(Basically an RP that I started due to a request by Mari. Anyone is free to join; but keep one line posts to a minimum, please.)

The slender figure wound its way through the crowds on the boulivard, avoiding direct contact with the other people, and making for the small, cafe on the water-front.
The sky overhead was getting dark, now, even threatening rain; causing the gulls to whirl and screech above. Horse-drawn carriages rattled by along the cobble-stoned walk-way, well dressed aristocracts peering languidly out of the windows; riding home to world were no pain seemed to exist.
Children laughed loudly, throwing stones at one another, and running barefoot through the milling crows, before their mothers; red-faced bulky women, or thin scrawny girls, dragged them back to shelter.
The willowy figure stood near the opening of a cafe; a tall hat standing tall, upon a head of auburn curls. A red velvet frock-coat was tailored to fit such a feminine figure, white white stockings adorned the shapely legs; long, black leather boots rising to just below the knees. Beneath the jacket, a crisp white shirt could be seen; drawn together under a slender wite neck, with a dark stone. A cane was held in a white gloved hand. Yet it was the face that caused the most shock; it was that of a woman. Piercing green eyes burned from the shade of the top-hat, her ivory skinned face delicately curved; yet framed by dark grown curls.
There she stood, lounging in a masculine way, against the door of a smoky, dimly-lit cafe, as the rain began to fall.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

((Should or charries already know each other?))

Margaret walked along, her cloak and gown just touching the ground. She was about to walk into a cafe when she bumped into what at first she thought to be a man.

(Um... nah, better as strangers. ^__^)

The figure turned sharply, the tall hat remaining in place on the head of auburn curls, her slender hand tightening on the head of the cane, as she narrowed her eyes.
And who was this? So foolish of her to walk as though she was blind... yet so very pretty. Ah, maybe she would keep her temper down; for now at least.
The slender woman dropped into a masculine bow, touching the rim of her black hat with her gloved fingers.
"Good evening, love..."

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Margaret blushed, so it was a woman. "I am so sorry, I did not mean to bump into you." She looked down before asking. "Perhaps if I bought you a drink from the cafe, would that serve as an apprropiate apology?"

((This is what she is wearing: http://www.antiquedress.com/item3649.htm ))

The woman observed Margaret closely, before even thinking to reply. Was she trustworthy? Ah, but she was cold, and after all... she had nothing better to do, until later this night when the celebration of her brother's lordship took place.
Tossing her head, the slender woman straightened her hat, gesturing with the ivory cane in the direction of the cafe.
"Alright, love... may I ask your name? I am Imogen Mayier."

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Margaret curtsied a bit. "My name is Margaret de Ghent." she said before looking back at the woman. She was beautiful, her body was slenderto say the least, and her face, like a goddess. Margaret went to the door of the cafe. "Shall we?"

[ I hope you don't mind if I join.. http://arwen-undomiel.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=4701 ]



In the cafe, the bittersweet drowsing aroma of expensive tea and coffee wafed stiffly through the air, yet it was not strong enough to be unpleasant. Seated at small circular table in the far corner of the cafe, Isabell detached herself from the unimportant hum of conversation that mingled itself with incoherent thoughts and gestures. Her pale orchid skin was less luminous in the dim light provided by the candles and sconces on the walls, in fact it even held a somber blush to it.

The object of her attention was standing outside the cafe, though Isabell could not clearly view her from inside, she knew who stood there--at least she felt her presence. Androgynous character. It aroused mild curiousity, to say the least.

Isabell idley reached for the dainty silver spoon in the tea cup before her, and stirred the contents around in a monotonous pattern while her wintry blue eyes focused on the polished wooden floorboards of the cafe--seemingly lost in thought.

[Oooh, not at all, Annywn ^__^]

Imogen gave the briefest nod of her head, before sauntering in through the cafe dor, her head and shoulders thrown back; scanning the people, as if daring them to confront her.
Satisfied, the woman moved to a small table, situated near the window; apparently waiting for Margaret to get the coffee herself.
With an impatient flick of her head, the green eyed adrogynous slipped down into the seat; removing the top-hat, to reveal a head full of auburn curls, drawn back with a velvet ribbon at the nape of her neck.
Hm, this place was to her liking, that was for sure... indeed, Imogen was known for inhabiting such places; and the dreery weather seemed to add atmosphere to the dimly-lit cafe.
Idly, she trailed her gloved fingers over the table-cloth; tracing the pattern of the yellow flowers; a table-cloth that had long been in use.
In boredom, Imogen's eyes began roving about the other customers; a bald man sat in the far corner. apparently irritated with his wife; a chirping creature, dressed in bright scarlet.
Finally, a pale figure at a circular table caught the woman's eye; a hand was brought to cup her own chin in thought, as she took in Isabell's mysterious appearence.

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

Margaret arrived at the table carrying a coffee and tea. Giving the coffee to Imogen, she sat down. "How about you tell me about your self?" Margaret asked her.

((Hiya Seral. I was thinking that maybe Imogen could start thinking that Margaret is pretty. She looks like Nataile Portman, but with grey eyes.))

Isabell's throat constricted it seemed, slightly embarrassed that her target of intrigue had returned a curious eye; yet it was more so that she was even seen at all. Despite her appearance, she had an uncanny ability to remain unnoticed in public mortal places, contradicting her kind.
She blinked nonchalantly at the woman, who was joined now with another female more suitably dressed for her gender. She left her mind completely blank, hiding all thoughts skillfully behind her emotionless visage.

Imogen's fingers curled about the coffee cup; cradling it to seek warmth for her long, cold hands.
The woman in the corner held some vague interest her her... she wasn't sure exactly why; yet it seemed that she didn't truly belong here, in this cafe filled with foolish chatter of everyday lives... like herself. Oh, but it wasn't just Imogen's tendancy to dress and behave as a man that set she, herself apart, no... she had a darker secret. Clever. The other woman's mind was veiled... oh, this was no mere mortal woman...
Smirking to herself, Imogen held Isabell's gaze, yet her voice; pitched as a throaty purr, was addressed to Maragaret.
"What is it you want to know, love?"

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

May i join??

How should i start?

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~Thank you to Estë Undómë for the Beeeautiful Banners & Avvie <3 ~

[Sure you can join ^^' you can be in the cafe if you like... its all up to you, naturally. ^__^]

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Those who find ugly meanings, in beautiful things, are corrupt without being charming. This is a fault. -Oscar Wilde-

[I'll wait for Mari.]

Margaret shurgged. "Things, I don't get out much. I just thought it could be a good talk starter."

The small talk a stare could hold entirely by itself was at times amusing. Questions would flitter unrestrained behind the pupils. A brow would arch unconsciously. A dance in itself; yet it was one that Isabell feared more than enjoyed.

Her soulful blue eyes glinted slightly, catching the candlelight's luminance as her smooth angellic features hardened in curiousity. A thought managed to slip ungaurded from Isabell's mind, but it was to her own volition. A confirmation.

Who are you?