[center][h1]Emil Günther[/h1]
Physical state: Cold
Mental state: Frightened and paranoid[/center]


Scared, Emil thought it best not to head to his room, or anywhere near it. [color=ed1c24]Police![/color] It still rang through his ears. To one watching him, he must have looked like a paranoid drunk looking over his shoulder every five seconds and unable to hold his head still as he made his way through piles of thick snow. [color=ed1c24]Police![/color] When he reached the trail leading through the yard of the university grounds and eventually the street, his legs were soaking went, and he was freezing. [color=39b54a][i]Hypotermia. A million needles piercing me. Like when we hiked in Telemark that year. She fell into it. Lucky not to have her lungs inflamed. [/i][/color] Suddenly the police badges invaded his thoughts and sirens and bars, too. He hurried.

A block away warmth and delicious smell suddenly hugged him. Turning to his right, he saw he was in front of a pub.[color=39b54a][i] Sean.[/i][/color] He entered and Sean was inside indeed, by some coincidence. Emil recognized him, or his back, sitting at the bar, while the rest of the place was almost completely vacant, with maybe a quarter of the chairs taken by either scoundrels or those who'd avoid going home by all means until late at night. 

[color=0072bc]”Am I lucky to see you,”[/color] Emil said, sitting on the stool next to Sean's and asking for a beer, an order to which the bartender reacted with a squint. [color=39b54a][i]And Irishman [b]and [/b]a German.[/i] [/color]
[color=fff200]”Where the fuck have you been...?”[/color] Sean asked, his glass pausing just in front of his lips, he looking at Emil's pants and shoes, gesturing at them with his hands. [color=fff200]”Have you pissed yourself?”[/color]
[color=39b54a][i]Beer. Looks like it when you're sick.[/i][/color] [color=0072bc]”Funny,”[/color] Emil said. [color=0072bc]”But not. Long story. I just need to warm me. Myself, I mean.”[/color] [color=39b54a][i]Mich.[/i][/color]
[color=fff200]”You're a weird fucking sort, man, you know,”[/color] Sean said and took a sip. 
[color=0072bc]”Tell me that when I all this shit happens in a second in one of our universities. It's unnatural.”[/color]
[color=fff200]”I'm feeling ya. I can't get that bloke's head out of my mind.”[/color]
[color=39b54a][i]Pretend.[/i][/color] [color=0072bc]”Did the police say anything?”[/color]
[color=fff200]”Fuck if I know. I'm staying away, I've had enough.”[/color]

The bartender put the foaming glass of beer right in front of Emil, without a word, and subtly slammed his hand on the bar, displaying intolerance. [color=39b54a][i]Cracked skin. Too many dishes. And a...[/i][/color] He gasped. His heart beating like mad. 
[color=fff200]”You alright?”[/color]
[color=0072bc]”Bartender”[/color] Emil says, almost stuttering. [color=0072bc]”Can I have a glass of water, please?” [/color]
[color=fff200]”Hell, man...”[/color]
The man fills the glass and puts it next to the beer glass. [color=92278f][i]F. D.[/i][/color] The initials, tattooed with poor skill on his hand, right where the root of the thumb begins. No mistake. [color=00a651][i]Must be an army tattoo. His wife. Girlfriend. Child. In trenches, with ink.[/i][/color] He rose quickly, trying to act normal. 
[color=0054a6]”I need to use the bathroom, excuse me.”[/color]
He went away as fast as his freezing legs let him, right into the dirties bathroom in all Arkham. Fshhhhhhhhhhh. Cold tap water filled his hands and he washed his face.[color=39b54a][i] Me.[/i][/color] He looked at the cracked, greasy mirror that distorted his face. [color=39b54a][i]Frightened. It's only a coincidence. Calm down. Yes. Pay and go.[/i][/color]
Somewhat calm, he went back into the bar, put he knew not how much money next to his unfinished drink, told Sean to drink it for him, and went out before they knew it. 

Having looked left and right, he ran across the street, and went left towards the dorm, not noticing the cold anymore. [color=39b54a][i]Silly. Soldiers do it all the time.[/i][/color] The street was quiet, he made the only sound with his feet. [color=39b54a][i]Shortcut.[/i][/color] He turned into an alley on his right, to cut the way short. His stomach growled with hunger. [color=39b54a][i]What day is it? I wonder what we have for lunch at the cafeteria. Cooked wine, like we do for Christmas. With chocolate cake and sweetened bread. Warms you up really nice. Stands with Danish pastry. Good croissants. [/i][/color] A loud ring of metal followed by an aggressive meow of an escaping nightblack cat interrupted him. The animal had turned over the trash bin and scared itself. [color=39b54a][i]They never let you pet them or touch them. Look at you and disappear. Dogs are not like that. Friendlier.[/i][/color] He rolled the bin with his foot towards the wall, pulled it up, went for the lid and placed it on top of the can. [color=92278f][b]F. D.[/b][/color] On top of the lid, written right under the handle. He looked at it thrice to make sure. [color=0072bc]”No...”[/color] he mutters and starts backing up. [color=39b54a][i]Am I insane? [/i][/color]The icy ground proved to be a foe, for his sole slipped and he fell on his back. Not pain, but [color=39b54a][i]Steiner[/i][/color] was the last of his thoughts before he started running, and running.