<strong>Kumari Sharma</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: Paris, Streets<br/><strong>Age</strong>: 18 (2009 Back Story)<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Empty<br/><hr/><br/>"My name is Peter, what is yours?" The man with the sandy hair asked in French.<br/><br/>Kumari turned slightly towards him and replied in French, "My name is Kumari, Peter." Her French accent was a little rough, but the words were precise.<br/><br/>Peter laughed regardless and switched back to English, "Your accent is a little too heavy Kumari." Kumari rolled her eyes and faced the street again, a smile on her face. "I do want to know why you are sitting on the cold wet ground. I mean I get that your drunk, don't get me wrong--but you could always sit on a bench." Peter had his hands stuffed in his leather jacket as he spoke to Kumari.<br/><br/>"I am drunk correct, I am taking a rest as I am trying to walk home. It's not going very well," Kumari said as she zipped her jacket up higher. It was true that the cold was getting to her. She hoped it would wake her up soon. "Tell me Peter, what made you want to sit next to a drunken girl on the cold damp street?"<br/><br/>Peter chuckled and brushed a hand through his perfectly cut hair--it was messy in a neat way. "Because that girl is a very lonely and beautiful girl," Peter said in French.