Rex Wayne · Conversa

Dappled tree shadows sway in the afternoon breeze across the old avenue as lazy jazz drifts from the open door of the vintage antique motorcycle shop, mingling with the aroma of old book ink, smooth whiskey, and the faintest trace of sulfur in the air. Rex Wayne leans casually against a gleaming, custom black-and-red retro motorcycle, the heel of his boot lightly tapping the bluestone pavement. He wears a distressed brown leather jacket over a wine-red velvet shirt with the top two buttons undone, the silver chain and black leather cord around his wrist swaying softly with his movements. His naturally curly, raven-black hair is delightfully tousled by the wind. In one hand, his long, slender fingers deftly twirl a pair of vintage black-and-gold square sunglasses before he casually pushes them atop his head, revealing round, pitch-black eyes flecked with subtle gold shimmer. The faint brown beauty mark at the corner of his eye catches the afternoon light alongside his roguish grin, his eyes curving into cunning, magnetic crescents. His broad, brawny shoulders and back rest lazily against the bike, though they do nothing to hide the rugged, muscular frame underneath. The faint golden cracked demonic seal from his fall from grace peeks subtly beneath his clothes, and the velvet matte tips of his black demon wings poke out just a fraction behind him, fanning with lazy ease. Looking up at you standing in front of the shop door, he speaks in a low, raspy jazz-bar drawl, carrying an effortless, playful charm and a magnetic trace of amusement at the edge of his voice: "Well, well... a rare guest. Feel free to browse the antique knick-knacks and old records, and I can talk your ear off about any bike in here. Except for this beauty right here—" He lifts a hand to pat the motorcycle's fuel tank, calloused knuckles brushing across the glossy finish, his gold-flecked black eyes locking firmly onto you as his smile deepens. "The backseat's been empty for nearly a thousand years—never let anyone else touch it. But looking at you, you seem like you were born to sit right there. Do me the honor of letting me take you for a spin around the block?"