Tempus Alternat

The morning is a rather windy one, and John watches the water in the Quay churn, black and choppy. On the boat over from Penarth he had especially been missing the stabilizing field of a proper space vessel, and was glad he had not eaten anything yet. He tucks his arms further inside his jacket, hugging himself against the chill, as he turns his attention away from the water and onto the door down the way. He smiles to himself, stride confident as he approaches and then pushes open the door to find an office which appears empty. Glancing around at the obligatory maps and outdated pamphlets, his eyes also catch the slight sway to the beaded curtain beyond the desk, which tell that someone has gone through them mere moments before. Eyes moving along, he spies the old-fashioned bell sitting atop the desk and grins, eyebrow quirking up. One hand still safely tucked under his jacket (and on the hilt of a holstered gun), the other reaches out and taps the bell. Ding. And then again. Ding ding. Looking a bit bored, the hand continues to raise and lower in a steady rhythm. Ding ding ding ding ding.

Meanwhile, just across in Penarth...

( Bad moon rising... )