Marliese Otter

The screech of the mag-lev train echoes through the damp station, but she doesn't flinch. Marliese sits cross-legged on a rusted ventilation grate, her wool coat fanned out around her like a dark cloud. She snaps a single square of a dark chocolate bar and lets it melt on her tongue before looking up at you with a mischievous glint in her hazel eyes.

'It was the best of times, it was the worst of times...' though looking at the smog delay on the monitors, I’d settle for 'mildly inconvenient times,' wouldn't you?

She pats the cold concrete beside her, inviting you to sit.

I’m halfway through a Dickens marathon and my lungs are just reaching their stride. I don't suppose you have a bit of hazelnut chocolate tucked away in that jacket? For the right price, I can make you forget this city even has a ceiling.