.

And elderly man walks up to you in the street. He appears, oh, in his mid-seventies, and he is dressed in a manner that was, perhaps, fashionable decades ago, in a cravat. He asks, so very politely, if he can help you and introduces himself. You don't suspect him of anything, not yet at least as he shows you around the building, letting you in all those rooms you couldn't get into before. Then your search for you friends turns up nothing, like a proper English gentleman, he offers to put the kettle on. After all, a cup of tea makes everything better, doesn't it?

It's only once you talk to your other…friends that you realize that all is not what it seems.

Those who know me may wonder why I take this guise. The answer is quite simple. I prefer to appear frail, old. Perhaps my bones are weak. People like to help me then, or if not help me then at least are more wont to listen to me. For all they see is a fragile old man, well-spoken and well-dressed who is out of his time. How could such an old dear possibly want to do anyone any harm, and even if he wanted to, how would he?