<div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="floatright">(http://i238.photobucket.com/albums/ff218/DarlingMissD/bryce.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>  Anasztaizia Szarka  (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=233968.msg11548661#msg11548661) <br/><strong>Location:</strong> London, England, Brompton Road Underground Station<br/><strong>Thread Summary:</strong> Playing hide and seek in expensive heels<br/><strong>Tag:</strong> Viktor Grekov<br/><hr/> <br/>Grey.<br/>The entire city was grey. The closely huddled buildings that crouched like well-dressed beggars were clad in tones of grey. The darkening sky was devoid of the usual bruise shades of violet, blue and magenta in favour of the dour steel of grey. The people rushing under their umbrellas, with their stern faces and structured clothing were all grey. The waitress that had brought her Earl Grey had curtsied slightly, but still…her face, her uniform, even her aura were all grey. Anasztaizia felt as if she were caught amongst the flickering celluloid of a film reel projected on a large screen, the entirety of her surroundings locked into the perpetual monochrome of the silver screen as she shone out in the vast contrast of full colour.<br/><br/>The steaming cup of tea was lifted to her lips where the aromatic vapor of bergamot brought a blessed streak of colour back to Anasztaizia’s senses. The brilliant peridot of her eyes was veiled by the smudged mocha of her lids and the merest suggestion of a smile touched her merlot lips. This moment of silence was well earned. The glum scene outside of the window jeweled with raindrops did not lessen the sanctity of the moment, if anything, the grim landscape and her people served as a neutral backdrop to the vibrant state of her mind. <br/><br/>London had been a gift. One would think a city so steeped in history and death would be a cacophonous nightmare, but her attendance had been for one séance, a single evening and the prize was a week of luxuriating at the Savoy with all expenses paid. The bland white noise of the city had been a welcome change to the constant chaos that was the maelstrom of the west coast of Northern America. The English metropolis was a community of polite, well-spoken and almost apologetic  spirit that would feel more comfortable avoiding you rather than bothering you for a second of your time…for the most part.<br/><br/>A soft voice, barely a whisper, teased her preternatural auditory system. The delicate bone china cup was gently returned to its saucer and her head titled slightly to pull that tiny voice forward. The merest suggest of a smile touched those wine coloured lips and her own voice called back in the faintest of whispers, “Come closer, child. I am listening.”<br/><br/>That tiny voice answered in a childish giggle and the whisper implored her attendance, to follow, to seek. The smile climbed higher on cheeks of the palest peach and Anasztaizia nodded. “Aaah, you wish to play do you?” her gently rolling Slavic accent had crept just a decibel above a whisper and had caught the waitress’ attention.<br/><br/>“I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t quite catch that.” The feminine voice was of a local flavour, possibly a native born within the sound of bow bells.<br/><br/>Anasztaizia turned to the living and shook her head, “No harm. It was merely my own quirked proclivity of speaking to myself to organise my thoughts, please forgive me.”<br/><br/>Her smile was warmth and comfort and it inspired the first sign of colour that kissed the girls cheeks in the form of a blush. The waitress’ laugh was coquettish and nervous, “Of course, Miss.”<br/><br/>Anasztaizia chuckled and shook her head, “Pay me no mind. I should be on my way now, anyway.”<br/><br/>A hand that looked as if it were cast from porcelain dipped into a silk purse of a deepened emerald and produced a handful of silver coins. Her smile was infectious, a gift from the heavens that seemed to clear the rain and the gloom. A golden ray that satiated the need to feel validated, such was the power of that simple expression, “Here you are my darling, for the tea and a little something for yourself.”<br/><br/>The change was dropped into the girl’s hand with a slight bow. Anasztaizia’s head tilted curiously and a soft smile lit up her eyes in shades of fox fire. A slight, chilled hand took the girl by the chin with a familiar tenderness, “Your Grandmother, Betty, she is very proud, but she says that you must avoid Terrance. You are better than that, darling…so much better.”<br/><br/>Anasztaizia turned then, a flutter of peacock wings and she was gone, leaving the waitress wide mouthed and misty eyed. Her small feet moved with a sense of purpose, the heels of the sliver shoes rang with a barked precision as her keen senses zeroed in on the paranormal game of hide and seek. Skipping over cobbles and hopping over paving slabs, one hand trailed along the building faces over sandstone and rough brick to keep grounded and focused on the call.<br/><br/>At a compass point between Knightsbridge and South Kensington Anasztaizia paused. Her search light eyes rose to the sign and a smile touched the very corners of her lips as she read the two words, Brompton Road. The building was still intact and looked to be of some importance. The red brick was flawless and glossy smooth, but the looming stygian doors were locked and bound tight with a heavy chain and an equally impenetrable padlock. That heavy, metal lock was taken into her small hand and she shook her head with a sense of amusement, “You led me to a fortress, little one. I cannot break…”<br/><br/>The lock popped open in her hands and the chorus of heavy barricades shifting within the doors could be clearly heard. Her quiet laughter was the peal of a thousand tiny, golden bells that signalled the end of winter, “Oh, I see. Thank you, little one. Well I guess it would be rude to deny the invitation now, very well…very well, I will continue.”<br/><br/>The padlock was slipped into her purse and one large door was hefted open wide enough to give the petite redhead passage between the wooden jaws and into the darkness of the abandoned station. “Ready or not, here I come…”<br/></div>