General

Even his "Hey," would sting; it was a bee-waspish thing, fashioned from an ingot of ore. His lips bore a boorish unsmile, never quite a frown you see, but functioned as the very same. It wasn't simply a cold misery, yet a deeper negation of joy, a smothering of positivity. All this he achieved, this most backwards of accomplishments, with a full-featured sulk every day. Even if you were the happiest soul, a fishing boat on bonny waves, nets in the brine, he'd beach you, drag you over the stones, with barely a sideways glance.