Arman

The man quickly looks back down, shrouding his face once more. You could have sworn there was a smile there.

All

He breathes out quickly, before starting to talk.

“One. Wait for her.”

Gesturing in the direction of Ann, he continues.

“Two. My name is Quixote, and I know much more than you do. Would you care to listen?”

At around this point, Whiskey’s reached Quixote, before whimpering and lying down.

Appiah, who was sitting at a table watching the man, sits up and slowly walks closer. His dark brown eyes flick from Ann and Arman to the man in the blacker than black coat, and he calls out in harsh, mangled English spotted with West African French. “Monsieur, have you seen them? Have you seen les Ancetres? I think you are a blessed man. I will listen. ****, TAIS-TOI! bumIEDS-TOI!” The little mongrel dog that had been dancing around the man in the black coat and barking whines, sitting down on the ground.

Appiah smiles apologetically, sitting down closer to the man who adressed them.

I look from side to side at the gathering I have “stumbled” upon. Sure, I was walking aimlessly through The Parc, ****ed at the latest hand I’d been dealt…Yet in the back of my mind there was that man, that trenchcoat. I couldn’t put a finger on who or what it was, but I’d couldn’t damn well shake it.

And now, right in front of me, that man…that trenchcoat.

Never mind the motley crew, what the hell is with this guy?

Wringing my hands nervously, I ask, “So…what the ****?”

If you guys don’t mind me asking, why is everyone spelling park with a c at the end? Its spelled park not parc.

As Quentin sits on the park bench and waits for Bob to retreive his wallet, he cant help to notice time slowing. He glances around and everyone in the park, animals included seem to be moving incredibly sluggish. And in the corner of his eye he notices the man in the trenchcoat staring at him, not blinking or moving in the slightest. His presense seems almost hypnotizing, and as Quentin stares at the man, he feels his heart speeding up. “What is this feeling?” He mutters to himself. The man finally moves, but just for a split second. He moved his arm! Slowly but steadily, without wavering his glare at Quentin, he reaches into his pocket. Then, with no warning a shattering pain fills Quentins head. He can’t help but to let out a scream, the pain is unbearable. Then simultaneosly the man in the suit pulls his hand out of his pocket swiftly, and the pain quickly subsides. “Who is this man? I must find out.” He thinks to himself. Then a resounding voice, from seemingly nowhere and everywhere at the same time enters Quentin’s mind. “COME HERE BOY”

No reply from the man. And he didn’t see his face. He didn’t care much about his face at this point, but he was still interested in the man. He looked around and noticed other people around him he never noticed before. He wasn’t sure if they’re just here by chance. There’s a link between all of this, but he can’t put his mind into it. He’d rather relax for a moment than to chat with these people.

He brought out his iPod and earphones from his pocket and started listening to music. 5 minutes pbum, and everything is normal. Then the music that he hears become tortured screams of pain. Screams from the depths of hell. Screams of tortured souls amongst the living. Fear-inducing screams.

He throws his iPod away in fright. It breaks into pieces.

Ann looked up from kneeling on the ground and twisted a piece of hair nervously.

“Um, I’m Ann, and this is Whiskey. ...Eleven people? How did you know we were going to be here?”

“That’s it? Meet and greet? I feel like I’ve been pulled along by strings for the last hour, and it’s to say hello?”

I reflexively rub at my nose, and give a derisive snort.

“****ing unbelievable. I’ll give you a name when you explain what’s messing with my head.”

Appiah Jawara grins, flashing white teeth providing a stark contrast to his black face. “French? You flatter me, monsieur. I speak ****-french, black french, not francais de Paris.”

He nods to Gil, “You take it easy, mon ami. N’inquite pas. This man looks wise, like he knows things.”

He speaks to Ann and Quixote, “Bonjour Ann, Quixote. I am Appiah Jawara – Jawara is what people call me. Al-Hamdullah; Allah smiles on our meeting.”

Meanwhile, **** makes amorous advances to Whiskey, irregardless of his/her gender.

Re Note: I bumume it’s ok to read what other people are doing and react to it in terms of actions etc that would be visible to our characters? Like, not reading their thoughts or intentions, but just reacting to stuff they explicitly do/say.

As the man in black looked at him, Anthony immediately drew his gaze to the ground.

The man was surrounded by THOSE things.

Anthony knew them well, whether he’d prefer to or not, and had been seeing them with increasing frequency lately. Terrible, pink creatures with antennae for a head. They had wings, but couldn’t fly well at all – their movements were sloppy and erratic. They ranged in size, but the largest were the size of a man.

But what terrified Anthony was something he hadn’t realized, but intuitively knew – they were intelligent, and they had purpose.

Anthony sat on the ground waited for something – anything – to happen.