[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 on a bench outside nearby Faraday Heights[/i] 
[i][u]Interacting With[/u]: Mention of [@Apokalipse][/i][/center]

Opallum had succinctly become tired of watching the news reports after the first exciting five minutes had passed by. He didn't care much about whatever other politics were going on in this world. A handshake there, an election here. Soon, entering his sight was . . . Well, he wasn't entirely sure on his guess, but given the abrupt, internal attraction he felt for her when she entered his sight, he could only presume that this woman was a succubus. He had previously asked a loosely held friend what her name was with the implication of approaching her in his tone, but he morosely failed to muster up the courage. Now he had accumulated only two facts about this woman: she was a succubus and her first name was Nikita. Other than that sighting, Opallum came to the conclusion that nothing else too interesting would occur nearby the coffee shop any time soon. He pushed himself away from the window with a muffled grunt and continued his haphazard stroll around the district.    

Soon, Opallum found himself sitting on a relatively nice spruce bench beside a street just outside of Faraday Heights. He didn't know why he wanted to be here, but an innate need to be around a multitude of individuals overcame him. Slouching down some in his seat, he shifted about further to secure a somewhat comfortable position and began to idly stare out at the passersby. This was always an interesting activity to partake in. To most, it might have appeared as if Opallum had just been staring out at the traversing crowds. However, he found some excitement in trying to discern the individual Others from the mundane humans -- which, he would admit, is actually quite an arduous task. It should also be noted that his guesses were highly inaccurate. Sometimes, he based the physical criteria for being an Other simply on how much they stood out from a crowd. Pink hair? Perhaps a fae. Abnormally pale skin and impeccably dressed in unnecessarily lavish attire? More than likely a vampire. 

Today was an especially horrid time to do this, as most London inhabitants had donned winter clothing: scarves, ski hats, beanies, gloves, and coats. At this point, there was little reason in continuing with this little game of his. Opallum groaned rather loudly, leaning his head back against the top rail of the bench. He steadily went to spread his legs out and set his hands atop his knees. What more was there to do? Granted, it was still early in the morning, and the conglomerate of workers and students would soon come rushing out onto the streets and sidewalks, but even that would take far too long with Opallum's lack of adequate patience. Indeed, waiting was not a specialty of this precise ifrit. 

Now, what was there to think about . . . ? The concept of a Human-Other war certainly piqued his interest some, regardless of the more morbid outcome. Would there even be an all-out war? Would the government back the anti-Other group? Was the government even primarily composed of humans? Were there Others in superior governmental positions? This train of thought could drag on for hours, but Opallum wasn't in the mood for going into the logistical aspects of a Human-Other war. All he was sure about was that utter chaos would be a given. Bullets versus the mythoi. 

The unfortunate facet of this event is that, much to his disdain, a myriad of bodies would accumulate around this bloodbath, and Opallum enjoyed the presence of both humans and Others in this world far too much to siphon any positive stimulation from such an outcome. Being entirely rational for a brusque moment, Opallum came to the realization that he himself would probably be among those bodies. It was then that his mind sojourned elsewhere to something less bleak. Once more, the ifrit was bored.