<div class="floatleft">(https://pmcdeadline2.files.wordpress.com/2016/02/djimon-hounsou.jpeg)</div><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">Name:</span></span></strong>Dr. Francis Boussard (GMNPC)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">Date | Time:</span></span></strong>Monday, September 30th | 2 pm<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">Location:</span></span></strong>Grand Ballroom<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 13pt;">Tagging:</span></span></strong>Jack | Open<br/><hr/><br/>Dr. Boussard had fallen into a casual discussion with the imperious woman on his left, but as Jack approached his attention shifted.  Most of the professors watched with interest as the older man turned to Jack and offered another of those broad, winning smiles before rising and reaching out to accept the offered hand.  Boussard's grip was firm and forthright, his shake just as confident and direct.  Two brisk pumps as his free hand rose to clasp Jack's opposite shoulder with an air of comfortable camaraderie.<br/><br/>"Of course, Mr. Spratowski.  I'm Dr. Francis Boussard, and this is Madame Gehring.  I trust your trip was as comfortable as a flight from North America can be?"  Boussard spoke with an unmistakable accent, though its origins were nigh impossible to place.  The smooth baritone bolstered his cultured and captivating voice, and yet he seemed to have mastered the art of tempering his volume to an intimate level.  As he introduced her, he released Jack to motion to the haughty woman of indeterminate age still seated to his left.  Her response was a bare cocking of one slender brow and the lifting of her champagne flute of what likely wasn't just orange juice.