He is shining and strong against the fading light of day. There's something about Poser that's positively electric, brilliant. He is bold today. Some of the fire, some of the charm, it's returning to the shadow. He would be a mad king today. Mad as a hatter, but hell. All the best people were. Mad and bright, brilliant and strong. There's something about the way he moves across the ground. Poser is a shadow, cutting through the light like a hot knife. It feels beautiful. He feels beautiful. There's nothing that matches nights like this. And there's nothing that matches Poser. Handsome, brilliant. So brilliant. If only there was someone he could charm, someone he could pass his time with. Fluid grace couldn't be stopped, couldn't be held down. All he wants is someone to keep him close. Someone to... ah. Well. You know, he won't go into detail. Poser is too classy for that. There are no men like Poser. Only him. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

An odd man in odd lands.
The pallid male didnt really have a clue where he was, but it was no major concern. Xolan figured that he would come across someone who would have answers for him, but he as in no immediate danger, so he was just content to amble along.
The sun was fading in the sky, setting his pale coat ablaze with pastel oranges and muted pinks; the colors of the quickly darkening sky. He moved at a slow pace, but every motion was purposeful and precise, as if he knew exactly where he was heading, and exactly why he was headed there. A king on a mission.
Xolan could scoff at the thought; he was a far cry from a king. He was a far cry from, well, anything. But the man would not have it any other way.
It was not long until fresh scents filled the air, overpowering any stale scent markers that he might have been unconsciously following. It was an odd scent, undeniably masculine in nature, and instantly, Xolan felt the glimmer of curiosity bloom in his chest. He figured it was just an odd smelling wolf and he would be sorely disappointed, but with the strength of the scent, it was clear that the wolf would not have to wander too far before he ran into the source.
And he was right; a silhouette formed, black as the night that was falling around them, and the figure seemed to materialize out of thin air as it moved about the water's edge. Golden eyes fought to find any type of features, and as his pupils dilated to the night, the build of the man began to form....and it was weird. The creature was coated in wispy hair, which seemed just a little too long a billowy to be normal.
Xolans brow furrowed, and he stopped walking, his gaze glued to the canine. Canine, right? It had to be, but Xolan had never seen anything like it.
The wolf didnt speak, though, he simply watched in a trance-like state, the gears in his brain turning rapidly as he assesed the dark creature.

The shadow seems to waif in and out of existence. He's too small, too slight, and his waist is nearly ghostly thin. If it hadn't been appropriate for his breeding, Poser would have registered somewhere in the emaciated scale. He's something else, something different. A hairy, mutant deer, a friend had called him at one point. That was the easiest way to explain it. Careful as ever, and sharp as a whip. There's something electric and fantastic and beautiful. The shadow is all of those things. The shadow is a king. He always has been. He always will be. It's deep in his soul and even deeper in his breeding. Printed on his very soul. There's a scent on the edge of his consciousness, and he can see the man. He's too billowy, too graceful, too charming to be a normal man. Of course. Beautiful as ever, Poser is. The man draws his focus, draws his gaze. Leaping over cracked ground and changing direction, the high headed creature sets his gaze on the stranger. Right. He'd just look for now, as he made his way across the ground. If Poser had any weight to him, there would have been a thundering to his paws. No weight. Just speed. Pure grace and powerful speed. The young god set eyes on the stranger, drawing near. "You don't have to stare, I'm not going anywhere." A gentle tossing of the head with a softness to his Russian accent. Stereotypical hot foreign boy, at your service. The blood of kings in his veins and the stories of gods would be on everyone's tongue's soon enough. A comfortable distance, a leap and a settle. How beautiful. your charged touch poser breathy way of saying my name

Xolan is still, the only part of him moving are the strands of his fur in the breeze. It was not long before the canine spotted him, and the stranger wasted no time in approaching. He moved strangely; the canine appeared to be emaciated and walking on stilts, and yet, he was graceful. Soundless as he crossed over the terrain. Light as a feather.
The male spoke, an accent playing upon his words. Ah, another foreigner, but they were clearly not from the same region. And finally, Xolan moved; his brow quirked upwards. A small, but poignant gesture. The strange looking canine had an ego, and it was ever more apparent. The way he moved, they way he looked, and then how he spoke.
Xolan did not remove his gaze from the male; auric eyes werent quite mesmerised, but he was definitely not making any type of effort to hide his staring.
"What are you? He asked, in his usual blunt way. He was not a man of pleasantries or small talk, and perhaps, that was why he was always alone. His own accent, Grecian in nature, painted his words. A Mediterranean man far, far from home, but it seemed like the canine was not any closer to his.

He's a god among men, of course Poser is used to being stated at. It goes straight to his head sometimes, and he's more than happy to let it. Something about the way he moves, it's impossible to go anywhere without attracting attention. Let them stare. Let them all stare. Poser would watch them all intently, he would stare right back. Laugh and the world laughs with you, right? Something like that at least. He's graceful and fluid as he moved toward the man, fine muscles coursing under his skin. Something about living on his own had driven the usually cocaine chic creature to build a bit more power. That's what happens when you have to fend for yourself. You get damn strong.

Bright eyes take in the stranger, head high. Posture square. Straight. Solid. There's nothing about Poser that seems unstable today, but that's a bit odd for him. He usually seems at least a little off. Funny though. The man before him has a question to which the shadow cracks a rakish grin. Oh how kind of him to ask, and Poser had his soapbox speech all worked out. Still, his breath catches as he makes eye contact. Though they are strangers, Poser's gaze is something else. Intense, searing, intimate. It's like he's stripping the man to his skin and then beyond that, touching him in ways unknown. All by looking. Just by looking. That's his art.

"I'm a young god. What're you?" Everyone knew the old gods were dead and gone. He's something else. Poser's hip cocks slightly where he stands, just watching for the other creature's reactions. Careful. Always careful.