Post by Apollo Schmidt on Nov 24, 2007 15:03:07 GMT -5
The weather wasn’t the frightful rain and thunder that always seemed to follow neither those sad or remorseful nor the sunny that followed those enjoying a great day. The sun was out but the cold was evident there was no wind; there was no snow just cold, the bitter cold of winter. In the cold of winter’s wrath was Apollo he had lived in the desert for years and was as some might mildly put it, a hater of cold weather. Luckily he was prepared with insulating layers, which weren’t cumbersome. The outer layer was his winter cloak and one could almost smell the musty scent on it as though it had recently come out of the closet, which in the way of irony was true. Apollo was not himself, quite literally, he was a complete stranger, his black hair was very short, His almond shaped brown eyes glanced around and his slim mouth was curled in a slight snarl as if the man in the gray cloak was about to attack someone, as a matter of fact given the chance he would attack anyone who loved this weather. As his thick boots made contact with the cold stone of Knockturn Alley his sneer softened almost. He had just left Borgin and Burkes, and for some reason while he was in the sore Mr. Borgin had taken the liberty to close the store to any other patrons allowing Apollo to talk freely. Apollo hadn’t needed to show his face, the gold family ring Apollo wore was enough to insure Borgin’s Cooperation in the mater of purchases. As he wound his way down Knockturn alley looking for a point to disapperate his shoulder slammed into another and in the way of Apollo’s manner he merely looked away and kept moving down the cobblestone. Let them call him rude, his pure-blood status made his action justified.
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