Fiery brows knit together and he looks like the old veteran now. Hardy. Welsh mountain with eyes. "When I knew I loved you," his expression softens as he looks to you, and this is how he's telling you, "... I couldn't get it out of my mind. The fear... "

     "Death and Taxes," the laughter's returned. He visiting you is now as certain... if not more certain... than those two fates...

     She turns about in your arms, the nervousness upon her again. "I..." she acknowledging what is happening between you, "I...am...a little nervous," Sandrine laughs softly, timidly. It is been ages, since I was so close to someone.

     I have to remember how to handle a dove. Slow hands, Llewelyn. Slow hands and slow movements. Soft voice and a soothing warmth. And then you'll have your bird in the hand, boyo. You used to catch them, remember... when you were young...

     Peer about the corner, and you shall see. A waft of perfume. One that you do not know. A topcoat of grey wool with a cream lining rests upon a chair. It was once a living being. Bending the corner will yield a foot tapping, grey shoe visible. Then legs, long and firm. And the rest. A young woman with shocking strawberry blonde hair. Certainly not red. It glows around her face, a veritable copper halo.