Scooby-Doo theme.
Standing six feet eight with long metallic purple hair and wearing black wraparound sunglasses long after sundown, Acheron was a hard man to miss.
Talon usually referred to Acheron as T-Rex. The nickname stemmed more from the man's intimidating, carnivorous presence than from his ancient age.
There was something truly eerie about Acheron's lethal aura. It flowed out of him like a dangerous tsunami. The very air around the man seemed charged with mystical energy so powerful that it could make the skin on your arms or back of your neck crawl if you stood too close to him.
And judging by the berth the crowd had given T-Rex, Talon would say he wasn't the only one to feel it.
Then again, Talon amended, as he noted Acheron's black motorcycle jacket with silver chain mail draped over one sleeve and his leather pants that had laces instead of seams, maybe it was Acheron's eccentric, unorthodox looks that made people leave him alone.
Whatever it was, no one wanted to get in that man's way.
Acheron turned his head.
Even with the black wraparound sunglasses covering his eyes, Talon knew T-Rex was staring straight at him. Talon gave a short laugh as he noticed Acheron's new facial addition. A silver nose stud.
T-Rex had two very strange penchants: he was always finding new places to pierce his body, and his hair color changed faster than the unpredictable
Louisiana
weather.
T-Rex also had a strange scar of a hand print that came and went on his neck. No one was sure if the scar was real or if it was some weird trick to throw them off guard that Acheron used. His accent was the same way. There were times when Acheron's voice was heavy with an odd melodic accent Talon assumed to be his native one from Atlantis, and other times T-Rex sounded just like any other television-programmed American.
The ancient warrior seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in keeping people guessing about him. He was even more private than Talon and that was saying something.
Acheron retrieved his black suede backpack, which was decorated with an anarchy logo from the street. He slung it over his shoulder, then tossed a few bills into the musician's guitar case and headed over.
Several members of the crowd visibly tensed and recoiled as Acheron moved through them with the fluid long-legged gait of a dangerous predator. Those who dared to look at him quickly averted their gazes.
It was ironic, really, since Acheron was the last person on earth who would ever harm a mortal. He was the oldest protector mankind had.
For centuries he had fought the Daimons single-handedly.
Alone.
Without friend or Squire.
Talon had heard rumors that Acheron had been trained to fight by Ares himself. Other rumors claimed Acheron was the son of a god and a legendary Atlantean hero.
But basically no one knew anything about Acheron other than he was tall, private, intimidating, and very, very strange.
As Acheron drew near, Talon inclined his head toward Acheron's purple hair with its four small braids that framed his face. "You know, I think I need to drop the T-Rex and start calling you Barney."
One corner of Acheron's mouth quirked up. "Don't start on me, Celt." He raked an amused look over Talon's leather pants, T-shirt, and jacket. "Nice to see you
fully
dressed for the occasion."
Talon winced at the underlying meaning of that comment. "Kyrian told on me, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. The pink towel bit was my favorite part."
Kyrian would pay for this. Even if Talon had to hunt him down. "I swear… Does Nick know?"
Acheron smiled a real smile that flashed a tiny bit of fang.
Damn, he was screwed now.
Oh, what the hell, it'd been worth it. Spending the afternoon with Sunshine had more than made up for any embarrassment.
T-Rex looked over his shoulder as if sensing something, and a corner of his leather jacket fell away from his throat to show the hand print was gone again.
Talon followed his line of vision to see Valerius approaching them. He'd only
Standing six feet eight with long metallic purple hair and wearing black wraparound sunglasses long after sundown, Acheron was a hard man to miss.
Talon usually referred to Acheron as T-Rex. The nickname stemmed more from the man's intimidating, carnivorous presence than from his ancient age.
There was something truly eerie about Acheron's lethal aura. It flowed out of him like a dangerous tsunami. The very air around the man seemed charged with mystical energy so powerful that it could make the skin on your arms or back of your neck crawl if you stood too close to him.
And judging by the berth the crowd had given T-Rex, Talon would say he wasn't the only one to feel it.
Then again, Talon amended, as he noted Acheron's black motorcycle jacket with silver chain mail draped over one sleeve and his leather pants that had laces instead of seams, maybe it was Acheron's eccentric, unorthodox looks that made people leave him alone.
Whatever it was, no one wanted to get in that man's way.
Acheron turned his head.
Even with the black wraparound sunglasses covering his eyes, Talon knew T-Rex was staring straight at him. Talon gave a short laugh as he noticed Acheron's new facial addition. A silver nose stud.
T-Rex had two very strange penchants: he was always finding new places to pierce his body, and his hair color changed faster than the unpredictable
Louisiana
weather.
T-Rex also had a strange scar of a hand print that came and went on his neck. No one was sure if the scar was real or if it was some weird trick to throw them off guard that Acheron used. His accent was the same way. There were times when Acheron's voice was heavy with an odd melodic accent Talon assumed to be his native one from Atlantis, and other times T-Rex sounded just like any other television-programmed American.
The ancient warrior seemed to take a great deal of pleasure in keeping people guessing about him. He was even more private than Talon and that was saying something.
Acheron retrieved his black suede backpack, which was decorated with an anarchy logo from the street. He slung it over his shoulder, then tossed a few bills into the musician's guitar case and headed over.
Several members of the crowd visibly tensed and recoiled as Acheron moved through them with the fluid long-legged gait of a dangerous predator. Those who dared to look at him quickly averted their gazes.
It was ironic, really, since Acheron was the last person on earth who would ever harm a mortal. He was the oldest protector mankind had.
For centuries he had fought the Daimons single-handedly.
Alone.
Without friend or Squire.
Talon had heard rumors that Acheron had been trained to fight by Ares himself. Other rumors claimed Acheron was the son of a god and a legendary Atlantean hero.
But basically no one knew anything about Acheron other than he was tall, private, intimidating, and very, very strange.
As Acheron drew near, Talon inclined his head toward Acheron's purple hair with its four small braids that framed his face. "You know, I think I need to drop the T-Rex and start calling you Barney."
One corner of Acheron's mouth quirked up. "Don't start on me, Celt." He raked an amused look over Talon's leather pants, T-shirt, and jacket. "Nice to see you
fully
dressed for the occasion."
Talon winced at the underlying meaning of that comment. "Kyrian told on me, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. The pink towel bit was my favorite part."
Kyrian would pay for this. Even if Talon had to hunt him down. "I swear… Does Nick know?"
Acheron smiled a real smile that flashed a tiny bit of fang.
Damn, he was screwed now.
Oh, what the hell, it'd been worth it. Spending the afternoon with Sunshine had more than made up for any embarrassment.
T-Rex looked over his shoulder as if sensing something, and a corner of his leather jacket fell away from his throat to show the hand print was gone again.
Talon followed his line of vision to see Valerius approaching them. He'd only
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