September is completely bare of hair, save for some rather criminally thick eyelashes. Some men have all the eyelash luck, it seems. They're oddly pretty eyes, too, even with the lack of eyebrows.
He blinks a little sleepily at the question and pauses to put the words together. In this state, as relaxed and slightly drunk as he is, his motions go from 'eerily graceful' to 'almost sensually languid,' as is evidenced when he picks up the wine glass and takes a drink from it, the wine appearing to slide between his lips in a bizarrely unchaste manner for a simple drink. He is completely unconscious of this, however.
"I am known as September," he murmurs. He's given up trying to come up with a pseudonym for his pseudonym. It seems to serve him well enough. "Originally, I am from the twenty-seventh century."
He's learnt to be forthcoming, you see, because he still has a tiny glimmer of hope that someone he speaks to will know enough about time travel to help him figure out a way to return to his Observing job.
no subject
He blinks a little sleepily at the question and pauses to put the words together. In this state, as relaxed and slightly drunk as he is, his motions go from 'eerily graceful' to 'almost sensually languid,' as is evidenced when he picks up the wine glass and takes a drink from it, the wine appearing to slide between his lips in a bizarrely unchaste manner for a simple drink. He is completely unconscious of this, however.
"I am known as September," he murmurs. He's given up trying to come up with a pseudonym for his pseudonym. It seems to serve him well enough. "Originally, I am from the twenty-seventh century."
He's learnt to be forthcoming, you see, because he still has a tiny glimmer of hope that someone he speaks to will know enough about time travel to help him figure out a way to return to his Observing job.