A War Unlike Any Other [Murdoch x Mael]

I'm gonna keep this short, since the person I'm RPing with already knows most of the details.
Simply put, this is an X-Men-style RP.
This RP is set in an alternate Universe: think of it as the Marvel-U, but with a host of Original Characters rather than canonical ones. It just makes it easier to write them, seeing as how I don't have an encyclopaedic knowledge of what the Marvel Heroes and Villains want and what they've been through. Just easier this way.

So...what about the story?

Well, again, I'll keep it short and sweet. Much like in the Marvel-U, this universe is rife with advanced aliens, cosmic powers, mutants, government programs, deadly assassins and sentient machines. All of them exist uneasily alongside one another, some of them using their abilities to commit crimes, some using their abilities to fight crime....and others just minding their own business. Some of these individuals group together – for obvious reasons of security – towards a common goal, whether that be personal gain, the safety of innocent bystanders, or even just survival in the face of some countries ruthless oppression. Humans, whilst not unanimous in their opinions of these superhumans, do fear them. When a battle between two powerful metahumans can easily level half a city, you'd be a fool not to fear them...and the crime-fighting supers, though they are fighting the good fight, are vigilantes. And vigilantes are A) illegal and B) make the police look bad. And some people don't like that. And obviously, humans lash out against things they are afraid of, don't understand and things that make them angry.

And unfortunately, that fear and anger and therefore prejudice and oppression leads to the formation of radical groups, seeking Superhuman rights...or even superhuman supremacy. The most powerful group by far is the organisation known as the MSS, or the “Mutant Supremacy Syndicate”. The members are little more than superhuman terrorists, and frequently come into conflict with the groups dedicated to saving lives and protecting the humans from the more violent of the superhuman number, like The Champions or The Defenders. The MSS has been held at bay, for the most part, by the combined efforts of the various superhuman hero groups – both the small and the large – but the battles always cause untold destruction...and apparently, the humans have had enough. A shadow organisation, known as The Sword of Achilles, soon surfaced. A seemingly massive initiative, with unknown amounts of funding, members and even political influence, The SoA appears to be a purely human organisation.

At first, the mutants didn't perceive them as a threat; when you are as Gods on Earth, not much fazes you...until the SoA unleashed its power on an unsuspecting mutant population. Soon enough, they were executing and assassinating and sometimes even kidnapping mutants off of the streets and out of their homes, and were employing advanced technology against the mutant groups to bring them to heel. They started to win more and more battles against the smaller, splinter groups, forcing most mutants to – out of fear – either join the groups or go into hiding. Most of the mutants and superhumans and sentient machines decided to fight, and flocked to join the heroes and villains like The Champions or the MSS...but as the battles grew fiercer and casualties started to rise, and as the Supers started to distrust the average human more and more, the MSS's ranks swelled with more new recruits than the heroes splinter groups....and as the MSS consolidated its power and brought all the villains and freedom fighters into its fold, the heroes of the world decided to set aside their differences and join together to form one giant hero organisation; The New Age Platoon. Now these three factions are in an all-out war, and wherever they meet, death and destruction usually follows.

So this is where we come in; My character is one of the mutants who went into hiding; he's trying to lie low, stay hidden and is hoping just to fly under the radar and get on with his life in peace. Your character, Mael, is a human who until now has not really gotten involved in this world. Besides that...well, whoever you want her to be.

Name: Vergil
Age: 25
Nationality: English
Appearance: Vergil stands at just under six feet tall, and is of a lean, athletic build. Whilst not large, his muscles are all very well defined and surprisingly strong for somebody so young. He is Caucasian with only a slight tan from his time in America, and has bright blue eyes and short black hair. He normally wears jeans and T-shirt, with a rather voluminous trenchcoat on cold days.

Personality: He's very withdrawn about himself, and hardly ever speaks to anybody if not spoken to first. He just wants to live his life in peace, and since he has a lot of secrets – quite a few of them dangerous – he tends to keep to himself most of the time. He lives on his own and, as mentioned before, is quite a recluse. He gets up, has breakfast, goes to work at the local shop and then wanders around aimlessly in the afternoon after his shift is finished.

Background: He's from a middle class family in England...and other than that, nobody knows. He never talks about himself...ever.

Powers: Vergil has a pair of large, super-strong black feathery wings that sprout from his back. The muscles there are specifically mutated to accommodate these wings, and a mixture of them being extremely strong and his bones being hollow allows him to fly at great heights and distances whenever he desires to. He doesn't fly much – and when he does, he flies at night to try to avoid detection – but he does make a point of flying every couple of weeks to keep in practice. His bones – to make up for being hollow – are extra strong, to the point where he is just as durable as a human...not a claim to fame, of course, but it's better than being more fragile than a human! His metabolism is also extremely fast, allowing him to maintain his athletic build and figure, and his reflexes and senses are all at superhuman levels, allowing him to outperform almost any human in a hand to hand fight. He has taken several self-defence martial arts in his life, but he tries not to fight; it would draw attention to him. In flight, he is very nimble and agile, allowing him to outmanoeuvre most other superhumans. However, he is not stronger than an average human – so cannot really fight somebody with super strength conventionally – he is only as durable as a human, so cannot take punishment particularly well, and he can only fly for a few hours at a time before getting tired.

Name: Catherine, or Cat.
Age: 23
Nationality: American
Job: Secretary at a Library
Hobbies: Photography and Art (painting)
Appearance: Cat is lithe and agile, very akin to her nickname. She is just a couple inches above five feet tall and built in a slender fashion. She has quick reflexes and sharp eyes that are a chocolate brown to contrast the light blondness of her long hair, typically tumbled in waves about her shoulders and back. Her fingers are long, dexterous to work with her job and hobbies, though her nails are often short from a nervous habit of chewing.

Personality: A little shy, the female is often the one who needs approaching. However, she truly shines whenever she's behind a camera, snapping away photos or when she has her hand behind a paintbrush and is working on a canvas. She often gets lost behind her work, losing track of time and living in her own little universe whilst she paints or photographs at various locations. She loves the outdoors and often explores places, whether she is allowed to or not. She tries to stay out of trouble and confrontation is something that leaves her frozen like a deer in headlights. Her confidence, if it exists at all, is hidden away inside of her, as if she'd been living in a shadow of something greater for most of her life.

