Excuse me Miss, but this is not sweet Charleston!

[Ezrihel]

Ezrihel looked up and over, to his right, noticing a tall, but still about an inch or two shorter than him, greasy looking broad-shouldered man clad in an all white outfit consisting mainly of a large white trench coat. Ezrihel could in fact, smell the man from here, and it was not a pleasant scent of sex mixed with incense and perfume. He smelled of mustard and skunk and mainly toenail funk with a side of stale alcohol. It was the smell of human, and while Ezrihel had never minded the scent of human when they bathed or were outside, he did however mind the smell of an ass that had gone unwashed for what seemed to be several months.

Raking his eyes over the grime covered man, he let out a sigh and put on a polite smile, "Yes, hello there Sir. Do you happen to know where this place is and how I can get out of it? I have fields to run and people to manage."

After a mere fraction of a second before he had begun talking, he would take three steps forward, keeping both of his hands at his sides. His eyes would never leave this man's form, constantly moving in quick slight ways in order to be certain to catch an attack coming. The movements of his eyes, though he could notice them, would not be able to be seen by a normal human at any distance without some sort of highly advanced sight enhancing equipment. Ezrihel would internally keep himself on guard, ready and prepared to respond with evasive maneuvers and force to any sort of attack coming from this man, watching both with his eyes and with his enhanced sensing abilities; externally he was still calm and approachable, nothing would seem off about him at all.

While he looked over this grease monkey of a man, he also withdrew his thoughts into his own head, barricading and guarding himself with extreme caution against anything this strange person could throw at him, even though he seemed human enough. Though, right at this moment, Ezrihel wasn't ready to just accept this man for what he appeared to be, after all, he had just been warped into some other strange universe and had some strange white man tell him strange things before everything was bleached white and a strange white man appeared.

Speaking of strange, the oily man in front of him had his dark hair pulled and twisted into some strange tube like shape, and his facial hair for that matter, he had let it grow into sideburns, but somehow managed to keep them cut down to non-mutton chop level while simultaneously not giving a damn about the muck clinging to his face. How this so far nameless man had not yet gotten any amount of dirt on his white outfit or white trench coat, Ezrihel had not a hot clue.

After having looked over the man for not more than half a second, he had quickly noticed the fairly huge kitchen knife-esque sword attached to the outside of his hip. The sword had a long white cloth wrapped hilt and huge blade that took up about four feet of length, the cutting edge of the blade was the color of polished steel, and quite shiny, though Ezzy knew not where this reflected light came from; the non-cutting edge was stained a dull black finish.

From the distance of about ten feet, which was how far they were standing from each other, Ezrihel could clearly feel that the sword contained much energy, in fact, it contained as much as either of them. This made him curious enough to reach out a tendril of his consciousness toward the sword's energy. As gently as possible, he touched against what he could now tell was a fully blown and open consciousness inside the sword.

Telepathically, he would now proceed to speak to the sword, though he was still physically watching the stranger. This moment of mental speech would take barely a fraction of a second to convey to whatever being resided within the sword. "Hello there? Do you have a name that I may call you by?"

After the very brief moment he spoke with the sword, he'd address the man once again. "Say, stranger, do you happen to have a name? Or should I call you the grease monkey mechanic for the duration of this... Conversation? I am Ezrihel, of Charleston, South Carolina... Where might you hail from, if you do hail from somewhere else other than this dreadful near-blank plane? Oh, and, whatever frightful thing have you done with your hair?"