Post by quilleh on Jan 18, 2005 15:48:24 GMT -8
Okay, this is my /so far/ intro for my next plot...
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It was an ill-omened autumn day, with overcast skies and heavy rain drenching the line of sluggish traffic in London. Lavishly clad businessmen and women hurried against the blustery winds, coats wound tightly around their middles as they hailed liquid yellow taxicabs, and disappeared behind their doors.
Among these was a man of no particular consequence, hastening furtively past the glassy entrance of The Jefferson Mansions. The lobby smelt of antiseptic cleaners and cigar smoke, causing anyone who breathed the fumes to feel placidly light-headed. Davis George made his way to the lift, eagerly clicking the ‘up’ button. The monotonous silver doors slid jauntily open, revealing a badly carpeted tiny rectangular elevator, resounding the popular show tune, “Over There”.
Davis shook his head as he pressed button number six. Juddering away the last aromas of the malodorous foyer the lift began to rise, shuttering violently as it surpassed each floor. This gave Davis the dreaded feeling that the small rickety box might plummet some 100 feet down at any moment.
“Ding!” The shabby lift let out one quavering, yet jovial note, letting Davis know his operation was successful without injury.
“G’evening Davis.” A proverbial female voice said glumly as he moved out of the elevator, and on to the sixth floor’s carpeted corridor. This young lady was Davis George’s neighbouring occupant of the Jefferson. She was a petite brunette, and Davis assumed her to be of about twenty-five. Nary paying her mind, aside from the tip of his cap, Mr. George continued to his room, number six hundred and fifteen.
These days Davis George was a man of his occupation, and scarcely paid his neighbours the time of day, aside from the occasional tip up of his boater. The black top hat would then return to its abode above his dark eyebrows, precisely covering Davis’ searching optics from other prying eyes.
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It was an ill-omened autumn day, with overcast skies and heavy rain drenching the line of sluggish traffic in London. Lavishly clad businessmen and women hurried against the blustery winds, coats wound tightly around their middles as they hailed liquid yellow taxicabs, and disappeared behind their doors.
Among these was a man of no particular consequence, hastening furtively past the glassy entrance of The Jefferson Mansions. The lobby smelt of antiseptic cleaners and cigar smoke, causing anyone who breathed the fumes to feel placidly light-headed. Davis George made his way to the lift, eagerly clicking the ‘up’ button. The monotonous silver doors slid jauntily open, revealing a badly carpeted tiny rectangular elevator, resounding the popular show tune, “Over There”.
Davis shook his head as he pressed button number six. Juddering away the last aromas of the malodorous foyer the lift began to rise, shuttering violently as it surpassed each floor. This gave Davis the dreaded feeling that the small rickety box might plummet some 100 feet down at any moment.
“Ding!” The shabby lift let out one quavering, yet jovial note, letting Davis know his operation was successful without injury.
“G’evening Davis.” A proverbial female voice said glumly as he moved out of the elevator, and on to the sixth floor’s carpeted corridor. This young lady was Davis George’s neighbouring occupant of the Jefferson. She was a petite brunette, and Davis assumed her to be of about twenty-five. Nary paying her mind, aside from the tip of his cap, Mr. George continued to his room, number six hundred and fifteen.
These days Davis George was a man of his occupation, and scarcely paid his neighbours the time of day, aside from the occasional tip up of his boater. The black top hat would then return to its abode above his dark eyebrows, precisely covering Davis’ searching optics from other prying eyes.