Despite having matured beyond the youthful lad he once was, Avedis still possesses a healthy measure of boyish charm. Ebony curls, as rebellious as their proprietor, frolic and play with wild abandon; diving recklessly toward the dancing depths of his dark eyes, only to tangle and snarl within his lashes. As though privy to some unnamed jest, his lips are oft twisted into a wily smirk— or stretched wide to shape a rakish and lopsided grin.
With clothing in a perpetual state of dishevelment, he meanders about with all of the arrogance and swagger of an alleyway tom. He is limber-spined and lazy; a glowing mop frequently slung over one languid shoulder while deft fingers toy with and jingle a heavily-gauged wire keyring.
A ring stained black as night loops around the ring finger of his right hand; twin wheat stalks circle the outer circumference, carved so that the inner golden wood shines against its shadowed surface.
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