[center][img]http://www.fashiontop.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/African-american-hairstyles-men.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][color=f26522][h1]Opallum[/h1][/color]
[i][u]Location[/u]: Sitting outside Avalon Point.[/i] 
[i][u]Interacting With[/u]: No one.[/i][/center]

[hr][hr]

What an absolutely miserable morning. Opallum's search for food in the various dumpsters and trash cans scattered throughout the entirety of Edgetoun, and even some other farther off districts of London, had been an utter failure. The yield rate for energy put into seeking food and actually acquiring it was highly unfavorable at that moment, and, as a bonus, he now smelled like burning refuse. Well, he always [i]did[/i] smell like burning wood, but the trash of London's citizenry succinctly booted the "wood" out of that. The upside was that the snow might melt and wash the nose-scrunching aroma away, but the ifrit could only hope. 

Now, he sat on a bench (again) with his arms folded across his chest and back slumped against the cross rails with a considerably deep frown. He stared forwards at an apartment's wall with furrowed brows. The magnitude of his boredom was beginning to surpass his innate need to eat. [i]Its been -- Seventy? Eighty-two? Eighty-four? -- Eighty-four years since I came into this world, [/i] his conscience began. [i]And this hassle will never become less tiresome.[/i] Briefly, Opallum pondered on why he had never been able to simply amass enough funds to afford himself a home or an apartment. The majority of individuals he had met in his life were regular civilians perhaps fifty or more years younger than him, and even they had a place to call home. 

Then again, he recalled that most had life set up for them from the get-go. He couldn't remember a time when he met an ifrit who had just . . . "materialized" into this Earthen plane out of nowhere and managed to establish a relatively stable lifestyle, complete with a decent-looking home, ample cash, and a job. 

[i]Then again[/i], he couldn't remember the last time he had even [i]met[/i] another of his kind. He most certainly knew that there were more spread across the globe, but entities like him were rare enough. See, finding a djinn to "grant you wishes" (which is a total myth, by the way, believing that a powerful enough genie would entrust an incredibly destructive or beneficial wish to a human) is an arduous task as it is. But then try finding an [i]ifrit[/i], which isn't as bountiful as the already scarce normal genies. Additionally, it was London; since it's a major global city, there was little doubt in Opallum's heart that there might be another djinn about. But from what intel he could gather from the spoken and written word over the span of eighty-four years, his kin were more prominent in the Middle East and Northeastern Africa. 

[color=f26522]"Hm."[/color]

Maybe some of them were kings. Ifrits were known for their strength and cunning . . . And also their tendency to be overtly hostile and aggressive towards humans [i]and[/i] naturally wicked, ruthless creatures. Maybe it had to do with how they were raised, since Opallum didn't conform to that mold. Having no parents to hammer the culture of the djinn into him can certainly contribute to this difference in behavior, of course.

Once he assumed a more neutral expression and relaxed his initially tensed shoulders, the ifrit continued to sit and wonder.