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Brenna/Eris and Sarah/Athena: Embassy
Who: Brenna/Eris and Sarah/Athena
Where: British Embassy
When: Afternoon
What: Random run-in
Rating: [tbd]
Status: Incomplete
Brenna's day was not going well. First, a problem with the hotel's water heater meant a cold shower. That was followed by a nice-sized bruise on her thigh courtesy of the desk she'd bumped into while changing and a rather bland breakfast in the hotel's dining room. However, none of these minor nuisances compared to the aggravation that stemmed from losing her passport. She was convinced it had been stolen; to believe the thing had caught whatever magical virus that blasted journal carried and sprouted legs for running off was insanity. And Brenna knew she hadn't simply misplaced it.
A talk with the hotel manager lead to filing a police report which in turn, paved the path for a trip to the British embassy, where she was informed the person she needed to speak with was out for lunch and possibly the rest of the day. Seeing as her day was already shot, Brenna decided to take the chance offered to her and wait an hour before giving up and coming back to following day.
Seated on a bench just inside the entrance of the embassy, the dark-haired woman paged through one of the endless pamphlets about citizenship and rights abroad and what happens if someone you were traveling with were to die while on holiday. "Fucking ridiculous," Brenna muttered to herself, a bit louder than was polite, and contemplated what the diplomats and aids rushing about would do if she stood up and started screaming bloody murder. It would be amusing, at least. For her. And a few hours in a holding cell somewhere couldn't be any worse than the boredom she was suffering now. "No where to even get a fucking cup of coffee."
Where: British Embassy
When: Afternoon
What: Random run-in
Rating: [tbd]
Status: Incomplete
Brenna's day was not going well. First, a problem with the hotel's water heater meant a cold shower. That was followed by a nice-sized bruise on her thigh courtesy of the desk she'd bumped into while changing and a rather bland breakfast in the hotel's dining room. However, none of these minor nuisances compared to the aggravation that stemmed from losing her passport. She was convinced it had been stolen; to believe the thing had caught whatever magical virus that blasted journal carried and sprouted legs for running off was insanity. And Brenna knew she hadn't simply misplaced it.
A talk with the hotel manager lead to filing a police report which in turn, paved the path for a trip to the British embassy, where she was informed the person she needed to speak with was out for lunch and possibly the rest of the day. Seeing as her day was already shot, Brenna decided to take the chance offered to her and wait an hour before giving up and coming back to following day.
Seated on a bench just inside the entrance of the embassy, the dark-haired woman paged through one of the endless pamphlets about citizenship and rights abroad and what happens if someone you were traveling with were to die while on holiday. "Fucking ridiculous," Brenna muttered to herself, a bit louder than was polite, and contemplated what the diplomats and aids rushing about would do if she stood up and started screaming bloody murder. It would be amusing, at least. For her. And a few hours in a holding cell somewhere couldn't be any worse than the boredom she was suffering now. "No where to even get a fucking cup of coffee."