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Aether Noir Descriptions:Winter. The man's eyes are the frosty shade of winter; glacial in their reserve and implacable in their unwavering scrutiny. The strength of his gaze is only heightened by his sharp, angular features and thin-lipped mouth. His hair adds to the illusion of winter, for it is silver in color, clipped short against his temples but longer at the brow and nape, where it curls against the collar of his suit. He is garbed in an Oxford suit, impeccably tailored and pure white in color, with only a brocade vest visible from beneath the jacket and a royal-blue tie to relieve the outfit's pristine severity. A wide-brimmed hat, also white, shades his eyes, and the final piece of the ensemble is the silver-tipped cane constantly at his side. Since his stride is easy and efficient, it is doubtful that the cane serves as a walking-stick; more likely it is a reminder as to the man's identity. "Mr. Silver," he is called, or, more commonly, "The Cash Man."  Eyes as dark as the deep-tilled earth look out of a solidly-hewn face of a man in his late twenties. His sun-streaked brown hair is tied back with a bit of leather decorated with a few silver beads, curling just at the nape of his neck. His build is solid and whipcord lean, with broad shoulders and the tight form of one used to going with little food and much exercise. His skin is almost swarthy, tanned dark by hours in the sun; his teeth are straight, save for one crooked canine that seems more the victim of a fist than nature. His nose also bears the sign of brawls, with the distinctive bump of breakage. He moves with a natural grace, as if counting off the rhythm of a song in his mind and perpetually pacing the dance in his step. This man is dressed for adventure; practical pants, a sturdy cotton shirt and a battered leather jacket are his primary articles of clothing. A sturdy leather bag is slung across his shoulder; on one hip rides a whip, coiled into a loop. Of course, no outfit like this would be complete without a battered brown fedora riding low on his forehead. Izzy "the Body" seems more like a brick wall than a man. This brick wall wears a three-piece suit, though, and a fedora pulled down over his eyes. A cigarette usually dangles off of his lower lip, and he's known to carry more weaponry than a Capone. Before you stands a Latino gangster. Slicked black hair and adorable green eyes all sit within his hardened pretty-boy's face. He wears a sharp white dress shirt tucked into loose black dress pants, capped off by shiny black shoes. Shoulder holsters wrap around his upper body, housing twin golden Barettas, the Rodriguez family trademark, and an innumerable assortment of golden clips. Charming but deadly, this is Johnny Rodriguez, head of the Rodriguez crime family. Six foot even of blond-haired, blue-eyed justice. Or that's what he wants you to think, at any rate. Leo Triton, otherwise known as Two-Faced Leo, has been known to turn the other cheek, turn his back, and just plain walk away from the very injustices he claims to hold so dear. He always dresses as if dirt wouldn't stick to him, though. Wingtips, sharp-pressed trousers, a spotless overcoat of charcoal grey, and a fedora to match. There's no telling which side he's on, but he'll claim either as his own, if the price is right. Watch out for that smile. It's not frequent, and it's never free. Broad shoulders and limbs conditioned for combat have been bronzed by years in the sun. They are juxtaposed, neatly, to the brilliant eyes of an azure hue and the unbleached golden brown locks clipped military short, the hairline just beginning to recede, the temples silvery. Features angular and handsome are clean-cut, meticulously so, showing a strong jaw with a naturally carved niche in the chin's center. Guesses would accurately place him in his late 30s. His facial bone structure and educated basso voice imply noble birth. A natty suit of navy blue is handsomely tailored to his body, and a fedora is drawn down over one eye. His shoes are conservative, and he has the look of a lawman. Government, maybe. Small candles flicker like fireflies throughout the room, granting each table with a small amount of light. These small flames do little to lift the cloak of darkness the sweeps over the room, only chased into the corners near the back where bright lights illuminate an elliptical stage that stretches out into the room, circular tables arranged on either side. The walls are lined with shadowed booths of a deep red leather, providing a quieter seat for those who are not here for the entertainment but rather for conversation. A faint layer of smoke hangs over the room, mingling its scent with the perfume of the female patrons, providing an oddly sweet aroma to the room. A live ensemble