<div style="background-color:#c6b588; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="background-color:#DFD5BC; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><a class="postlink" href="http://www.creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=6&amp;p=336350#p336350"><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/Of2d2Yg.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151515"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Edwardian Script ITC;"><span style="font-weight: bold">A N N A</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #303030"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Edwardian Script ITC;"><span style="font-weight: bold">If you can't summon the flames directly from Hell, store bought is fine.</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #DFD5BC">_______________</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2e2e32"><div style="text-indent:1em;">"Yes, within three to five days, usually, depending where you live, of course. No problem at all. Have a nice day!"<br/><br/>Anna pressed the part of her phone screen that ended the call with a customer who had wanted to know about shipping. Honestly, she did not understand what was so damn <span style="font-style: italic">hard</span> about looking up information online. Anna always did so, only resorting to phone calls if it was absolutely necessary. The bottom floor of her shop, as usual, smelled like earth and something sharp she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe that was what magic smelled like, but then again, she wasn't entirely sure what magic really <span style="font-style: italic">was</span> - just that she could use it, and most people couldn't. They didn't want to. Amersham wasn't a very good town, as far as magic went. People occasionally disappeared in mysterious ways, but that happened in the Philippines and Finland as well. Nothing worth getting too worked up over.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">A demanding meow caught her attention, and she looked up from the desk. Fisk was sitting on one of the topmost shelves like a throne, precariously close to a wide array of deep blue bottles. "Don't you dare," Anna told him a sing-song voice, returning her gaze to the laptop in front of her. A little red icon was blinking, indicating she had a new message from Francois, or <span style="font-style: italic">ParanormalIrritator</span>, as he called himself on the forum they both frequented and had met on. They had agreed to meet up, as Francois reportedly had nothing better to do with his time than go to a relatively quiet town like Amersham. His train would be there at 16:00, he claimed. She glanced at the time. It wasn't a terribly long walk to the station, but she was not looking forward to leaving her comfortably warm store. Shrugging on a dark blue jacket, far too short for the season, she locked the door, stuffed her hands in her pockets, and went on her not-so-merry way to the station to pick up her friend.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">Despite her arriving a little past 4 PM, Francois' train hadn't yet come in. The wind howled melancholically through the gaps in the partial roofs that covered the tracks. Anna jumped from foot to foot, trying and failing to stay warm. Finally giving up, she almost ran into the Mystic Moon Café. She could wait for Francois in here. There was no way she'd miss him if he'd gotten on the right train. With an elaborate beverage that could only be described as coffee if one used the loosest of definitions, she sat down on a bar stool, positioned to give her a good vision of the station. She eyed an unfamiliar black woman with casual interest. There was something about her, as she sat hunched over her steaming styrofoam cup; like she knew what Anna had eaten for breakfast a week ago. Maybe she was like Francois. She had that vague, yet at the same time very <span style="font-style: italic">present</span> look on her face.</div></span></div></div><div style="background-color:#DFD5BC; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><img alt="" src="http://i.imgur.com/lDq9h9u.png" style="float:right; padding:6px;"/><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #151515"><span style="font-size: 200%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Edwardian Script ITC;"><span style="font-weight: bold">F R A N C O I S</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #303030"><span style="font-size: 150%; line-height: 116%;"><span style="font-family: Edwardian Script ITC;"><span style="font-weight: bold">Religion lied to you - the afterlife consists only of bothering me.</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #DFD5BC">_______________</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2e2e32"><div style="text-indent:1em;">Public transportation was very, very close to being Francois' enemy number one, coming in close after cemeteries. The white noise of hundreds of spirits who for some reason found themselves particularly attached to this very train was, as always, at the back of his mind, like it had been since he was about fourteen. At first he had thought he was going mad. Who doesn't, when they walk home from school on an otherwise empty bridge and suddenly hear a cacophony of bloodcurdling screams and cries of "I want to live!"? It had been a long time before Francois had learned how to drown the noise of the ghosts in this world. Even now, almost a decade later, he relied heavily on the violin and piano concerto currently gliding through acid green headphones and into his ears. His sister Beatrice was a true virtuoso.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">The trip to Amersham had been rather uneventful, and he was looking forward to seeing Anna again. He estimated it had been a good three months since they last hung out. It was kind of ridiculous, considering they lived about two hours from each other. The train was the biggest issue, and Anna was understanding and low-maintenance enough for it to not be a problem that they saw each other so relatively little. Francois smiled as the music continued with a slightly slower rhythm than before. He was torn out of his thoughts by a young man who decided that the train ride wasn't dramatic enough.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">The stranger fell to the floor after a quick stumble backwards, almost as if he had tried to escape something. Francois looked out the window. It was a perfectly normal autumn evening, and the man's expression was absolutely terrified, as was the expression of an older man who had fallen along with him. Passengers all around Francois moved away from the two oddly behaving individuals, clearly having the collective idea that madness was contagious. Francois, being a weirdo himself, rose from his slumped position and cautiously moved towards the man on the floor. He squatted down and reached out for his shoulder.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">Silence met him. Francois halted, his hand never reaching the stranger, who was lying very still on the floor. Francois should have been more concerned, but it was so hard to worry about anything when the eternal chorus of spirits had finally subsided. A chill ran up his spine. There was absolute dead quiet; no ghosts to mourn their own passing when no one else would. Francois was shaking, and he sat down next to the stranger on the floor, hugging his knees. The peace that he thought he had craved was broken by a jarring, metallic screaming that echoed in his head; his hands flew up to his ears automatically even though he knew that the noise didn't come from the outside. His vision went red, then blurry, and then everything went dark.</div></span></div></div><br/><div style="background-color:#DFD5BC; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><ul><span style="color: #2e2e32"><span style="font-weight: bold">Notes:</span> Anna runs her own website that sells magic items, <span style="font-style: italic">whichcraft dot com</span>. She also has her small physical (work)shop, above which she lives. Fisk is the name of one of her familiars, who takes the shape of a large tabby cat.<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Tags:</span> <a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=110294">@Muse</a>; <a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=110975">@Cotton</a></span></ul></div></div>