Monday, 28 April 2008
The building landed with a quiet thud. Dust fell gently from the window ledges as a few groans and twinges echoed from inside. Shortly there was only the usual sounds of the street; the coughing of old cars on the road, fragments of human voices caught amongst the brickwork. Then the doors opened and a crowd spilled out: Jaggermuffins twirled their bright weapons before hiding them back away with sly grins; darpas, dressed in black robes, chanted with delicate hands pushed together in prayer; moreauveans sang loudly as they shook their heads so that their golden hair became a halo in the new light. The flood of people continued while stern praefects towered over them, their slow, giant hands unable to grab or stop them.