The c*ck of the walk. His chest puffed out, his chiseled pecs always busted out of his shirt. Broad shoulders boosted his arms about to embrace friends in an unbearable bear hug and grapple foes up in a chokeslam.
At the crown of the head is a mass of burnt clay brick hair, tight coils woven in a Pompadour with dark faded shag undercut. Knife-like dark edged eyeliner carved around icy lavender eyes like moonlit gems.
. . .
