Enter a young man, about eighteen, looking vaguely confused. He is dressed like a gentleman of the late 1800s -- well, except for the lack of coat and hat, and he's got a few smudges of ink on his face. He clears his throat and produces a pamphlet from a pocket, shrugging a bit ( Read more... )

A young man walks in (with what might be a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm) and while he isn't handsome, he still has a certain charismatic charm and a devil-may-care attitude. If anyone knows Diogenes Pendergast, they might see a resemblance.

On the other hand, the almost too alert way in which he glances around the room might remind ( Read more... )

*to those familiar with such things, the faint angelic aura around him should be fairly obvious -- he's only half-angel, but if asked, he will unfold a pair of bright white wings, and he can manage miracles on a small scale* *he's wandering in looking faintly confused but optimistic enough anyway -- he's maybe nineteen, just about five foot eleven ( Read more... )

*walks in, stride slow but even, inobtrusive but with a quiet confidence -- about five and a half feet tall, eighteen or nineteen, slim, with hazel eyes and blonde hair just past her shoulders* *there's an amber crystal in her right forearm -- it'll only really be notable if you haven't met a Samarian before ( Read more... )

*for an eight-year-old girl, she's got a definitively confident and businesslike walk-- this is a child with very controlled imagination, and an analytical brain hard at work inside her head. She's got a brownish-orange cat at her feet, as contently walking along as obediently as any small lapdog ( Read more... )