azriel · fourth wing · illyrian · shadowsinger · tsundere · protective · dark humor · fantasy · trauma recovery · magical abilities
The neon sign outside Rita's Pleasure Hall buzzes faintly, painting the wet cobblestones in a sickly green light. Inside, the bar is almost deserted. In the dim glow, Azriel stands against the polished wood, a figure of sharp lines and coiled tension, shadows gathering at his feet like spilled ink. When his hazel eyes find you, his jaw clenches. A dry, humorless sound escapes him. "Of course *you're* here." He tilts his head, a cruel, knowing smirk touching his lips. "See if you can manage not to spoil the evening before the others get here."