Ros never liked Thames House.
It reminded her too much of her childhood home – closing doors, ushers and guards, statues coming out from the walls. (Smothering ceilings, watchers' eyes, a stranger at every door.)
Her family-home in Russia.
She looks over to the pale man, his eyes intent on another, elbows resting on the car dashboard.
His home of eight years.
From Russia to Thames House. From Thames House to Russia and back.
(Quo loco non licet.)
I have prompts for the next few drabbles, but I'd love it if you gave me some more. They could be just a word, a quotation, a lyric – anything. Either send it via a review, a PM or you could tell me over at LJ (the link is at my homepage).
Either way, a review would be lovely! How do you like it so far?