*the soft sound of whistling to an unfamiliar tune fills the air as a man approaches the doors to the tavern. He stops at the door, smiles, knocks in a rhythmic sing-song pattern, places his hands on his hips, and waits a moment. After a short pause, he loudly exclaims “I’ll get it!” Before opening the door. In the doorway stands a man with long dark hair with a floofy goatee and matching mustache made of fiery orange. A wide casual and genuine grin spreads across his teeth as his hands rest in the pockets of a jacket that is both incredibly simple and equally as exotic. He steps forward sideways with a slide and a snap, humming and dancing his way step-by-step toward the bar. Once he finally reaches a stool, he plants his palms on it and hops up into a squat on the high seat. His elbows rest on his knees as he keeps a flat footed squat, a pair of autumnal moth wings twitching occasionally on his back as a wide spread lattice of oranges, blues, and greens pulse softly beneath his pale skin. He looks around behind the bar, smiling ever still as he squats patiently* 

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