[h1][color=forestgreen]Marcel[/color][/h1]
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[indent][i][b]November 18, 5:45 PM
Arboretum, Galloway Gardens[/b][/i][/indent]
The sun shined brightly, even as it began to set, radiating a pleasant warmth over all of Voldoa. There was a light breeze, and scent of grass in the air. The few fluffy clouds in the sky lazily drifted over the orange horizon as children could be heard running and laughing. It was an excellent evening to be in the park, and so, it was an excellent day to be Marcel.

Marcel wiped some of the sweat from his forehead with his fleshy hand. His nails dangled awkwardly over his eyes as he did so. They were longer than his fingers, and when pressed together, had the same shape and length as a pair of trowels. He stood in the Galloway Gardens Park, where he made his living. Marcel was a gardener by trade, and by instinct -- To him, gardening was mostly just an advanced form of [i]digging[/i], and to dig was to live.

He plopped  onto the ground, letting his overalls cushion his landing onto the soft green grass. His overalls were all he wore, along with his workboots. It made working in the sun much easier, at the cost of exposing his bare chest. Marcel didn't mind in the least. After all, there were all sorts of strange things in Voldoa, and most were much stranger than the six nipples of shirtless molepeople. He observed his day's work, [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f57HSjD_K8U]bruxing in relaxation[/url] as he did so. There were long rows of freshly turned soil, where he was planting flowerbeds. He had dug six semicircles, three on either side of a large fountain. In a month or so, the wildflowers, daffodils, and daisies he had planted would appear. After his moment of relaxation, he stood up with a grunt, and turned around, making his way to one of the park's openings. He had no tools to collect. Other than the seeds he had planted, all he had ever used were his nails.

Marcel walked down the cobblestone road, brushing the dirt from his hands onto his overalls. Today was the first day of his workweek, and so, he still had nearly all of last week's payment. He turned a corner, walking through a crowd of small children -- some had fur, some had fangs, but all were happy to see him.

"[color=forestgreen]Bonjour, little ones. No flowers today, désolé, désolé[/color]." He patted a few of them on the hair, but did not stop. He didn't mind the children, but he had been working for hours, and worked up a thirst. He turned once more, but this time, into a tavern. [i]The Pale Horse[/i]. He entered the tavern, blinking for a moment to adjust to the slightly dimmer, warmer lights than the outside world. He stood by a barstool, reaching into the small bag of coins he kept in the pocket of his overalls.

"[color=forestgreen]One Augustiner, please.[/color]" He slid a few coins across the bar, before procuring a few more. "[color=forestgreen]And two eggs with bread. Merci.[/color]" He nodded to the barkeep, who would soon bring his order to the cook. He turned and looked around for a moment, trying to find a table with one chair. It was a bit crowded for this time of day, leaving only one table with two chairs. He shrugged, and sat down.