I stepped into the Bazaar by happenstance. It was my intention to go to the Ocean, as it has been for some time. I would not have been surprised to walk into the Birch Grove instead.
He obscured the bright lights of the Bazaar. Sound moved around him in quiet reverence. He stood tall above me, but presented himself as if he were but an inch more than I.
I knew he was making himself small, but I didn’t know if to avoid the appearance of aggression or if to conceal the same before striking.
At first I thought I had ran into Hermes. Would make sense. The Bazaar is the cathedral of mercantilism, after all. The frame of his body was like Hermes, and the cut of his suit reminded me of the meticulously vain god just the same. But the suit was black the way No Man’s suit was black. Matte and devouring.
The hair reminded me of thin strands of old gold. Not quite brown, but not quite yellow, and not quite shiny, but not organic at all.
I looked at his skin and knew this was not Hermes. Black gold the way the Kemetic pantheon is skinned with black gold. Not blackened, nor tattooed. This was an intrinsic quality to his skin. Pure gold. All black.
He worked the onyx cufflinks of his suit while I studied him. The action turned his face away from me. Without his eyes available for me to examine, I could not see his face.
He held a hand up. When he made a fist, his knuckles cracked. It was not a threatening act, merely a display of power.
He lifted his head to speak. Whiteless orbs of something like black opal glittered.
The alarm shattered my awareness.
Dammit.