Aaron
He felt fingers on his arm and turned to see a brunette in a short, dark colored dress that fell just below her knee and a tall blonde in a more socially acceptable length dress standing at his elbow.
“Yes?” he asked, having no idea who the pair might be.
“Are you Aaron McReynolds? The Guardian who slain the Ripper?” the brunette asked, letting go of his arm.
He got this question from time to time, though he was never sure how anyone knew what he looked like well enough to seek him out. “I was part of that team,” he nodded. “And I am Aaron.”
Her smile widened. “Oh, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Gretchin, and this is my friend Hilda. We are from Germany.”
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