[ he lingers in the second apartment he enters for far longer than is probably considered polite. the lived-in nature of the space makes him curious, when so far he hasn't seen another soul in this city since he'd awoken underground. other areas he'd explored gave similar suggestions of life, but something about the intimacy of walking into someone's supposed home keeps him from overlooking this particular space. there's something a little more personal to this area... something a little more tangible to hold onto.
he decides he doesn't really like it.
hand itching for his sword and knowing it won't be at his hip like it should be, nic opts for the heaviest blade he can find in the kitchen's knife block. he tests the weight of it and decides it'll do — but for what, he's not quite sure yet.
a door opens behind him, and though he doesn't hear something in the back of his mind itches for him to look anyway, and so he turns with a sharpness in his gaze that can only be described as feral. ]
ART.
[ stepping into the art building was, categorically, a very stupid mistake. nic relied a lot on his sense of sight, after all, so having his vision so thoroughly bombarded by shifting shadows and pulsing lights was disorienting at best, and maddening at worst. he loses track of the exit almost immediately, and no amount of free cocktails makes up for the fact he's quickly getting overloaded and angry about it. there's only so much a caged animal can take before it breaks.
though he can be found accidentally wandering into all the rooms, two rooms of note would be:
in the red room, nic will have divested himself of his blazer and rolled up the sleeves of his plain white button-up. sweat has already begun to claim that shirt, making the large tattoo spanning the upper portion of his back slightly visible. but just as notable are the various scars (some new, some old) littered all across every inch of visible skin.
the flower room is of no particular interest to nic, though he does stop and stare at the hanging blossoms as he walks under them. you might even catch him rising up on his tip-toes to try and get a sniff of a flower or two. honestly, compared to all the other rooms, this is downright pleasant! but that's largely because he has no fucking idea about the whispers following him around, spoken in his own low, gravelly voice, revealing secrets he hasn't thought about in years:
• i'Ve LoST cOUnT hOW MANy pEOple I'vE KIlLED. • i DiDN'T lEArn how TO reAD TIl i WaS 12. • I RUIneD the LIfe of ThE oNLy FRieNd I'Ve EvER KnoWn.
ETC.
( please note that nic is deaf, though he can still communicate using sign language and sPeECh. both options will be shown visually as they were just now, but feel free to shoot me a pm if you have any questions! you can also hover over any spoken speech of his to read his text normally, in case the sticky caps is too off-putting.
also totally open for any wildcarding if none of the options strike your fancy. )
nicolas brown | gangsta.
he decides he doesn't really like it.
hand itching for his sword and knowing it won't be at his hip like it should be, nic opts for the heaviest blade he can find in the kitchen's knife block. he tests the weight of it and decides it'll do — but for what, he's not quite sure yet.
a door opens behind him, and though he doesn't hear something in the back of his mind itches for him to look anyway, and so he turns with a sharpness in his gaze that can only be described as feral. ]
ART.
though he can be found accidentally wandering into all the rooms, two rooms of note would be:
also totally open for any wildcarding if none of the options strike your fancy. )