Quote:
Originally Posted by
Nancy Drew 
Henrick had strode up to a very innocent-looking cane resting against a trash bin on the corner of a deserted street. His fingers had barely wrapped around it when the ground was pulled out from underneath him. Next think he knew he was struggling to catch his balance, throwing his arms out to both sides. He hated portkeys. Hated them. He slipped, catching himself with his hands on the ground, before straightening again.
He was wearing dark green slacks and a beige turtleneck, which almost matched his wavy, brown, feather-like hair, which hadn't appeared to have changed a bit in nine years. In his left hand he held a large duffel bag, which he now promptly dropped. He turned, waiting, holding his arms halfway out.
Ugh. She's never cared for portkeys, but, given the circumstances, this trip was undeniably..
worse. After he had gone, she counted to thirty, like he said. She grasped the cane, before gasping as she was pulled away. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could feel her stomach try to push it's way up into her chest, but she wouldn't let it. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, even when she felt her feet land and Henrick's arms firmly hold her in place.
She leaned forward, panting. She began to count, scilently. She was wearing a long, brown skirt with an old-fashioned design. It reached to her ankles, contrasting nicely with a pair of black boots with silver buckles. She wore a similar turtleneck to Henrick's, only hers was black, and her sleeves ended just after the elbow.
Finally, she reached twenty, where she opened her eyes, still panting, slightly.