Emily Moyra Byrne She was about to respond to his comment about the gloves protecting her from getting any more visions as not being entirely true...unless of course, they were magickally able to do that. However, she ceased that idea altogether when she heard the invite. She watched him go, stared at his back...then looked to her right, her left, and lastly over her shoulder. The place around them looked deserted, the only sounds she could register were the howls of wind which carried a lone owl hoot every now and then. She looked back out in front of her at the quickly receding form of this man, bit her lip, furrowed her brow....Interested? What can she be interested in that he knew? <c>
Emily Moyra Byrne And furthermore, it didn't take a 'psychic' (that was a label she didn't like to use, but it was the one that explained her abilities the easiest) to find out that he knew something about her. Had he heard about her? She wouldn't be surprised. News traveled fast; reporters, scribes, whatever they were called in this place, tended to record and tell the rest of the world of the goings-ons in their area. It is possible he knew about what she worked in. Okay, she had to admit, he had her curiousity peaked. A good detective always followed the clues, as subtle and disconnecting as they may be. "I'm coming." she replied, voice low, as she shoved her hands into the pockets of her black courduroy jacket, and half-walked, half-ran after him. <c>
Emily Moyra Byrne When she caught up with him, she caught the last of his words, took in the sight before them: somebody's final resting place. Yes, it would take a little more detective work to figure out indeed...<e>