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four

In a lush atrium on a beautiful spring morning, an elegant gentleman sitting in a high-backed chair is enjoying the morning sun as it streams into the room, seemingly from all directions at once. He replaces the ear piece of a 1919 candlestick telephone into its cradle before returning the phone to its place on the table next to him. As he does so, the phone vanishes. Smiling merrily, he pulls a shining, vintage gold pocket watch from the vest of his immaculate three-piece suit. The suit, reminiscent in style of those worn only by the most fashionable gentlemen in the early part of the twentieth century, is constructed of a material that defies identification. The watch case is of a classic filigree design, also typical of the era, though when he opens it, the face of the watch is anything but. Hosting countless, minute dials, all spinning at an alarming rate - it's completely unlike what a proper watch face should be. As he peruses the watch, one of the innumerable dials seems to lift itself from the surface, enlarging slightly as it does so. He chuckles to himself, bright blue eyes twinkling devilishly.

"Presently indeed! Yes Corkle, you continue to believe that my friend. I however, believe this situation promises to be much more engaging. And slightly more, time intensive, shall we say?" He chuckles again as the dial resets itself into its proper place among its numberless brethren on the watch face. Closing the case with a snap, he returns it to his vest pocket. His attention moves to the other side of the room to one of the floor length windows opposite; each pane transparently superimposed with a moving image. Looking at them, it seems impossible to tell exactly how many panes make up each of the windows. The same is true for the windows themselves; they also appear to be limitless in number.

He points to one particular pane opening his hand and spreading his fingers. In response, a single image expands to cover the entire wall: the scene transpiring on the bridge. He watches as Corkle suddenly materializes next the group already there.

"Yes my friend, I believe this is shaping up to be quite an interesting adventure indeed!" He laughs to himself again.

"Now where did that Miss Jones get off to? I should fancy a pot of that delightful coffee. No one can brew coffee like she does, I really must get her to divulge her secret one day.

Miss Jones?"

As he asks, a young woman instantly appears before him, a petite, attractive woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She has dark chestnut coloured hair, which today is worn pulled back from her face. She's wearing a smart, well tailored, moss green suit made of something that subtly catches and reflects the light. She has a bright, engaging smile and eyes the same striking shade of green as her suit.

"Yes sir, would you like coffee?" She inquires.

"I would indeed!

And if you have nothing else imperative on your agenda for this morning, I encourage you to pull up a chair and join me. It would seem that Corkle is in the midst of what promises to be a very entertaining situation."

"Oh dear." She says, the hint of a smile just forming.

"Would you also like some of those little biscuits you seem so fond of?" She offers.

"Absolutely!" He enthuses. "Marvelous suggestion!"

She turns as though she is about to leave the room only to turn back again immediately, now holding an ornate silver tray bearing a gleaming copper coffeepot, and a delicate china platter attractively arranged with a variety exquisite looking biscuits.

As she leans over, a table already set with cups, saucers, plates, and silver appears in front of her. The tray disappears as soon as she places it on the table, leaving only the coffeepot and platter of biscuits before them. She reaches behind her to pull over a chair that only seconds ago wasn't there.