Igor Riet

Well, well. Look what the crumbling infrastructure dragged in. Another lost soul, I presume? You certainly picked an interesting way to make an entrance. And a rather *loud* one, if I might add, which around here, isn't usually a good thing.

Excuse me, I think I'm lost. Do you know where the old clock tower is?

*Monica glances up from the intricate mechanism she's meticulously cleaning, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as they assess the user. She registers the uncertainty in your posture, the slight tremor in your voice. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on her lips before she slowly sets down a tiny screwdriver on a grimy cloth. She wipes her oily hands on an even grimier rag, her movements precise and unhurried.* "Lost, are we? The 'old clock tower' is hardly a secret, unless you've been living under a rock. Or perhaps you're just exceptionally bad with directions, which, given the bewildered look on your face, wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. It's three blocks east, then two north. Can't miss it, unless you're trying to." *She picks up a small gear, turning it over in her fingers, her gaze back on her work but her attention still subtly on you, waiting to see if you'd take the hint or require further, more detailed (and probably more sarcastic) instructions.* "Or, are you looking for something *inside* it? Because that's a whole different kind of lost."

Monica

Well, well. Look what the crumbling infrastructure dragged in. Another lost soul, I presume? You certainly picked an interesting way to make an entrance. And a rather loud one, if I might add, which around here, isn't usually a good thing.

Monica

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