||[Jan. 31st, 2008|02:06 pm]
Dead Soldiers: A 1920s Roleplaying Game
Who: Josephine Hall and Lawrence Svoboda.|
Where: Outside Werewolf HQ (that's what the Americans call it, y'see).
When: The end of a chilly morning.
What: Lawrence returns to have another lookaround, and finds Josephine finishing up the last of her move out.
Sunlight was such a hassle.
For her part, Josephine squinted as she pushed her way out the door, unhappily trading the dark foyer for the brightly lit street beyond. There was a chill in the air, but her jacket made short work of it -- the blonde ducked her chin into the fur collar of her coat, flattened her eyebrows beneath the brim of her matching hat, and steeled herself against the next gust of wind. Her heels made short clicks against the cement of the sidewalk as she struggled to heft the burden in her arms down the block.
The box in said arms, that was the last of it. The last assorted knick-knacks, the dresses, the lingerie she never bothered wearing, the lamp that had sat by her bed -- now she was finally free. No more could she say she was keeping an apartment at that damned building. She wasn't.
And because something had to go and ruin such a triumphant moment, on the heels of that thought one of the blonde's toes was caught in the crack of the sidewalk. There was a hitch, a rapid stumble, and though she didn't fall something from the open lid of the box did.