TishThe door flies open and is hurriedly closed behind a girl of about twentyish. Her dark eyes dart about the establishment, wary of the shadows (and some of the more dubious patrons). When no immediate, obvious threat presents itself -- there -is- no obvious threat, right? -- she relaxes enough to lower a fully-laden frame backpack to the ground with a heavy thud. Without her burden she looks even smaller, her russet corduroy jacket and khaki cargo pants almost swallowing her wiry frame; the logo on her beige tee-shirt is not immediately obvious. The buttons, badges and one bumper-sticker pinned to her jacket and backpack are - Save the Whales! Don't Panic, Buy Organic! Ralph Nader 2000! Stumps Don't Lie! among others. The two braided pigtails hanging out from beneath a camouflage kerchief make her appear younger yet.
In the Dreaming: Those who can see into the Dreaming see..... More or less the same girl. Except she's maybe a little smaller. With big, dark eyes. And just a bit of an overbite. And those -might- be little rounded ears, but it's hard to tell - she's wearing a gray soldier's cap, with her braids hanging down behind it. Her chimeric clothing wouldn't look -that- out of place on the street - battered gray breeches, brown boots, a ruffle-cuffed beige shirt. The bandolier might seem a little odd, though. And the cape - a tweedy brown-and-gray that just brushes behind her knees, swirling behind her. Or is that a proud, swirling, furry tail? The glamour around her is very, very faint - almost nonexistent, but still present, like the hollow hunger that is the very depth of winter yet holds the promise of spring.
(No formal exit. Last posting March 6, 2003.)