Background: Born in a small, secluded valley town, Cat has always been a fan of being outdoors. She loved to explore, climb, hike through the forests surrounding her home and bring home whatever creature -- be it bug, reptile, or rodent, she seemed to get her little, quick hands on. She was born to a partially wealthy family, one who was small and quiet in themselves. She was more rambunctious at her younger age, constantly seeming to get into trouble or be disappearing and getting herself lost in her surroundings. Distraction was never good around Catherine, especially since she could daydream her way through an entire day and not even remember to go get her meals. All of that changed, though, the day that her younger sister was born. Her younger sister was... different. She'd been born average, if not completely adorable, but as she grew and aged... she'd begun to change. Her little sister, Ariana, was a mutant. And it wasn't very obvious, at first, but she was. The girl had a way with nature, able to grow plants and rebirth those who were wilting. She had a way with animals, able to naturally understand them and communicate in a way that awed everyone around them. Soon, Ariana was the spotlight and more, of her parents' eyes. And Cat was left alone... a lot. Her growing seclusion grew day after day, year after year, until finally... when she'd turned 18 and her little sister was 15, she announced to the family that she was moving out. It had been a shock to everyone, but they hadn't stopped her. She knew they wouldn't.

Ever since, Cat has been living out on her own, traveling and scraping up whatever job she could find, whatever money she could get her hands on, and trying to simply live the life she'd always thought she'd wanted.

Ooc: Let's get this show on the road. Just like the good ol' days. :')

Ic:

Humans long thought that they were the dominant species on the planet...and technically, they were - and are - correct. Despite what some humans like to believe, Mutants are human; the clue is in the name. Mutants are simply humans who, through a strange and seemingly random genetic mutation, have gained unique powers and abilities that set them aside from the rest of humanity. Of course, one would expect any civilised community to accept them and their differences as simply another variant, but human society is rarely so accommodating. People have - relatively speaking - only just started to accept other ethnicities and homosexuals into everyday society, so when the mutations started, when God-like beings became more and more common, humanity wasn't ready. There was panic, then a massive backlash of anti-mutant propaganda and discrimination...not every country was the same, of course, but most of the major countries started actively persecuting the newcomers...and eventually, the mutants started fighting back, and groups like the MSS were formed. Then, groups like The Champions and The Defenders appeared - as well as solo vigilantes - to protect the innocent civilians from the battles that were being waged by the "villains." And, as any comic book might inform you, even the heroes were turned into villains by the media and politicians. Such is humanity.

It is one of the resulting battles between the newly formed New Age Platoon and the MSS that is being displayed on the flickering television now. A small, slightly older model, with years of abuse showing on its dusty, dented casing, it is sitting on a platform in the corner of the small coffee shop on the corner of some random street in some small town that Vergil has already forgotten the name of. On the TV, the mutant who calls himself "Raphael" - a psychiatrists field day, naming himself after one of Gods chief Archangels, but the name does fit, given his control of light and his large white wings - is engaged in a particularly brutal looking battle with the mutant widely regarded as his nemesis, Doomsayer.

There's a small crowd gathered around it to watch the brutal team-deathmatch between the two sides - somewhere in LA, he thinks - of varying types; a couple of younger children, a group of three 18-year-old girls just out of school for the day, a middle aged trucker and a couple of 21-year-olds who are dressed in the cafe's uniform who are supposed to be working. Besides them, Vergil is the only one in the cafe, sitting nearby but not part of the group, staring out of the window at the practically empty street absently. The school exodus has long since passed, and now only a few lingering groups are making their way down this particular part of town. It's not a main road - it's mainly residential's here - and it is a small town, so he doesn't expect that it gets too busy. On the table in front of him is a white porcelain mug, which holds the dregs of the cup of tea he was - until recently - drinking. He used to work in the shop just across town, but he quit today...he's spent too long in this town, and certain people are starting to sniff around. It's time for him to go and find himself a new home for a month or so, then move on again. Such is his life now.

He can't help but catch some of the conversation going on near the TV. The trucker and the waiters are staying silent, watching with rapt wonder as the scene changes from the shaky hand-held camera video of Raphael vs Doomsayer to some "new footage" that was sent in by a viewer - definitely shot on a phone, by the quality and shakiness of it - of Galadrios - a somewhat more original name than Raphael - engaged in a battle against Wrecker and Mr. Synister; the latters are both ground-locked and are furiously attempting to combat the darting, flying form of Galadrios, with very little success. The scene then changes back to Raphael.
The little kids are chattering among themselves over which one is cooler, Raphael or Galadrios, and the 18-year-old-girls are being 18 year old girls and nattering on about how "hot" Raphael is. Never mind that you never see his face, the fact that he has wings, is a superhero and is obviously muscular is enough. How childish.

In all honesty, Vergil doesn't think that mutants are doing themselves any favours. The NAP supposedly exists to protect people, and although it does occasionally save a train full of people or rescue kittens from trees, it causes just as much wanton destruction as the MSS and SoA, but because they're fighting the latter two groups, they get props instead of admonishments. He just doesn't understand it.
He sighs, smoothing over his plain black t-shirt and black jeans, and fishes into the pocket of his trenchcoat, folded up next to him on top of his duffel-bag full of stuff. Once the news is over, he'll ask for the bill and leave...he only came here for old times sake, and to get a cup of tea before he left. Onto the next town...he tends to avoid the big cities. Too many people looking for him there.

"Thank you."

Her voice flowed easily as she accepted the coffee without looking towards the waitress, her fingers currently occupied with flipping through the pages of a book in front of her whilst her eyes scanned over the words with a dull sense of interest. The female sounded... bored, to say the least. She wrinkled her nose as she took her first sip of the semi-stale coffee, shaking her head as she grabbed the small pitcher for cream and poured some into the black liquid, causing the color to lighten up. The color was close to mirroring the shade of brown her eyes were, contrasting the dexterous fingers that had traces of paint around the edges. Her foot bobbed beneath the table, one knee crossed over the other as she sat there, almost uncomfortable in her own skin. Her secretary job required the most uncomfortable clothing -- 'monkey suits', she liked to call them. And right now, she was wearing the only one that had been clean.

Her skirt dipped to her knees, pencil style as it hugged along her hips and thighs, and her semi-tanned skin was covered in a dark sheen of panty hose that dipped down into sensible heels. Her blazer matched the black coloration of her skirt, a paired match, and the light blue, button-up shirt beneath was slightly disheveled from not being ironed anytime recently. Chewing on her bottom lip, she closed the book in front of her and shifted her head to the side, letting her blond hair fall away from her line of vision as she lifted her mug with both hands while gazing out the window. Lost in thought, she sipped at the more manageable drink, ignoring the bustling and shifting around the television and the rantings of the people who were watching. She had learned, over many years, to tune out what the media was spitting out and to tune out the human's reactions. By the time she snapped out of her little reverie, she was setting down a half emptied cup of coffee and her brown eyes were scanning the small place she sat in.

