He was ready to kill something, he honestly was. Pushing back a strand of his amber gold hair, his eyes surveyed the scene, with a born air of distaste.
The gods had to hate him.
Well... correction, god, singular.
Shifted his black coat over his shoulders, he bemoaned having to wear it, he wanted to rip it off, to reveal his crimson red jacket beneath and black pants and dragon clasp belt. With shin high boots tipped with silver, and a collar wrapped around his slender throat, he was in a sentence... what every girl was looking at.
And he hated it.
Being a Ten'yo was so not what it was cracked up to be.