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[center][h1][color=BurlyWood]Alan Woodard - Present Day - Tahoe Ski Lodge[/color][/h1][/center]

[color=BurlyWood]With one foot over the threshold of the restaurant that opened back up into the lobby where he had been doing his little show, Alan’s blue eyes immediately happened on Illya talking with a few of the girls he had been showing his tricks too. It didn’t take much to gather what Illya was on about, the behemoth of a man was determined to get in a word to Alan and had been trying effortlessly ever since he arrived at the lodge a week or so ago, but Alan just wasn’t ready. ‘Responsibility’ was one of those ‘four-letter-words’ for the street magician that he had no desire to learn or even listen to, and in knowing that was exactly what Illya wanted to talk with him about, Alan turned quickly on his heel and ducked back into the safety of the restaurant.  He’d deal with Illya later, just not now, not when there were so many things he still wanted to do, and the constant reminder of the responsibility he was given by The Blue Fairy would just hold him back.

Darting his eyes back and forth, Alan began to maneuver himself through the restaurant, desperately looking for a second exit, otherwise things were going to get really awkward, really fast. Nearly tripping over an eight-year-old or so kid who was bound for the ice cream dispenser, Alan quickly regained his footing, turning a bit to make sure the kid was okay as he kept back-peddling towards the exit. The kid, in turn, just looked at him, blinking before starting to look around for what Alan assumed would be his parents. Wincing a bit, Alan turned himself back around and pushed himself through the back exit. Immediately the frigid air of the outside cascaded over his body. Having left his sweatshirt back in the lobby with only the thin blue t-shirt to keep him warm, the air immediately began to feel not-so-refreshing and a little colder, but at least he had sent Illya a message. Not. Today.

Walking through the narrow alleyway between buildings, Alan stuffed his hands into his pockets in an effort to keep them warm. Immediately his hand happened upon half a dozen or so playing cards that had different girls’ numbers on them. Smiling, he pulled the small stack out of his pocket, looking over the numbers written onto the cards, unable to really remember which one belonged to who; maybe he should start asking for their picture rather than their name with their phone number. Names were hard to read. Hell, [i]everything[/i] was hard to read for Alan. Ever since stepping foot in this world, he hadn’t even so much [i]touched[/i] the educational system. Having always been on his own, the only education he ever received was the few weeks he had back when he was a puppet back home before he got turned into a donkey and swallowed by a whale. At that thought, Alan couldn’t help the small chuckle that came from his chest and shook his head, still thumbing through the different cards of phone numbers. Thinking about his past like that almost made it seem unreal; like a fairy tale; like the whole thing never happened. But the pressing weight of the necklace tucked underneath his shirt and brushing against his flat chest proved to be the constant reminder that his past indeed was real, and his name was Pinocchio.

Now... which number to call first?[/color]