Something caught her eye -- not necessarily her average eye, but her artistic eye. She stared for a moment before her mind began to analyze how she was going to be able to photograph the man sitting across the room from her without being noticed, while still managing to get a good angle on the photo. Shifting in her seat, she reached for her sling-across satchel, filtering through the contents to pull out her beat-up, terribly worn but reliable camera. It was an older model, but it worked for her and currently all that she could afford. Setting it casually on the table, she bent down and looked through the sight, getting a great angle on the photograph as she focused the lens onto her current subject.

A moment. Click.

Finishing her coffee after she'd gotten the shot, she left a small tip on the surface of the table and then she shoved her camera back into her back and lifted it to cross her body. She brushed her skirt down and then looked at her watch, letting a soft curse leave her lips while her eyebrow furrowed in frustration. She was going to be late to work -- again. She knew she was running out of strikes with this job. A sigh escaped as she adjusted her blazer and then moved to walk out of the dingy building, doing her best to not draw attention to herself and to hide the idea that she'd just snapped a picture of a complete stranger. Though, that wasn't any different from any other day she felt inspired by someone. Still, she didn't need the man noticing and accusing her of stalking him, or something. Hitting the sidewalk, she began to head towards the large, brick building a few blocks over, feeling more comfortable now that she was outside.

Just another day.

Something...isn't quite right. He doesn't know what, not really, but he has been on the run long enough to know when somebody is watching you, rather than simply looking in your direction, and he is getting that feeling now. He takes a subtle glance around the room as he finishes the dregs of his tea, and spots it almost instantly; a girl, sitting across the small cafe from him, had been looking straight at him...strange, and stranger still that she isn't looking at the news which, whilst it may not concern him, is certainly more interesting than some random man drinking some tea in a diner. What's even more interesting - and more than a little alarming to him - is that he sees just the barest glimpse of a camera entering her bag as she attempts to put it away subtly...ordinarily, nobody would have seen it, but him? He has extremely good eyesight. You could even say it was superhuman, and not be wrong. Bird-like, even.

It could be something fairly innocent, but then again, it could not. He has been on the run far too long to simply dismiss an innocuous looking girl with a camera taking photos of him in a diner, especially when he's about to skip town. She gets up and leaves soon after he's spotted her - not because he's spotted her, he thinks, since he was subtle about it, but probably due to her not wanting to risk it. She may well just leave and never bother him again...but she could also double back and attempt to follow him. So it is, when she gets up to leave, he waits for a few moments until she's out the door, before getting up himself and moving to leave. He shrugs on his trenchcoat and picks up his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. He fishes the money for the out of his wallet - returning said wallet to his pocket - and leaves it on the counter.
"No tip," he says idly in an English accent as he passes, "I've wanted to pay for the last ten minutes." And with that, he leaves the diner.

He spots the girl only a short distance up the path and, taking a deep breath, begins to follow her. He cannot allow her to get away without finding out why exactly she was watching him, and he can't find that out in his short time window without direct confrontation...and if he gets beaten up by somebody with superpowers or extra training, he'll know to change his plans and be extra wary.
So he quickens his pace slightly until he comes up beside her.
"You know," he says conversationally, "Even though it isn't illegal, photographing somebody in a public place, it is still considered very bad manners to do so without their consent, or at least their knowledge. Which makes me wonder why you didn't bother asking me before you did so? Just so you know, the answer would have been 'no.'" He turns his head to inspect her. She's short and lithe, a pretty little thing but otherwise unremarkable...he can tell that she doesn't have any obvious powers, but then, not every power is as obvious as being a gigantic golem or being half cat. By her dress, he guesses that she works in an office, or at least a secretary for somewhere fairly high profile. Not a threat, really, but he didn't survive this long by underestimating people based on their looks...you can buy office clothes anywhere, after all.

It certainly was an eerie feeling, the feeling of being watched. It was uncanny. She felt it along her back as she walked down the sidewalk, aware that her heels were clicking back and forth while she walked. It was as if she couldn't hide if she wanted to, and she was much too nervous to turn around and see if someone was actually watching her. Who would follow her? Cat brushed her hair from her face, letting the natural motion of her body and the breeze keep it from her brown eyes as she walked. Her bag was heavy across her body, and as she walked, she looked down at her hand and began to pick at the paint still stuck along the edges of her fingers. She knew she needed to be more careful, especially with this job, but she had gotten really into her most recent piece. Chipping the paint away, she hummed softly as she walked, crossing the first street with ease as the light allowed her to, and she continued to pick at the paint along her fingers.

However, the tides turned when she felt someone walk up beside her, almost from no where and began speaking to her in a deep voice. Startled, she jumped slightly and her head whipped up, gazing at the tall man who was now accompanying her, listening to what he had to say. Her cheeks colored with embarrassment as she realized she'd been found out; her mouth went dry. He'd seen her take a picture of him? How?! She quickly scrambled for a response to the man, feeling the heat from her cheeks spreading up to her ears and down her neck, knowing that she must appear ridiculous to him. Taking in his accent, she knew that he must be fairly local, and he'd be able to notice her lack-of-accent quite easily. I must look like a complete moron. Her thoughts continued to cut her down for a few moments as she slowed her pace, not caring that she was already late to work, but more embarrassed than she'd ever felt in her life.

"I, uhm, well. I'm sorry -- It wasn't that I was, well I don't know how to explain myself. I wasn't spying on you, or anything, and I don't intend on... I just; I take pictures a lot, and seeing you back there, it just inspired... I'm terribly sorry," she struggled through her words, fumbling the more embarrassed she seemed to become. She shifted her bag, feeling thoroughly beaten now, and lifted her chin with the last bit of dignity she knew she could muster, and spoke to him politely... though her eyes remained downward cast. There was no way she could look him in the face. "I'm sorry, sir, for invading your... privacy." Confidence seeming to wear thin at her last word, she ducked her head and quickly began to walk away, her hands shaking a little at her sides. God, was there anything more embarrassing than being caught while you were photographing someone, in secret?! She was sure he thought her to be some kind of delinquent. When she felt she was a safe distance away, she began to mumble a little to herself.

"Damn, Cat, couldn't have been anymore awkward, could you've? Just had to take the picture, didn't you? Couldn't control yourself just this once..."

