London's Quarters

*arriving with a distraught expression, London flicked on the light and worriedly looked over the room. It was nicer than some of the inns he had to sleep in; moderately furnished. He couldn't complain. Flopping on the bed, he turned upon his back with hands behind his head. It was exhausting today...even if he was a member of the Underworld, it was still hell to navigate the town's passageways, corridors, and alleys. London closed his eyes, running bits of the day through his head...*

'There aren't any females around in this dorm...'

*he groaned, remembering only seeing two men in their rooms. How disappointing. Laying there for a little while longer, London gotten himself up, then sauntered over to the sad looking desk in the corner. He softly kicked it; it swayed unsteadily. London sighed, then dumped from his pockets some of the things he had to travel with: a small knife, burnt coal, a piece of paper, a mysterious lock of dark green hair, Australian coins, that would fail to be used as currency in this world, and lastly a bright silver band*

"Ahh..."

*he gently slid his finger against the lock of hair. It was smooth and gentle, the follicles soft against fingertips as burned rough as his. Gently grabbing the piece of paper that went along with it with two fingers, he unfolded it. It looked as if it were already folded and unfolded many times already, and not by the writer, but by London himself. In it was scribbled in beautiful handwriting..*

"My dearest Joshua Alec,

My answer is yes.

- Airika..."

*his mouth unvoluntarily curved into a smile, a real one, not a goofy one like he usually had plastered on his face. London's smile faded though, from pure bliss to a sad and lonely smile*

"Oh ya stupid dame....ya still got me snagged."

*London slid the ring firmly upon his finger; it felt cold, but began to warm on his finger and his gold eyes glanced unwillingly, like double suns which wished not to shine, at the items on the desk. They lay there silently as he picked them up, one by one into the drawers that were provided. Some drawers were smooth...others grew stuck by incompetence of the builders. In the top drawer, he lay the lock of hair and the piece of paper, which was now folded back into place. Finishing, London lay on his bed, expression still of a shattered heart. After several minutes of laying uselessly in bed, he angrily arose to his doorway, flicked off the light, and slammed the door on his way out, a man of restlessness*