First impressions were definitely important, I acknowledged to myself as I took in the tall figure standing in front of me. Nigel Winston, apparently. He had been introduced to me some mere five minutes before (by my friend Marbla Rose, who had requested we keep each other's company while she ran off on a solitary errand), but already I was intrigued by him.
His emerald green eyes reflected my evaluation of his personality- intelligent and kind. He had sat down next to me on the park bench we were on- he stood now, rather facetiously, pushing his gold-rimmed glasses further up his straight nose. He wore blue straight leg jeans, a "Daleks: we are the superior beings" shirt with a black jacket over the top, and brown work boots. It was a windy day and the gale made a mess of his light brown hair. I suppressed a chuckle at how mussed it had become- he looked rather goofy.
I had ascertained all of this from stolen glances- I knew I wouldn't be able to get away with staring without attracting attention to myself- something I tried my hardest to avoid. I leaned back on the smooth brown wood of the bench, glancing up at the heavily overcast skies. The chill in the air and the steely grey of the sky pressing down on London gave me the feeling snow was coming.
A sleek black limosine glided past and I saw the faint outline of the person on the other side, the glint of eyes...brown? I caught a reflection of myself in its heavily tinted windows- my own long, honey brown hair was also tangled by the wind, my blue-green eyes sparkled and my cheeks were red-chafed by the wind.
The chill in the air caused me to draw my cream coloured trench coat tighter around me as I grasped for something to say, preferably something intelligent and witty. "Cold weather we're having" I commented, and then cringed inwardly at myself. I stood, shaking my hair out behind me.
He smirked. "You're obviously a great one for conversation"
He spoke formally, enunciating each word clearly. It made me smile. "You're pretty talkative yourself" I told him, watching his face carefully.His lips quivered with the effort of trying not to smile.
"I don't believe we've had the opportunity to properly introduce ourselves. Liliana Anne Whitlock, 16 years old." I dropped him a small curtsey.
This time he couldn't hide it. His mouth turned up at the corners and he took a step closer to me. "Pleasure. Nigel Arthur Winston, 18." He flashed perfect, braced teeth at me and offered me a bow. I giggled.
"What school do you go to?" He inquired, cocking his head to the side.
"Charleston Christian College, same as Marbla" I informed him. "You?"
"I graduated from Capston Boy's Grammar last year".
"A boys school, huh?" I smirked.
"No, I'm not gay, if that's what you were implying" he rolled his eyes.
This time, I lost my self-compusure completely and cracked up.
I felt something cold touch my cheek and looked up in surprise; it was snowing already. The sky had darkened considerably now, almost completely black, and the old lantern-style streetlights had illuminated, casting their perameters with a warm orange glow that was contradictory to the biting chill in the air.
Where had Marbla gone?
