Post by athos on Feb 1, 2011 8:50:15 GMT -5
"Well, maybe it was my sixth sense. You caught me!"
Athos wasn't going to begin a belief system on this 'sixth sense', but it definitely had a morsel of truth and credibility to it. Her giggle echoed in the cemetery, causing an eerie effect, but also comforting at the same time. It was nice to know that not everyone was a murderer or a victim, unlike all the people Athos interviewed at work. She seemed so innocent and unblemished by the hardships of New York.
"No, Monsieur... I believe it is the way you... carry yourself. It is different for Americans. I people watch a lot, and when you do that, you get this vibe off of them. I just sort of got a French vibe off of you, you see?"
"I see," he agreed, "In my line of work, it often requires detecting falsehoods and attempts to unveil things from both criminals and witnesses. Perhaps you can find success as a detective, one day."
Without a warning, the girl began crying. He hadn't expected it, and he was uncertain what had caused it, but he knew he couldn't possibly be at fault. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I be normal..." she sobbed, curling into a ball against the tombstone behind her.
Having dealt with crying victims and victims' family members, he knew that he wasn't going to stand there and watch as she sobbed her eyes out. He trudged through the melting snow and slid down the tombstone to sit closer to her. He patted her back and looked to the heavens, where the sliver of a moon could be seen through the thick cloud of smog.
"Don't think that," he said in a soothing voice. "Nobody's normal and as far as I can see, you seem to be normal enough. What ails you?"
Athos wasn't going to begin a belief system on this 'sixth sense', but it definitely had a morsel of truth and credibility to it. Her giggle echoed in the cemetery, causing an eerie effect, but also comforting at the same time. It was nice to know that not everyone was a murderer or a victim, unlike all the people Athos interviewed at work. She seemed so innocent and unblemished by the hardships of New York.
"No, Monsieur... I believe it is the way you... carry yourself. It is different for Americans. I people watch a lot, and when you do that, you get this vibe off of them. I just sort of got a French vibe off of you, you see?"
"I see," he agreed, "In my line of work, it often requires detecting falsehoods and attempts to unveil things from both criminals and witnesses. Perhaps you can find success as a detective, one day."
Without a warning, the girl began crying. He hadn't expected it, and he was uncertain what had caused it, but he knew he couldn't possibly be at fault. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I be normal..." she sobbed, curling into a ball against the tombstone behind her.
Having dealt with crying victims and victims' family members, he knew that he wasn't going to stand there and watch as she sobbed her eyes out. He trudged through the melting snow and slid down the tombstone to sit closer to her. He patted her back and looked to the heavens, where the sliver of a moon could be seen through the thick cloud of smog.
"Don't think that," he said in a soothing voice. "Nobody's normal and as far as I can see, you seem to be normal enough. What ails you?"