[size=small]<img style="Kenji" src="http://i741.photobucket.com/albums/xx53/VampyrHeart/Kenji_zps3cf30e58.jpg" style="max-width:50%;float:left;]The noise from the engine got louder and louder, until the thing finally appeared in the scout’s line of sight, it looked as loud as the noise it made, with lots of added custom parts, extended exhaust pipes and graffiti paint that has probably looked much better and brighter a few years ago, when that bike belonged to Kenji’s dad.
The rider looked as flamboyant as his bike, with a leather mask and some kind of goggles, but no helmet. his mostly black hair was styled into a fairly big pompadour do, with the front part tainted with red dye, that had probably seen better days.
He stepped off his bike, and walked towards the source of what seemed like a little camp, the chains on his worn out leather pants clanking around with every step of his heavy worker's boots. his tank top seemed to have lost its color over time and the only thing that seemed to have kept its shape were the intricate oriental tattoos covering his arms and probably most of his chest, they looked pretty contrasting with the rest of his worn out appearance, and they begged the question of where he could have gotten them. He looked unarmed and didn’t seem to want to conceal himself. he just walked straight into them.
For the first few seconds, he just stood there, near enough for them to identify him, but too far to initiate any conversation, he lifted his goggles, and stared right into the scout's face, before he noticed the other member close to her “What is he?” he wondered “His mask doesn't seem to be functioning properly, I wonder what’s behind it”. He stared at both of them for a few more seconds, without moving much, he was still a little confused. “A dreg? what is it doing here? I never heard of caravans with dregs tagging along. Interesting”.
He looked at the scout again, before moving towards them, with his arms open as if he was saying “I am not armed, don’t be hostile.” even though his narrow eyes with the injured eyebrow suggested hostility on his part. The closer he got, the more Bajazet could tell he was pretty harmless, he looked pretty tired himself. He moved a little closer, then took the mask off and with a hoarse voice, without any greeting he asked <font color="#d86161]“What would your caravan need in exchange for some water and food?”[/font] he sounded pretty desperate, he didn't even look at where the rest of the caravan was. He wasn't really sure what he could offer them, most other caravans would ask him to repair some things for them, or ask his gang to protect them for a portion of road, since it was a fairly strong and known gang.[/font]
The rider looked as flamboyant as his bike, with a leather mask and some kind of goggles, but no helmet. his mostly black hair was styled into a fairly big pompadour do, with the front part tainted with red dye, that had probably seen better days.
He stepped off his bike, and walked towards the source of what seemed like a little camp, the chains on his worn out leather pants clanking around with every step of his heavy worker's boots. his tank top seemed to have lost its color over time and the only thing that seemed to have kept its shape were the intricate oriental tattoos covering his arms and probably most of his chest, they looked pretty contrasting with the rest of his worn out appearance, and they begged the question of where he could have gotten them. He looked unarmed and didn’t seem to want to conceal himself. he just walked straight into them.
For the first few seconds, he just stood there, near enough for them to identify him, but too far to initiate any conversation, he lifted his goggles, and stared right into the scout's face, before he noticed the other member close to her “What is he?” he wondered “His mask doesn't seem to be functioning properly, I wonder what’s behind it”. He stared at both of them for a few more seconds, without moving much, he was still a little confused. “A dreg? what is it doing here? I never heard of caravans with dregs tagging along. Interesting”.
He looked at the scout again, before moving towards them, with his arms open as if he was saying “I am not armed, don’t be hostile.” even though his narrow eyes with the injured eyebrow suggested hostility on his part. The closer he got, the more Bajazet could tell he was pretty harmless, he looked pretty tired himself. He moved a little closer, then took the mask off and with a hoarse voice, without any greeting he asked <font color="#d86161]“What would your caravan need in exchange for some water and food?”[/font] he sounded pretty desperate, he didn't even look at where the rest of the caravan was. He wasn't really sure what he could offer them, most other caravans would ask him to repair some things for them, or ask his gang to protect them for a portion of road, since it was a fairly strong and known gang.[/font]
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