nitro_is_ace: (gleeful)
Ah, Trafalgar Square. The tourists. The nationalistic pride. The man who still has two arms in the statue. The pigeons who proudly defecate on the man who has two arms in the statue.

The lions modeled after dogs.

Hush.

It's a bright and sunny Saturday morning here in Trafalgar Square, with the traffic buzzing around, the tourists taking rolls and rolls of pictures of their kids sitting on the dogs lions, the tour guides trying in vain to herd said tourists on to their next stop, the pigeons looking for food.

The traffic is almost loud enough to mask the wheezing, groaning sound of a TARDIS rematerializing. Since humans have this marvellous capability to ignore unexpected events even when they are happening right in front of them, most of the crowd completely fails to notice that one of the dogs lions suddenly becomes a pair. Well. Most of the crowd, except for a group of kids who stare with gaping mouths.

The statues had been pretty boring, but this? This is cool.
nitro_is_ace: (aces are rare)
The room is richly furnished - dark polished wood is carved in beautiful patterns to form bookcases along the walls, framing the rough-hewn stone fireplace. Tall windows with intricate iron lacing form a wall, a formal rose garden just visible through the drizzling rain. A leather couch and two overstuffed leather armchairs crowd around the fire. A massive fortress of a desk sits stolidly across the room from the fireplace, with the requisite piles of paperwork and scattered books, a paper dragon perched atop one of the stacks.

The domestic air of the scene is completed by the doberman sprawled on the hearth, soaking up the heat of the fire, and a lithe dark-haired woman ensconced comfortably in one of the armchairs, a cup of tea steaming gently on the side-table at her elbow. The only indication that this scene doesn't come straight from some Victorian mansion is the faint hum that is almost lost below the crackle of the fire and the soft snores of the dog.

The interior-side door swings open on silent hinges, and another dark-haired woman in dark slacks and a deep red button-down shirt slips into the room, cradling her own mug. This woman is shorter, lacking the air of calm that the first embodies, but she seems more at home. The quirky smile she shoots at the little dragon is almost an unconscious reaction, the way she saunters through the room speaks of long practice navigating the room. The dog looks up at her approach, then settles back down to chase more dream-bunnies.

"We'll be there in an hour or so. There should be plenty of time t'wander about sightseein' before the show, even with evening traffic. The Underground is usually reliable in this time-frame." She assures her companion as she curls up in the unoccupied armchair. The first woman, resplendent in a blue dress, looks up from her book and smiles serenely.

(cont.)

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July 2012

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