provides music for the customers when there is no performer on the stage, the sounds of a piano or trumpet ring across the club, adding to the room's ambience. The decor is complete with potted palms scatted between the booths, providing further barrier between each table, while photographs of famous stars and starlets hang on the walls, all previous patrons of the club. Red hair, in wayward, tumbling curls, frames her face, blue eyes dancing with amusement, her frame slim but definitely shapely. A smile quirks her generous mouth more often than not. She's wearing high heels, a green dress that stops just above her knees, has a dangerously low neckline and seems to be a touch too tight (although red blooded males may argue), and has a purse slung over a shoulder. Her movements are graceful, yet somehow sensuous. A string of pearls adorns her neck. Lithesome as a slender willow branch is this elegant woman, each arm, each leg a graceful extension of her slim form. Her carriage denotes her aristocratic heritage almost instantly, the set of her shoulders, lift of her chin and each deliberate movement come from years of training and education to become the epitome of the upper crust. Her skin, smooth and pale, rivals the work of the greatest marble sculptors in softness and beauty while her eyes, the color of vibrant sapphire, sparkle with a heat more intense than any precious gem, adding an alluring contrast to her otherwise pallid tone. Rosebud lips tinted with the palest of crimson sit beneath a pert nose, completing the delicate alluring features of her heart-shaped face. Her platinum locks have been set in soft waves against her head in a short bob, a style worn by the well-known starlets in Hollywood. Jewels drip from her body as if she had just taken a bath at Tiffany's. Diamonds decorate her throat and her wrists, setting her sparkling with each subtle movement. A gown like liquid silver pours over her form with its silk satin shimmer that seems to sparkle as much as the gems that adorn her, exposing one pale leg with a slit on the left that runs halfway up her thigh. Shoulders bared by the sleeveless gown are covered by a thick stole of silver fox fur, its ends reaching to nearly her knees. Demure and rather quiet, this tall woman is dressed in the habit of your typical nun. Not exactly figure-flattering, of course, but that's sort of the point. A wooden rosary is looped around her neck, the heavy cross at its end falling almost to her waist. With adorable little dimples when she smiles and her soft voice, this sister is the very picture of polished innocence. A dainty little thing, isn't she? Even despite the fact that she's relatively tall at 5'9". It's very hard not to look dainty when you're wearing a nurse's uniform, white as sugar and pure as snow, after all. But then again, Fanny Bright would look sweet and dainty in anything she wore. Aside from the white nurse's dress and sensible shoes upon her feet and the white cap sitting upon the black curls pulled back from her pretty young face, she's got a blue sweater on to keep off the cold. From her head to her feet she looks the ideal of the girl next door -- except for the sheen of light gold to her complexion, suggesting something a bit more exotic in her blood than most girls next door. That skin tone makes her big green eyes stand out like jewels against her youthful face, and with those liquid innocent eyes, she meets the world with a mix of naivete and wisdom. Luscious curves, full at the bosom and the hips, form the hourglass shape of a woman who belongs on the arm of a man. The tight blue dress, shimmering with sequins and beads, hugs her figure like a second skin. Yet, the folds hide the promise of greater delight to be found beneath the dress. As an afterthought, a coiffure of platinum blonde hair sweeps away from the neck, leaving tantalizing trails that suggest a bed is a better place for this babe. Deep and welcoming, the blue eyes invite the hardy to dive into their depths, bespeaking a wealth of tragedy and experience. Ty August is a man slight of build, perhaps five foot ten or eleven at best, with a tired looking face that's seen better days. There's no mistaking the look of someone in their late thirties or early forties; not with the lines that it draws on the face. A long straight nose vies with lips often compressed. Vaguely blue, sardonic eyes skim into grey now and again, often somewhat blurry in their own right. Well-shaped eyebrows arch over those eyes, not sunken into their sockets nor protruding from them. Silvering fair hair is cropped short in a two-cent cut. Ty wears a grey suit of wool weave, and when appropriate, a battered fedora and trenchcoat that's seen better days. A cigarette is constantly dangling from his mouth.
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