Well....either she's an extremely good actor, or she had no ulterior motives in mind. In his experience, spies or informants tend to either spin a believable and practiced tale to evade detection, or just simply leg it and hope to get away before he catches them...they usually don't, but then, they usually don't know who they're informing on, or even who for. Her response was stumbling and halting enough that he believes her; she took a photo because he 'inspired' her, whatever that means. It's curious, though; why would she suddenly take a photo of him, a stranger in jeans and T-shirt, nothing except his English accent and paler skin to differentiate himself from the Belgians around him. He's been called many things, but 'inspiring' has never been one of them.

She attempts to walk away, blushing furiously - something that no spy would ever do; you can't fake a blush - but he follows her, intrigued despite himself. She's no threat, and he's leaving today, so what's the harm in some idle chit-chat to find out why exactly he fascinates her so? "Interesting," he says, easily keeping pace with her, "that you chose me. You could have taken a photo of anything; the empty street, the disinterested waiters, the group of people gawking at the news...but you chose the one person in there who was not doing anything remotely interesting."

He chuckles quietly, slowly cracking his neck to one side, the bones letting out some hollow clunking. "Why? Why choose me? What makes me so....what did you say...." he looks at her slyly, "Inspiring?"

Is he seriously continuing this? Please, for God's sakes, just let me wallow in my embarrassment alone, please, she instantly thought as he approached and walked alongside her. She stiffened a little bit, unsure what to make of him. He was questioning her like he was actually interested, or he was mocking her. She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, her eyebrows creasing together as she walked beside him. She didn't know if she should feel offended by his inquiries or simply answer them because he truly is curious. Turning her gaze up towards him, she raised an eyebrow and then spoke to him lightly, shrugging her shoulders while she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I, well... I see something, get inspired, and then take the photo or paint the picture. There isn't much thought process. It's more of a gut feeling. It's hard to explain, and if you're... if you're m-making fun of me, I don't appreciate it," she said firmly, a little bit of fight in her showing as she lifted her chin to him once more and then she looked over the street and crossed when she noticed that the road was clear. She then turned her body around, facing him as she began to walk backwards towards the library where she was very, very late. She spoke to him, quite loudly in order get him to hear what she had to say, a few cars blocking his passage from crossing at that moment. A smile touched her lips though as she waved, feeling a little better with the distance between the two of them.

"I think it's because you stood out, stranger. That's what made me want to take a picture -- what's so special about things I see everyday when I could capture a moment completely different?" Laughing, she turned around and clicked her way up the stairs and into the front doors of the library, silently hoping that when she entered, her boss wouldn't be there to scold her or something worse. Though, she was sure that today might be one of her last day's on the job. She was about forty-five minutes late, after all. That was unacceptable when she's had prior offenses.

Well, he got his reply; she takes photo's that inspire her, things that are out of the ordinary...though he doesn't fully understand why she thought him worthy of taking a photo of, he does suppose that he was one of the only people in the cafe not watching the news, he was the only one with a bag next to him...and, of course, he is obviously not from around here. She seems worried...defensive, almost, of her hobby, and he has to restrain a small smile. She's passionate about it, and he likes that; if people don't have passion, don't have a love for what they do, then there's no point to anything. If you move through this life with a love for something, then your life is hollow and remarkably dull. His love? Well, his love is surviving. And asking awkward questions, of course.

He is just about to answer in the negative - that he is not, in fact, insulting her or accusing her of anything - when she suddenly darts across the road in a lull and puts an entire road between them. He could follow, of course - his agility is such that he could easily avoid the cars - but that would certainly mark him out as different, it would draw attention to himself...and it would certainly look creepy, insisting on following a girl when it is obvious that she does not desire to be followed. And in truth, though he is curious about her, he has no real desire to follow her. He has the answer she needed, and her stuttering apology and excuses that are too flimsy to be made up convince him that she is not, in fact, putting him under surveillance.

She turns away from him...and he turns away from her. She has given him a lot to think on; apparently, he stands out, which is not good. He needs to figure out how she could tell he didn't belong, because if somebody as random as a passerby with a camera can notice that he doesn't belong, a trained surveillance agent most certainly can. Maybe it's the way he sat; inward-facing and not really engaging the outside world. Maybe it was the way he was turned away from everybody else, or the way he ignored the news completely, as if he were not interested in the slightest...or maybe it was the clothing, or the look in his eye, or...gah, this is going to give him a headache, and he has a train to catch.

Later that day, after some more aimless wandering and some last-minute souvenir shopping - he likes collecting little trinkets from all the places he lives on his journey - he is standing on the train station late in the evening, waiting somewhat impatiently for the train to pull in. The longer he stays in this town, the more chance that somebody that knows him will show up and, well...things will get messy. And he really hates things getting messy. If they do get messy, even if he silences the informant, his silence will in itself be a klaxon to anybody interested in hunting him down, and he does not want that to happen. The train he is waiting for is a direct-to-Southern-France train from the small town in Belgium that he currently resides in, and the sooner it gets out of Belgium, the better. He could just fly, but if somebody saw him....well, it would spread extremely quickly. Not to mention, if somebody did hunt him down, he would rather be rested and ready than exhausted and ready to drop.
So he stands on the platform, duffel bag over his shoulder as he - and perhaps ten or twenty other people - await the train. The reason he took such a late-in-the-day train rather than as soon as possible? Less stops, and less people...just the way he likes it.

As she'd predicted, she hadn't spent much time in the library -- they'd spoken with her firmly in their office, the uppers that is, and then they'd fired her on the spot and promised she wasn't going to get a job as a secretary in this town anywhere else. Her response was merely a chuckle and a polite thank-you for letting her work there for as long as they had. Granted, it'd only been a few months, she knew she'd worked her hardest while she'd been there. Gathering her dignity, she'd left the Library without another turn around, murmuring about how she was never going to be putting them down as references again. And then she began to wonder how she was going to get any money in this town. Maybe I can continue painting... but a lot of people have already declined my artwork. I'll have to start new, fresh. Rent was almost due, anyhow, and Marge knows I'm not going to have it... Her thoughts continued as she walked home in her slightly heeled shoes, clicking down the sidewalk and thinking of where she might travel to next.

