<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;">A dark skinned man was watching her. Them, rather. A dark skinned man was watching them; the patrons of the Mystic Moon Café. Anna shrugged at his question.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">"People disappear all the time. This is no different than any other place in the world where mysterious, traceless disappearances occur on a regular basis," she replied, looking at him sideways with a glint in her eye, her steaming cup at her lips. She patted her pocket. <span style="font-style: italic">Arh, for helvede.</span> She had forgotten her phone at home, a most inconvenient thing. What was she to do without her miniature personal version of the library of Alexandria/time piece/messenger pigeon she usually always had on her? Francois could probably have explained to her why his train was late, as the screens outside the café were falsely displaying the information that the train to Aldgate passing through Amersham had already arrived and was now patiently emptying its bowels of passengers on platform three, but without her phone he had no way of contacting her. Technology was so inconveniently convenient.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">Ah, but there it was. The train that Francois was supposedly on rolled into the station, and people hurried out like they should have done four and a half minute ago. Anna got up, carrying her still unfinished decaf caramel soy mocha with her. She shuddered as the wind outside snuck inside her still open jacket. She was grateful that she had at least worn a turtleneck.</div><br/><div style="text-indent:1em;">She waited, and waited, and waited, but Francois never came. Could he have fallen asleep? Anna raised an eyebrow at the graffiti covered windows of the train. It wasn't like him. Usually he left as fast as he could, never wanting to stay in the exact same spot for too long. He had gotten better, but to the point of being so relaxed that he had fallen asleep? No, it must be something else. Not having her phone on her, Anna saw no other way to get to her friend than boarding the train herself. She didn't have a ticket, but so what? Nobody did these days, anyway, and she wasn't even going anywhere. Once inside, she looked around. No sign of Francois. She took a deep breath, very aware of the fact that the train would be leaving soon as she walked through the carriages in a purposeful stride. She would find Francois soon enough.</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> "For helvede" is a Danish curse word. Means "for Hell's sake".<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Tags:</span> <a href="//www.creativefreedomrpg.com/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&amp;u=112096">@Xaphan</a></span></ul></div></div>