With a clearly practiced grace, a lady in a cream-colored dress with brown lace and a brown and red houndstooth shawl came through the red velvet curtains separating the lounge from the further parts of the craft.   She wore a pink carnation in the pin of her shawl, just bellow the highr shirt., starched collar of her gown. Her tight black ribbon necklace bore a single piece of garnet, surrounded by gold tooling in the shape of a fluer de lis.  The matching earings were nearly obscured by the sheer mass of her hair, which hung in frizzy reddish-brown ringlets.  The uncontrollable locks burst from earlobe to earlobe like an explosion frozen in motion.  Irt threatened to eat the small cap she pre pinned to it's mass, to the best of her ability. And in the midst of all of that red and brown chaos, one could see the very clear sign of her age in the form of a silver slope of hair that curled it's way along the side of her head like a snake, trying to escape the blaze.<br/><br/>Her skirt was a little shorter than most, but only so that her shoes could move uninhibited and quickly.  She walked with the air of someone well educated, but without a lot of money, leading with the head instead of the hands.  From a man in a long black coat with tails, she took a glass of brandy and peered around.  Her eyes were large, brown and heavily lidded, dwarfing her tiny lips and up-tilted nose.  Her contact was supposed to be wearing a brown bowler hat, but that was a rather stupid clue considering any one of these men could have a brown bowler.  However, there was the notable detail of public curtasy.  Most men checked or stored their hats shortly after boarding a craft, but the one she was supposed to meet would have to have his with him.<br/><br/>Finally, she spotted a man sitting alone with his cane and hat on the table.  This, to her, was a very business-like way to go about things.  It appeared that he was not really there to have fun or take a pleasant ride through east-European skylines.  He had come in and sat down in preparation, which meant that he was the one.<br/><br/>As she moved closer, she visabley adjusted the pink carnation in her pin hole and stood a while by the tableside.  "Good afternoon." She began in a dialect heavily French, but with clear Romani influence. "I trust you are having a pleasant flight?" She gestured with her brown, gloved hand toward the seat accross from him.