I won't go into details of the trip much, other than to say I consider it something of a mixed blessing. Good and bad, you know?
But yeah....t'was a learning experience, of sorts.
Anyway.....Karen? Or rather, threeoranges?
Remember that little project we were planning on writing together? That romantic comedy about art? Well, I thought about it a bit this evening past, and if you're still inclined to the idea, this bit of prose ahead was something I wrote with it in mind. Nothing special, but I was listening to 'Gorecki' by Lamb and was under the influence of love when I wrote it. Steven's doing wonders for my creativity. Tell me what you think, dear.
....Mist assaulted her vision in the London evening with a vengeance. She could not see a metre in front of her for the swirling pale fog.
London Bridge was indeed a sight that night. It was if the scene she partook in was written by the pen of Stevenson himself, in the midst of a gothic novella. The evening was still young, the sky assuming it's final hue of midnight blue, done so by the glowing amber of the lamp posts.
Where was he?
The young art dealer hurried through the mist, careful not to trip over herself in her slinky black kitten heels. She pulled her cream trench closer around her. This evening chill was unusually unsettling, as was the night.
What was so different about this night to any other? She was heading home.
But where was he? More importantly. Who was he?
She didn't even know who she was looking for, waiting for. She continued over the bridge, careful not to slip on the brick paving, damp with the evening mist. Over the arch, moving quietly, she swore she heard footsteps. The footfall of a polished black shoe. It was heavy but quick. A man's walk. The walk of a man also in a hurry. And there were other noises. The sound of cloth brushing cloth. The light 'clink' of metal hitting the ground swiftly every two footsteps. A cane? An umbrella?
She had no time to speculate, and she hurried on. A movement of music was playing in her head. It had started, sweet, slow and low, but now then it had burst into a quicker rhythm that matched her feet moving down the pavement. And now, it had slowed, and she had done so with it. It was slowing to a stop, and she was slowing with it, powerless to break out of the tempo.
It was then she noticed that the sound of the other footsteps had ceased as well. The woman looked around, then squinted. There was the figure of a man standing in the mist, and he almost looked like he was peering ahead as well. Tentatively, she moved forward a few steps, and found him becoming clearer. For he was moving too, mirroring her actions to a tee.
Another step closer, and she could make him out. At that distance, he appeared to be slightly taller than her. He was dressed in dark clothes, a black trench coat, and there was a bag slung over his right shoulder, an umbrella hanging from the crook of his arm.
Aurelia just about flew towards him. And the words that tumbled out of mouth took her even by surprise.
"I.......I've been waiting for you."
And now, bed. *passes out*