Faust is tall and slender, with piercing, narrow features, prominent cheekbones, and cream-colored hair arranged in an artfully messy way that suggests its owner has gone to great pains to make it appear that they really don’t care about its appearance. The mildly infuriating effect pleases him.
His eyes are a jade green color, with slitted pupils, and they reflect light in darkness in the way that a cat’s would. The only other real indication that he isn’t, in fact, human, is that his teeth are ever-so-slightly too sharp. And, of course, his wings, when he has them, are jet black and have an oil slick shimmer when they catch the light.
He typically wears long, well-cut black jackets over loose t-shirts in various shades of red, tight black jeans, a pair of sharp, black leather boots, and is hardly ever without a crimson, hole-ridden scarf that hangs to his mid-calf and often flies out rather theatrically in wind that isn’t always there.
Faust likes trouble, and he’s awfully good at it. Which is reasonable, seeing as it was his job for several centuries. But the impish sense of humor that served him so well as a demon was only a thin layer over a deep and abiding suspicion that things were somehow wrong, and that when it came to the Almighty’s vague “divine wills” and “ineffable plans,” he might not be the only troublemaker in the bunch.
His own view of the world is wracked with doubt. Which, for a demon, is the same thing as “hope.” True, he may enjoy causing trouble wherever he goes, but, at his core, he finds himself getting uncomfortably worked up about doing this “right thing” he hears Zaphoriel going on about so often. Especially because, now that he’s no longer on Earth, he finds himself without having to answer to a set of tight-lipped higher-ups, their rules,their plans, and their regulations. Because it sounds to him suspiciously like that “free will” thing he’d always admired in the mortals.
- Arrives at the PPC.
- Turns 6024.