Ripp

he/him

The white symbols on this Nocturne's scaley neck flash in a rhythmic display. Each time one lights up, a small tsk-kick emits from his throat as he chimes out several low notes that form into a soothing melody. His claws tap against the pages of a heavy book he's always carrying around by a chain bound 'round his boney wrist.

"What have you got there? Ripp, was it?" Peeps tilts his head curiously at the odd leather tome. It smells like old paper that's been dampened by the mist from a mountain spring.

"Mine," Ripp mellows out, smooth and in time with a lapse in the song's thrumming verse. The runes next to his deep purple eyes shine brighter when he scrunches them shut and furrows his brow in concentration. "It is just mine. My book, my charge. Pay it no mind."

A flutter ruffles the Mirror's creamy white frills. "Oh. Well, if you say so!"

Ripp nods and turns back to the glowing blue page that lays open in front of his feet. His claws continue to tap against it. Peep turns to walk away, but he pauses to make note of the fact that despite how intently Ripp is staring at the page, the book itself appears to be completely blank. Empty. Void.

How odd.