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[ He stands by the window, staring out at the city. There are no lights on in the room. He likes the dark. The only source of light is the tiny ember glowing at the tip of his cigarette, and it glows just enough to cast a shadow on his face, defined and enhanced by the light from the city outside.
He is shirtless, having draped his coat and shirt and tie unceremoniously over a chair earlier. It's hot. Not too hot, but just hot enough to be more comfortable without.
Tattoos snake up his back and arms, across his shoulders and up his neck, barely visible in the gleam from the city. They chain him to the city, mark him as a creature of it, born from it, made for it, one with it.
He exhales a stream of smoke and it hovers around his face before dissipating into the air. ]
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