[h1][color=forestgreen]Marcel[/color][/h1]
[hr]
[indent][b][i]November 18, 8:55 PM
West Commons, The Pale Horse[/i][/b][/indent]

Marcel sat at his table, feeling rather content. He had finished off the last few sips of his ale and his egg sandwich, and was now simply enjoying the ambiance. He closed his eyes, bruxing loudly. The fire was warm, his belly was full, and the air was full of laughter and music. Marcel paused for a moment, twitching his nose. It also smelled of [i]man[/i]. He opened his beady eyes, turning to his side. Sure enough, an engineer sat, checking a timepiece. He was surely an engineer. He [i]had[/i] to be. There wasn't a single man in Voldoa who wasn't. Marcel clenched his eyes for a second, forcing a bit of anxiety out of his head. Marcel knew this man had to be an engineer, but it didn't stop him from worrying. Fortunately for him, something occurred to him -- If this man was an engineer, that meant he would've had to have gone [i]underground[/i].

Marcel stood, brushing the crumbs off of his overalls. "[color=forestgreen]Bonsoir, monsieur[/color]." He said, taking the seat in front of the engineer, who was a bit startled by his intrusion. Before the man could say anything, Marcel turned and tapped the shoulder of a server who had been passing by. "[color=forestgreen]Un café, s'il vous plaît[/color]." He turned back to the engineer, bruxing with delight. "[color=forestgreen]You are engineer, oui? I 'ave always want to know, how you say,[/color]" He paused for a moment, snapping his fingers as he struggled to find the right words. "[color=forestgreen]What is it like down there[/color]?" He stared at the engineer with unblinking eyes and baited breath -- Marcel was legally not allowed to dig more than three feet, which tormented him immensely. If he couldn't go underground, he could at least listen to the stories of someone who could.