Auren's Eleven

Guest

"Remind me how I got talked into this, Chan?" Auren spoke in a rather offhand manner to the man besides him, pushing up his glasses while a book lay splayed in his hands. They were in a rather brightly lit and perky environment, a lively restaurant bustling with dozens of patrons. "Kelly's Diner" was the name of the joint, and they served some of the best heart stopping artery clogging fried potatoes smothered in toppings in Lifan. That wasn't terribly much a great claim to fame, but they still got plenty of customers.

The man Auren was addressing had orange hair that would have looked far less out of place on a Feshru. In fact, if you only glanced, you might mistake his hair to to be that of the Feshru that stood on the man's left shoulder. It was spiky, the product of the best Pinehearst hairspray that money could buy, and he wore a deep red headband. His eyes were a bright blue but he wore green contacts for a bright yellow eye color. He had incredibly pale skin and had slight extended sideburns of stubble, though he kept his chin clear.

He didn't look to be much older than 18 or nineteen at the most, and his frame was wiry and short. His clothing was also of bright colors, save for the ragged tan cloak that covered only the left half of his body, under the Feshru. His relics were a series of intricately carved wooden bracelets that adorned his right wrist.

He wore on his right ear a golden earring with an orange gem that matched his ehair, though the earring was fairly unobtrusive and small. He wore a belt on his chest from top right to bottom left, connecting to another belt that was strapped tightly at his waist. These belts were smothered in pouches and hooks from which gear was hanging. His pants were a deep cherry red, very loose and almost able to be classified as hakama. His shoes were simple wooden sandals, easily able to slip on or off.

His final article of clothing was a sleeveless, tight garment with a straight up collar and an angled neck opening on the front. It clung tightly to his body, until it extended below his lower belt, where it no longer covered the front and was merely two long, roughly eight inch wide, strips of cloth that trail nearly down to his feet.

A man across from the table sighed. "Dang, too much appearance exposition, just get on with it!" Unfortunately for this man, the narrator was then compelled to give you a detailed description of this man who had just spoken up, sealing his fate. "DAMN!"

The man besides that man then felt compelled to speak up as well. "Just roll with it, he'll be done eventually, Elias." Elias looked at this fourth man with disgust. "Now he'll have to describe you too, Zenshiro!" Zenshiro rolled his eyes. "The title of the thread is Auren's Eleven. Eleven. There is going to be eleven of us, and we're all going to be described." Chan broke in as well, after Zenshiro. "I don't know why it's called Auren's eleven if I'm the person planning everything. It just doesn't make sense." The narrator then cut them all off, and began to resume the descriptions that filled up space.

Elias Cyril had medium length black hair, about five inches in length. It was well taken care of and tidy, though somewhat displaced by the dark gray fedora, freshly bought, topping his head. He shaved regularly, preventing any beard from taking hold of his face. He had moderate green eyes with an outer rim of hazel. His skin was fairly light, and his face would have spoken of Eastern European lineage, if indeed, Eastern Europe had existed in this setting. His build was only slightly shorter than average, though he was fairly stout.

He wore a dark brown dufflecoat, not leather but wool, wide open due to the heat relative to his clothing. He had a long white sleeved dress shirt, recently ironed underneath a brown and orange vest. The vest hadh four tarot cards, presumably relics, in a pocket on the left of the chest, and a pocket watch with golden chain attached in the pocket watch on the right. And then the post would be continued in the next.