"Hmm, the storm is approaching, I wonder if the Thames will flood the streets."
Bluebird hoisted Arthur, reminiscing, "I don't recall this happening often, but each time it brings immense damage."
"This storm is unlike any we've seen before."
Joey said as he followed Bluebird outside, where Bluebird tossed Arthur into the carriage and locked it from outside in the slightly chilly breeze.
Bluebird wasn't in a hurry to leave; he leaned against the car, lighting a cigarette. But the warm vapor couldn't dispel the cold, and he shivered occasionally.
"Is something about to happen?"
Bluebird looked at the sky; it was almost noon, yet the sky was a pale blue apart from the leaden gray clouds, as if soon those clouds would solidify, consuming all the daylight.
"Such nasty weather."
Bluebird whispered softly.
"'Nasty' doesn't quite cover it." Joey said.
After a brief silence, both realized the underlying problem, the same word rising from the depths of their minds.
Erosion.