It took her most of the day to gather what she had into some of the simple luggage she owned. Most of her items were her clothes and paint supplies, almost equal in amount. She'd sold some of her smaller, recently done pieces at a cheap price -- but there had been enough there to get a train ticket to Southern France later that afternoon. She had to walk to the train station, hauling her luggage, but it didn't seem to bother her. She got looks, stares, as she walked down the street with her bags and a smile on her face. She wasn't dressed nearly as nicely as she had been earlier that morning; she was currently dressed in a pair of torn, pain-stained jeans and a plaid, long-sleeved button-down, tattered tennis-shoes, and her hair was down around her shoulders. Each of her bags was mismatched, but she didn't seem to mind at all. Actually, the female didn't seem pestered by her predicament at all.

She stood at the platform, humming softly as she stayed away from the crowd. Her bags rested at her feet, except for her sling-across bag that held her camera and various other necessities. Currently, her camera was in her hands, and from where she was, she seemed to point in various directions and be snapping photographs. Little momentos, she could say, for the place she'd lived for a few months. She seemed to do the same thing; she had a ritual of photographing each platform she left from, as well, for the full effect. Smiling to herself, hearing the train's whistle, she turned her camera towards where the train was approaching the station. As she snapped a few different photos... she saw a familiar figure through her lens. He didn't seem to be paying much attention, but she certain hoped that he wasn't. She smirked, snapped a picture, and then she slipped her camera back into her bag. The train came to a halt and she took her chance, getting to the entrance closest to her and packing her things into the storage holding. Then, she pulled out her ticket from her bag and found her seat.

Relaxing back into it, she leaned her head slightly against the window and stared, smiling a little to herself. Another place, another adventure. She'd heard France was a lovely place... and she hoped that her art would be more accepted there.

The train pulls in with a slight creaking and a woosh - like the air being let out of a particularly big tire - and soon the accumulated 20-to-30 people bustle onto the train with their various luggage. There are a couple of family groups, but most of the passengers are solo; alone, like him. Well. Somewhat like him; they all probably have friends or family nearby, or are going to France for business or a holiday...he is completely alone. He still has family, of course, but relations with them have never been healthy. Not since...well, long enough, at any rate. He reaches around to scratch his back idly - too long without stretching tends to make him itchy and stiff, but he can't fix that here - and steps onto the carriage as the doors open.

Humans are interesting; when in a large crowd, not many of them really mind being crunched up against one another. It's what they expect of a busy peak-time train or an inner-city-bus...but give them space, give them plenty of options, and they'll spread out a little - giving themselves a few seats to stretch out - but remain within earshot, at least, of another group of humans. A balance between privacy and security, he supposes, especially if you're travelling alone. Across from him, one of the family units - a mother, father and two children, both boys of differing age - has struggled into one of the somewhat cramped table-seats. A few rows down, a girl with her back to him sits on her own, obviously attempting to get to sleep; something about her seems familiar, but he shrugs and leaves it. His instincts tell him that she's no real threat, so he lets it lie. His instincts are rarely wrong.

He himself is nestled into a small window seat, also with a table, but with nobody sitting opposite, he can stretch his legs across the seats and put his feet up. He yawns quietly - he hasn't gotten much sleep recently; if he spends too much time in an area, he tends to get jumpy and nervous - and closes his eyes. He can already hear the two kids across from him bickering and the parents tiredly trying to keep them calm, and he has to smile gently...that takes him back.
He opens his eyes. Not now.
Sighing gently, he cracks his neck and reaches into his duffel bag, drawing out a worn, obviously-heavily-used black notebook. It's A5 in size, the covers and spine black leather with little to no markings on it. There's a black elastic strap holding it closed that he removes, opens the book and takes out the pen nestled inside. He flicks to the next blank page, and begins to write. He does all sorts in this book; idle doodles, noting down thoughts and ideas, strange occurrences and comments, even the occasional story or poem. It's where he airs his thoughts; without a close friend to talk to, it's really the only way to get things off of his mind, and sometimes, he really needs to get things off of his mind. There are dedicated notebooks further in the duffel bag, where he organises important things into more easily read or found sections, but that's more him being anal than anything. Right now...right now he's writing about that girl this morning. He's never been called "Inspiring" before. He likes it. It has a weird...ring to it. He isn't entirely sure why.

The train ride had provided a nice nap, Cat having slept most of the time while she was on board. She got up and roamed a few times, walking the halls and down to the bathroom, and a few other little places like empty areas and other ones that seemed to make her curious and suit her fancy at the time. The ride had proven to pass the time quite nicely. While she was awake, she'd also gotten a few sketches done while pulling up to the station. She grinned to herself, sitting up from her comfortable position, and then she stretched. The process of gathering her bags, well, that was a little more difficult seeing as she waited for a majority of the people to get off of the train themselves. She didn't like crowds and she didn't like the feeling of being surrounded by people who are moving, touching, brushing against her. She had less control in those situations and that, in itself, made the woman nervous. She gathered her bags after most of the small population had moved through, making her way off of the train and to the platform as quickly as she could. She was excited to get things going, to find a place to stay, to get her life started in a new place. There was always something exciting about the entire process, no matter what drove her to wander in the first place.

The job hadn't been her favorite, despite how good she was at it. She knew that she had some paintings stored up, enough money in her savings to get a cheap hotel room for a few nights at a time... hopefully that could cover the costs for a little while, at least while she was trying her best to just settle down in a place she'd never been before. She knew that France was more acceptable of artists and their work. She now just had to hope that she was going to spark the interest of someone's eye and get sponsored, get a gallery and get people to buy her artwork so she would be able to survive and live. Well, the credibility would be nice, but she didn't want to be homeless again. That was a time of her life that hadn't been exciting, that hadn't been a time that she'd enjoyed while she was living on the street. Hopefully, France wouldn't take her down the same path as that.

Stepping off of the platform, she felt someone bump into her mid-step. She gasped a little, feeling her large purse fall from her shoulder and spill onto the platform floor. She groaned, running a hand through her hair as she crouched and tried to pick up her rolling sketch pencils before she lost them, the spilled erasers, the various little nick knacks that were spilling from the rough material of her purse. She had to scramble a little bit to grab some of the things, crawling on her knees without really seeming to care, mumbling about how people liked to bump into others and were annoying. She cursed a few times, avoiding the feet of those who were close to stepping on her things while trying to keep an eye on the rest of her luggage near the train. This was already starting off as quite the... interesting trip to France.

As he writes, the miles practically melt away. One moment they're in southern Belgium, him writing slowly and languidly in his notebook, the next he looks up and they're in southern France, pulling into the station of a town he can barely pronounce. Oh, he recognises the name - he plans his trips ahead of time, setting up accommodation options and potential part-time jobs - but that doesn't mean he can say it. About half of the passengers - roughly seven or eight now, the other twelve having reached their destinations sooner - get up, four people stupidly heading to the same door to get out, including the sleeping girl. He himself gets up and moves to the opposite, non-crowded door, his coat on and his duffel bag over his shoulder.

