of the city, 'where is everyone? I mean, this does look like a hell-hole, but where are the occupants? ... is this a trap?' he questioned the nighttime air mentally.

even at dusk or in the dead of night he would expect to see some occupants. maybe this had been a bad idea after all ... not that he didn't trust his ex-husband, but he hadnt been out to observe the world in a long time and when his husband had last been here, he had seen a thriving night life. no matter, thoughts of the past would not help the man who had been forced through time by his own magick.

he had come to san creado in thought of starting life with his magick weak, a place to grow and fix his mistakes, a place to recover, and a place to begin. he had nothing in this time, and he could already feel the pounding headache that generally came with the force of travel. hearing the rush of noise in his ears and seeing the bright flurry of colors he crossed his arms before his face to protect himself from the hard ground racing to catch his body as he fell unconscious. he knew no more, darkness swallowing his very being in it's comfortable grip.