The prospect of a gathering – a party? – in his home was highly welcomed.
There is little he can do except stand readily and wait for arrivals to clutter the shore. His molten eyes sweep back and forth across the beach as the waves crash against the sand in a relaxing metronome. The lull of the island is a lullaby rocking him nearly into a sleep until newer, unfamiliar voices, bounce from the tide and dance with the tropical wind.
As foreigners trickle in, Tiphon makes attempt to address them individually, seizing the opportunities to meet those that wander outside of his reach. With purposeful steps, he closes the distance between him and the first arrival. She comes alone, her lips pursed tightly shut despite the cacophony surrounding them. ”Hello,” he is amiable by nature, his expression brightened by the looming cause of celebration. What aura surrounds him delicately illuminates the soft edges of her face. ”Welcome to the Island Resort. My name is Tiphon,” his wings stretch out briefly, almost like a curtain before he tucks them neatly against his sides. ”If you don’t mind my asking, where are you from?” What lands there are now, beyond Ischia and here, escape his notice. His memory, Wallace confirmed, has been cleansed of so much – too much.
But despite his hospitality bleeding through, Tiphon takes note of a hinting solemnity shadowing her eyes. Concern nearly touches his lips, almost escapes him, but he burrows it for now, biding his time while trying to ignite a smile from her first.
Tiphon