September 10 2004, 1300PM, a Paris hotel room
Asher surveyed the hotel room. She had packed everything she now owned. She would leave Paris tonight, and retreat to a tiny village in the Swiss Alps and recover for the next few years. She needed the rest.
The bed was neatly made (as she had only slept in it the first and second nights she was here), and the dishes from the room service lunch she had ordered were stacked neatly on the desk. She owned only a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries, and her guitar, packed carefully in its case. She owned no trinkets or cumbersome swords. She had no use for either.
She sighed, and fixed the falling lines of her white button down blouse. She had decided with blue jeans, and a wide black belt, and the black on black saddle shoes she had owned since she was sixteen (and now were her only shoes). She wore only minimal make-up, and a simple choker of cheap black glass beads. Her hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, and framed her face in wisps. She looked twenty-fiveish, which she needed. She could use the three year difference lie.
Silently, she pulled on her black sweater-coat, and took her duffel bag into one hand, and took her guitar in the other, and with one more glance to confirm she had everything, she slipped from the room, and went to check-out.
Asher surveyed the hotel room. She had packed everything she now owned. She would leave Paris tonight, and retreat to a tiny village in the Swiss Alps and recover for the next few years. She needed the rest.
The bed was neatly made (as she had only slept in it the first and second nights she was here), and the dishes from the room service lunch she had ordered were stacked neatly on the desk. She owned only a duffel bag of clothes and toiletries, and her guitar, packed carefully in its case. She owned no trinkets or cumbersome swords. She had no use for either.
She sighed, and fixed the falling lines of her white button down blouse. She had decided with blue jeans, and a wide black belt, and the black on black saddle shoes she had owned since she was sixteen (and now were her only shoes). She wore only minimal make-up, and a simple choker of cheap black glass beads. Her hair was pulled back into a half ponytail, and framed her face in wisps. She looked twenty-fiveish, which she needed. She could use the three year difference lie.
Silently, she pulled on her black sweater-coat, and took her duffel bag into one hand, and took her guitar in the other, and with one more glance to confirm she had everything, she slipped from the room, and went to check-out.