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by tosca
Rated: 13+ · Other · Writing · #1176966
6 word-pictures introducing characters into a novel, separately. No dots to connect.
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Though Mitchell Brown was not scarred, not actually disfigured in any way, there could be no doubt he was physically unique. He was so fair as to be bordering on albino. His small, translucently pale eyes were fringed with short, white blonde lashes, while his skin had a ruddy, definite pinkness.

His nose was exceedingly short, with a pronounced up-turn, combined with large, flaring nostrils. The fair, bushy tufts that served as his eyebrows seemed to match those that insisted on protruding from his ears, which were tiny and lay very flat against his large head.

His short-legged, heavy -set body completed the undeniable resemblance Mitchell Brown bore to a Large White, one of the more common breed of pig.

Aaron Goldskink was of medium height and carried enough weight to qualify as chubby but just miss out on fat. He had workaday features but was saved from plainness by deep set, black - coffee eyes and an abundance of glossy dark hair that curled every which way. Years ago he had conceded the futility of trying to keep this mop looking businesslike, so now he wore it long enough to be considered eccentric in legal circles.

The man in the doorway was part Caucasian, part Asian; Chinese was Dancer’s best guess, because of the height. His hair was shiny black and pulled into his neck in some kind of twisted knot, neat and mannish but non-conformist.
He had speckled brown-amber eyes that looked like they belonged on a tiger. Theatrically, Dancer noted, he was wearing black from head to toe; polo neck, well- cut suit, Italian shoes. Then he noticed the belt buckle, gold inter-linking serpents with what he just knew were very fine ruby eyes. When the stranger spoke, the mellifluous voice with its faintly American intonation was mesmerising.

Rajiid Pashan looked like a ring-in for the job of minder, in spite of the uniform. Although tall he was also skinny enough to suggest he should avoid going out in high winds. A Spielberg alien was the first thing that came to Dancer’s mind, prompted by a long, narrow face that seemed to be barely balancing on a neck so fine his Adam’s apple looked as if it could choke him.

Pocked, nut brown skin highlighted perfectly even, white teeth and tortoiseshell eyes. The young man’s strange looks seemed to lift Piggy’s mood and he immediately reached out his hand in introduction.

The woman asking the question was thin, rather than slim, with lank brown hair, light brown eyes and a sallow look to her skin. But Dancer also saw an intense quality, a spark waiting to be lit that might give her vitality. As it was, she just seemed rather edgy, like a deer sniffing the air for hunters.

Sitting quietly on the floor, staring at a little propped-up artwork was a rusty-haired girl, whom neither Dancer nor Marina had noticed. At the sound of her own name she got up and came over to her mother. She was small for six, with creamy skin pin-pointed with freckles across a neat little nose, and big, serious green eyes. When she turned them on Dancer for an instant, he immediately knew they had already seen too much of her mother’s world.

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