He steps off of the warm, slightly stuffy train and into the cool, crisp French evening. The station is a modern one, much more modern than the Belgium one, and has an arrow pointing new arrivals down a ramp towards some ticket machines and then out onto the street. There are also a few security guards there checking passports, but being inside the EU, they're really only checking that they're allowed to travel. Being born in the UK, Vergil is - for the moment - allowed to live and work in any EU country free of hassle, but these guards are more focused on finding convicts and non-EU citizens who are not allowed to live in France. Of course, they're French; you could probably outrun them if you tried, they wouldn't bother chasing you particularly far.

He walks down the platform, when a movement at the corner of his eye catches his attention; a huddled form - a girl, the one that was sleeping on the train, if his eyes are correct (and as sharp as they are, they're rarely mistaken) - is kneeling on the platform, scrabbling to collect some scattered books, pens, clothes and other belongings that have been strewn across the ground. Really, Vergil should keep going and avoid drawing attention to himself, but in all honesty, he is just too nice to ignore her. He should at least help her get her bits and pieces together.
So he stoops down and begins to collect the various bits and pieces that are lying across the platform. "Here, let me help," he says kindly, as he gets together a large wad of stuff and hands it back to the girl...and then he laughs suddenly, too surprised to really do anything else. She was familiar. "I recognise you...you're the girl who took a photo of me in the cafe..." he trails off, and moves backwards a little. He didn't think she was a spy or a tail...and yet, here she is, in the same town after having taken photos of him. What the hell? Why would she be here other than following him? And why would she leave through the door before him, and by a different exit? She could be here by happenstance, but he isn't about to discount the possibility of a spy.

"Why are you here?" He asks, suddenly suspicious, "Are you following me or something?"

Goodness, Cat. Can't even keep track of your own things. And what kind of image are you posing, if people don't even want to stop and help you out? Just your luck, getting stuck in a new city and dropping all of your sh-

Her eyes tipped up as she stayed stock still, looking towards the one person who had stopped to help her after gathering up a handful of her things. She murmured to him with a quiet smile, feeling more embarrassed as her cheeks turned red. She still hadn't recognized him quite yet: "Thank you. I truly appreciate you helping me out. I'm sure you've somewhere to be..." she trailed off. She'd assumed that most people weren't like her when they were on trains; they knew their destinations and where they were going to end up. Catherine was the exact opposite of them because she didn't care where she ended up, as long as it was someplace different from where she'd came from. She got most of her things, now extremely disorganized, back into her side bag and had room for whatever this man was handing her. As she took them from him and began to shove them inside, a very unlady-like gesture, she lifted her head to thank him once more and her body tensed up.

What were the odds?

"Oh..." she paused, unsure how to deal with this situation. She shifted back onto her feet, crouching gently, staring at the man who had been her current muse and interest. How had he stayed on the train she had, gotten off at the same stop she had, and now was helping her with her clumsy ways? She sighed and then laughed weakly, shaking her head as she shut her bag tightly. She stood up and then her eyebrows furrowed. "Yeah, I am that girl. My name's Catherine," she said, raising an eyebrow towards him before she licked her lips. She curled her toes for a moment in her shoes before she slung her other backpack over her shoulder. Then, she frowned and she raised her eyebrow. "No, I'm not following you. This is just a coincidence. I know it doesn't seem like it's plausible... but it truly is. I've no reason to follow you," she said. She smiled lightly and then she adjusted, grabbing onto her other bag, speaking to him in a more relaxed tone now that the initial shock was over.

"Thank you, for helping me out, though. You didn't have to." She then tugged on her bag, beginning to walk towards the street, knowing that with the lateness of the hour she was going to have to try and... find someplace to stay. Hopefully luck would be on her side this time.

[[Sorry this reply is a little short...as you know, I had surgery recently and my shoulder is playing up a little. On a side note, you are determined to not let them hold a serious conversation, aren't you? XD ]]

This girl certainly has a scattergun approach to talking to people...she just throws out some random comments, then wanders off into the crowd before he has a chance to respond. Now, either she's a spy and doesn't want to be made, or she's just shy or embarrassed. He's leaning more towards the latter; he's dealt with spies before, and a spy would take any chance they could to ingratiate themselves with their target - him - in order to learn information that they would not have had access to otherwise. The fact that she is so ready to leave him alone on a crowded train station suggests to him that she is but another wandering soul...and that calls to him, somehow. Not in the cliche, 'she is your destiny' way, but rather, the 'this is somebody running from something as well.' She was walking to her job early yesterday, so the chances are that she left the town on very short notice, and she came...here? Why here? Does she have any plans, any friends, any place to stay? A job set up? Or is she just stopping here randomly and hoping for the best? Given her somewhat...impulsive nature, if his past meetings with her are anything to go by, he is betting she is here on impulse. Which means, she is woefully ill prepared for life here.

He sighs. He already knows what he's going to do, he's just trying to stall. Shaking his head, he sets off after her, weaving through the crowd with his bag slung over his shoulder. With his enhanced senses, he soon spots her exiting the train station and hurries to catch her, falling into step beside her. "Why is it that we keep running into each other like this?" He muses aloud, "Are you following me, or is it purely coincidence? Last I remember, you were going to work yesterday...which begs the question, why are you here all of a sudden?"

[[Sorry I'm so awful at this. -__-']]

The further she got away from this strange man, the more comfortable she felt. It was an odd coincidence, to be around someone in a city that she'd lived in for a while, only to never notice them before. However, to see him after she'd gotten off of a train, in the same location? It was really, extremely strange. She couldn't help but feel like every time he was near, her hair was standing on end on the back of her neck and she was... drawn to him. It was the strangest feeling; she wasn't sure she enjoyed it. She'd never felt like that around anyone else before, and she hadn't known why she'd been drawn to him in the first place. She simply had been. Her mind mulling, she didn't realize that he was follow her, easily catching up as she stepped outside of the train station and into the city. She halted and gazed up towards him, chocolate eyes widening slightly as she caught up on what he was saying. Her free shoulder pushed up slightly with a gentle shrug before she chewed on the inside of her lip. Why did he make her feel so strange? She chalked it up to simple nervousness at their constant meetings.

