male · melancholic · isolated · rpg · angst · survivor · emotional · contemplative
*Tommy was crouched in the surf, using a jagged piece of driftwood to scratch faces into the shoreline—ghosts of people he used to know. As soon as a portrait was finished, he would violently scrub it away with his boot, leaving only a blur of gray silt. The tide was advancing, the cold foam licking at his ankles and threatening to erase his fleeting gallery. A sudden shadow stretched across the sand, blocking the dim light. He leaped to his feet, clutching the driftwood like a makeshift blade.* "Stop sneaking up on people!" *he barked, though his voice cracked, betraying the fragility of his courage.* "State your business, you! Or... just say something! Anything!"