"As... strange as it is, this is coincidence. I'm not following you..." She looked towards him, raising an eyebrow, smirking slightly. "It's odd that you keep asking that. Are you often followed?" she mused, teasing, but then she sobered up slightly as she was questioned about why she was there when she had a job back at her old town. She wet her lips nervously before she spoke to him without eye contact, scanning the streets that were basically empty because of the hour. "I got fired. I was late for the last time, apparently. I guess I'd been getting bored there, anyway, and had been planning on moving again. It just happened a lot quicker than I'd anticipated... or planned." She seemed to regret it. She didn't have as much money saved as she'd like, but she knew that it wouldn't be the first time this has happened to her. She'd lived off of the streets before, after all. This was nothing. She had enough for a small studio, or a flat even. It was just a process of finding one, now, and a job.

"It was just time to move on. Odd, though, that you happened to be here, as well," she spoke softly, finally gazing towards him and raising another eyebrow, a light smile on her lips. It put her on edge; was her sister having her followed? She knew she hadn't talked to them in years... but there'd been a few letters, a few strange faces that popped up in the oddest places. She didn't want this man to be what she was thinking he was. She wasn't prepared for that, again.

[[You're not awful, hun, I promise :3 ]]

He looks at her as she speaks, and becomes visibly nervous when he mentions her job; is she worried about being judged? Worried about seeming impulsive, or unreliable? Strange, considering how they met originally...she didn't seem to exhibit any remorse when he quizzed her on her impulsive photo's of him. Maybe she's nervous because he mentioned that she could be following him, and does not desire him to think that of her? But no, she became somber and nervous too far after her flippant comment for it to be that, if she is being genuine. So maybe it's...something else. Though part of him is screaming to get away and leave her alone, to go to his apartment and set up his temporary life here, he cannot deny that he is intrigued by this impulsive, coincidental, ludicrously consistent point in his life. Twice, in as many days in as many countries? The odds must be...well, low, to put it lightly.

He smiles at her reassuringly, as if trying to assure her that whatever bad thing she is thinking of him, it is completely false. "I happened to be moving on as well," he says simply, "I was leaving the town after my breakfast, remember?" He gestures to the duffel bag. "I've been planning my little...move for a while. Pretty much as soon as I arrived there, in fact. But you..." he muses, pausing, "So impulsive. Most people would have tried to find a different job. Why move here? I doubt you have an apartment ready for you, given how much hassle I had to go through to get one, even with my foreplanning."

Cat gazed towards him, realizing that he might not let up and just leave her there to mull over her thoughts on how she was going to survive the next couple of days with the little bit of funds she'd retained from her old job. Her own cogs in her mind were working on a solution for the exact question he was asking, what he was implying of her. She licked her lips for a moment and cocked one shoulder up. It was a form of shrug, she supposed, and a bit of a habit when she was a little lost in thought. She spoke lightly, smiling a little bit. "Moving around on sudden impulses isn't strange for me. I've moved like this for many years. Sometimes it's planned -- other times, not so much. This would be one of those times. Though, through experience, I am better prepared this time around than I was the first time," she explained, yet didn't fully give away her experience. Truthfully, she'd lived on the streets. Saving money hadn't been a concern when she'd originally come from a wealthy family and it was a skill she'd had to acquire on the fly and on her own. Quite difficult, but not impossible.

Eyes falling to his duffle, she recalled. "Oh, right. I suppose I got a little confused. And I was hoping I could sell a few of my sketches or paintings here before the end of the night or by tomorrow. That would get me enough to get a motel room or something before I could find a stable income and then a place to stay." Most would be bothered by such a nature and a way of living. It was a strain; it was stress-filled. But Cat could handle it -- it reminded her of a nickname she'd obtained when in Germany. An 'alley-cat' they'd called her. That was where she'd lived on the streets, after all. She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, unsure where else to take this slightly awkward conversation with him. Putting her chin up, she spoke lightly, but with dignity. "I can handle this, situation. No need to worry about me. I'm fairly good at adapting. I'm sure I'll be in a room someplace by tomorrow night, at the latest." It was odd, that he was showing so much concern for her, a stranger. It wasn't something she was used to. It was frightening, but sobering. Maybe there were genuinely nice people out there? She typically just wasn't lucky enough to have them fall into her life in such a way... and so often.

This is...strange, to say the least. Not that she moves around so much - there are people who drift from city to city for various reasons - but that he's still talking to her. Usually, he would have moved on by now, left her to her business once he was satisfied that she meant him no harm. But this girl is different...it isn't anything like fate, or that sudden draw that people claim to have to their husbands, wives and partners...this is just curiosity. They've met twice now, in two different cities - two different countries, in fact - in two days. That is one hell of a coincidence, if it is one as he is beginning to suspect. And if it isn't - if she's just a very good liar - he needs to keep an eye on her to make sure that she doesn't give his position away. It may seem like a flimsy excuse, and maybe he just desires company for once, but it cannot be denied that if she is lying and means him harm, he needs to keep an eye on her so he doesn't get blindsided by it at a later date.

He shakes his head, not even believing what he's considering; she's used to living a little rough, uncertain whether she'll be able to find a place to stay in the new city, so why should he care? Because he's been there. Before he wised up and started planning ahead, he would show up in a new city and spend a week or so job hunting in order to survive. Jobs are hard to find on short notice, particularly in this economy, so you have to be fairly unscrupulous. He's committed his fair share of illegal acts - nothing serious; just some smuggling or racketeering in his young days - to get by. Anything to be able to keep running...and there it is. He sympathises. Everybody who is moving from city to city is running from something, whether they admit it or not...he wonders idly what she's running from, but then decides that it doesn't matter. It's none of his business.

He smiles slightly. "Well, at least let me offer you some lunch. I doubt you've eaten since you got on the train - and who could blame you? Train food tastes like cardboard - and I, at least, have money to spare." He shrugs, "Besides, it gets boring, eating by yourself every day."

The female found his company oddly comforting, albeit a little strange. He was very similar to her, in nature and in spirit, and she sensed they had more in common than what was on the surface that they were exposing to one another. It was just a little hunch she had -- but her hunches were often correct, she found. Licking her lips slightly, she tipped her head for a moment and then she gazed towards him. It was so odd, such a coincidence, how they were running into one another. With belief in fate and things of that sort, having quite the open mind, Cat knew that there was some kind of reason he was there to meet her, to know her, and be a part of her life. Even if it was temporary and a little odd -- he had a purpose there. She wanted, desperately, to know what it was, too. It was a mystery to her and it had been oh, so long since there'd been something exciting and mysterious in her life.

"Oh, thank you. That's very nice of you. And I understand -- I am quite hungry, so thank you, again. I promise to leave my camera in my bag, too." A crooked grin placed itself on her lips as she teased him about their earlier encounter. She truly wasn't going to bother him with pictures -- unless he didn't mind. Then she was sure she would probably snap a few more. She had an itch with photography that was often a little hard to control. Shifting her bags in her grasp, she smiled a little bit and then she tipped her head before she managed to hold out one of her hands. They hadn't been properly introduced, had they? She couldn't recall, and even if she could, it didn't matter. She knew that a proper introduction was always necessary.

"I'm Catherine, by the way. Cat, if you like." Her smile brightened slightly as she awaited his reaction, his name, wanting to get to know him a little better. It was an odd little hunch, making her ever more curious.

For half a moment, he expects her to turn down his offer and walk away. She would be well within her rights to, of course; he's just some creepy guy she keeps running into. For all she knows, he could be following her and this is all part of some elaborate plan....it isn't, but still. So he is marginally surprised - but pleasantly so - when she offers her hand and her name. He looks at it for a moment; should he give her his real name? It surely couldn't hurt, and if she finds out he lied to her later on, if the lunch goes well, it could damage what friendship they may form. So after only a moments hesitation, he grasps her hand firmly and shakes it warmly.
"And mine is Vergil. Pleased to meet you, Cat."

He smiles, then releases her hand as he looks around. He's never been in this particular city before, so he has no idea where anything is. Thankfully, the road they're on appears to be leading directly into the center of town, and if they can't find food there, he has no idea where he would look. He turns to look at Cat. "So what do you fancy?" He asks amicably, "Sandwiches? Burger? Chicken?" He chuckles. "I myself have a sudden craving for a large, meat-filled sandwich..."

Chocolate brown eyes peered towards him, her hand firmly grasping his own and shaking firmly and with a gentle strength as he introduced himself. Vergil. She liked it; it seemed to suit him very nicely. "Lovely to meet you, Vergil," she said, speaking in a soft tone as she released her long fingers from his own and then she slipped them to rest in comfortable positions. One was around the bag slung over her shoulder and the other around the handle of the bag she was going to have to carry. She gazed down the street, knowing that the center of town was nearby simply by how many lights were around them and how well-maintained the area seemed to be. If they were near the countryside, there would be more darkness at this time of day. Stomach rumbling as he mentioned food, she realized in that moment how truly hungry she was. She hadn't eaten in quite sometime and it wasn't like her to typically skip a meal. Rubbing at the back of her neck for a moment, removing her hand that had been carrying her bag at her side. Everything that he had suggested for a meal sounded incredibly delicious. She was looking forward to getting to eat. Meat had never sounded so delectable.

"Any of that sounds wonderful. I could definitely go for a good sandwich or burger. Shall we explore? I assume you've never been here, either. And despite our location, I'm not in the mood for snails, nor have I ever been." The female laughed, gathering her things the best she could and began to walk down the street and towards the area she knew that many shoppes and little eateries would be. Hopefully, they would be remaining open late, but she assumed that they would be. Especially in a place like this, where she was certain that there was a thriving night scene she wanted nothing to do with, but always seemed to be keen on the arts enough to suit her life's needs. Maybe this would be a better town than she originally had thought.

Vergil laughs, and pulls a face at the thought of the 'local delicacy.' "I've tried snails before," he says, "though people insist that they're not that bad, I could never stomach them. Frogs legs are ok, though; they really do taste just like chicken, even if they can be slightly smaller..." he shakes his head, smiling, and begins to walk down the street beside her, looking for some place to eat. This town appears, for all intents and purposes, to be fairly sleepy and peaceful; not many pedestrians are wandering the street and, despite the sunny weather, only a handful of groups of young people are roaming the town. That isn't a bad thing - it's less likely that his pursuers even know of this towns existence, after all - but it also means that if they find this town, it'll be harder for him to hide. But, then again, towns like this tend to be fairly cheap and cheerful places, with not many strange faces so a stranger is likely to stick out. That can work for or against him, depending on how he plays it.

They wander down the street together, looking for some kind of cafe or eatery until they eventually reach a little corner cafe; there are a few empty terrace tables set up outside the shop window, with a soft red fabric barrier cordoning off the eating area from the rest of the pavement. Inside, there's only two or three people in the queue, who don't look to be buying much; just a cup of coffee or something, maybe a doughnut. This place may not be the healthiest place in the world, but it looks to be cheap and peaceful, so he looks at Cat, stopping outside. "How about here?" he asks pleasantly.

"I've never had the chance to try frog legs. But now, I definitely will put them on my list of things I want to try," she said with a grin, lopsided, as she walked along with him. The idea that she was around someone who may've traveled further than her, longer than she did, and knew more... he could impart knowledge and advice to her about travelling and where to go. It'd been too long since she'd encountered someone else who was similar in lifestyle to her. They were a pretty unique bunch of people, the nomads and travelers. Those who didn't fit into society or felt the need to wander... those were her kinds of people. She'd encountered and moved with gypsies for a while; they'd taught her plenty and had helped her learn how to make a living -- in their way, of course. She'd found that she was rather good at passing the School of Seven Bells. Thieving wasn't quite in her repertoire anymore, but sometimes it had become quite the necessity when she was down on her luck. Turning her chocolate eyes towards the buildings around them while they walked, she smiled slightly and observed the foreign names of most of the places, realizing she might have to brush up on her French in order to get a job.

Turning her eyes back to where he was indicating, she took in the appearance of the cafe before them. Quaint and quiet comfortable looking, she instantly smiled and nodded her head. She spoke in a light tone as she approached the building with him at her side. "This looks perfect! And it smells delightful." She was right -- it smelled excellent; like fresh-baked pastries and coffee, even a little bit of a tea smell. She loved all of these smells, and the more she focused, the more she realized that all of these places seemed to make the town streets smell like this. Oh, she was going to like it here. Once she stepped inside with her things, she smiled to the Host and held up her fingers, indicating two, and then pointing to the terrace seats. With a nod, the Host seemed to grab them small menus and escorted them to a slightly secluded table in the shade. She smiled, thanking him in a little bit of rusty French before she sat down and set her bags against her seat. It felt good to sit again. Blinking, she gazed back towards the odd man sitting across from her, watching his features curiously for a moment and itching to grab her camera.

Alas, she'd promised. But, it was still tempting. He was... odd. Though she couldn't quite place why. He intrigued her, still. She smiled softly towards him. "Have you ever been in France before?" she questioned, curious to know more about his travels.