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Bath Camarilla The Roleplay Forum! 2018-03-14T13:35:31+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/feed.php?f=16 2018-03-14T13:35:31+00:00 2018-03-14T13:35:31+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=329&p=6437#p6437 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Voyaging Abroad]]>
The conversation had interrupted Reggie’s train of thought which had been occupied by memories of a particular juggler that was often seen hustling tourists at the rear of the Sacre-Coeur. He has the most marvellously dexterous and unusually long fingers, highly desirable in his chosen profession, but equally prized for other activities that he had indulged Reggie with from time to time. Yes, Raul was his name...

Composing himself, “Throughout Europe mainly and most extensively. In truth anywhere where wine grows and the vine of dionysus can be truly suckled. France naturally, where the only true wines of merit originate, but also through Germany, Italy, Spain and beyond.”

Of course I recently had the pleasure of visiting Egypt, a truly fascinating country with the most welcoming of locals only too happy to explain their customs to visitors. Whilst enjoyable, the company I travelled with were on the most part somewhat disappointing with some notable Elder exceptions. Both of your delightful company is an extremely welcome tonic.” His gaze fell affectionately on Valentina as he spoke the last words before turning to Durham.

“I’ve never had call to visit deepest Africa though and have heard little of civilisation beyone that of Tangiers perhaps. Without the benefits of wine, how do the natives survive...or even tolerate each other at all?” He added the latter as an afterthought.

Statistics: Posted by Reginald Verity — Wed Mar 14, 2018 1:35 pm


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2018-03-13T19:54:36+00:00 2018-03-13T19:54:36+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=329&p=6436#p6436 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Voyaging Abroad]]>
In response to his question she smiles at him. "Alas darling, tailor's children do not travel so far. And my Sire preferred to stay closer to England. We visited France and Italy the most."

She turns her attention to Reggie. "What about you darling? Where have you voyaged to?"

Statistics: Posted by Valentina Audley — Tue Mar 13, 2018 7:54 pm


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2018-03-13T16:03:40+00:00 2018-03-13T16:03:40+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=329&p=6434#p6434 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Voyaging Abroad]]>
Durham shuffles somewhat embarrassed and mutters into his drink "Breaking their sons neck's has a habit of doing that."

He clears his throat and hurries on. "I was mostly abroad in Africa and Hong Kong during my mortal days. Have you seen the either, Ms. Audley?"

Statistics: Posted by Bitterglass — Tue Mar 13, 2018 4:03 pm


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2018-03-03T12:07:40+00:00 2018-03-03T12:07:40+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=329&p=6369#p6369 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Voyaging Abroad]]>
It's a small room, but tastefully decorated, with a couple of armchairs and a sofa situated around a coffee table with cabinets full of books, games and other curiosities lining the walls. Thick curtains have been pulled closed over the portholes and a tray on the table holds a decanter of a red liquid and 4 wine glasses.

Valentina is currently neatly tucked up in one of the armchairs, leafing idly through the latest fashion plate. She's dressed simply for travelling in a teagown of cream embroidered all over with forget-me-knots and her curls are, as usual, escaping from her chignon. Occasionally she glances over to where Reggie is lounging on the sofa and smiles coyly at him if she catches his eyes. She'd usually be curled up next to him, but as she knows very little about the salon's only other visible occupant she's acting the part of a well mannered nice girl for now.

Hamlyn doesn't appear to be in the room, but experience tells Valentina that doesn't mean he's not there. His presence or lack of it, doesn't worry her though, as by now she's used to him. Reggie of course, is also familiar, which just leaves the Earl of Durham. Valentina glances across to him and smiles, her curiosity once again roused by the neat figure she knows very little about.

"Tell me darling, have you been to Paris before?" She asks the question idly, a way to start a conversation and perhaps actually get to know him a little better.

Statistics: Posted by Valentina Audley — Sat Mar 03, 2018 12:07 pm


]]>
2017-12-01T12:39:20+00:00 2017-12-01T12:39:20+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=294&p=4945#p4945 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Typical Bad Dreams]]> The deathly river, the stained room, the vicious snakes, the letter, the lifeless body. 

She opens her eyes, the pain still imprinted in her stomach.

A nightmare that was silenced for some days but came back stronger than ever. She didn't expect it to come back after recent events but it bloody did.

She had plenty time to deal with her nightmares and she was slowly becoming aware of the complexity and inner conflicts in her head. But this, again, no that was unexpected, sort of, or not, what a mess. Dissapointed with herself she leaves the bed.

Ellie 2, is there to help her get dressed and the movements are mechanical. Lost in her thoughts she doesn't even realise she is already dressed with braided hair.

Her eyes glued in the mirror and she suddenly frowns. With fluid movements she untangles her braids.

"I didn't instruct you to braid my hair today." she says dismissively to the human who now looks at the floor with shame.

"Need to find something to decorate my head in this damn city, if I am to die I should die properly with finesse." she says while looking at the mirror. Her face arrogant and her grin bitter.

She takes the face of the human in both hands and while looking at her in the eyes she sweetly says "Go find another one from the stable and clean Crap. I need it sparkly clean for Dorian." and with that she gives her a kiss on the cheek while licking her lips hungrily.

Knowing how aggressive the horse was she assumed she will need to find an Ellie 3 soon. So because of that she snacks a little bit but not too much. A last tiny loving bite. Tasty tasty creature but she got bored of the same snacks. It's been four months and she needed more variety.

When Ellie 2 leaves, she takes her book with the torn papers. Her fingers playing with the regular poem she is trying to avoid. She reads it again and smiles. The music still embedded in her head. Hope, love and reinvention marking her intentions despite the omens.

Ignoring again the words her sister gave her in her previous dreams. Pushing them under the rug. They were her fears not her real sister. Or that's what she speculated. Hopefully.

With the tip of her tongue she caresses softly her bloodied fangs while smiling oddly.

"Peaches and cherries, that's what I want. And if I end up again with lemons then so be it." she murmurs stubbornly with a murderous flare while sharpening her sword on a whetstone. Murderous determination, dreamy smile and honey liquid amber eyes. Loving or manic or both.

She is humming the familiar tune and stays there for a while, taking care of 'her' sword, bathed in a bliss of denial and ignorance on purpose.

Statistics: Posted by annabelle — Fri Dec 01, 2017 12:39 pm


]]>
2017-11-14T17:54:18+00:00 2017-11-14T17:54:18+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=294&p=4870#p4870 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Typical Bad Dreams]]> The wind is blowing, leaving her braids free, enjoying the saltiness and wetness on her skin.

She is holding her hermes stone on her left hand and a peculiar scale miniature on the other. There is a feather in one of its plates. A bright, transparent feather.

A weird woody cracked noise is hiding in the loud sound of the wind.

Thorns.

Starting from her feet and enveloping them, they have a clear direction. Growing while consuming her body in a deathly spiral.

It happened before she remembers this time. She got terrified and tried to take them out of her. But she couldn't and they consumed her.

She doesn't react this time, she just sits there looking at the horizon, being suffocated by the sharp thorns. No fear, no reaction.

The thorns have a clear purpose. The scale. But she doesn't flinch, there is a deep rooted trust and confidence in her gaze. Locked in the horizon.

The thorns manage to reach the scale. With a loud crack they are starting to envelope the golden miniature but they don't touch the plate with the feather. Instead they consume the other plate violently.

Let our thorns have their way, she whispers

And the scale doesn't move, despite the thorns and the weight, the feather keeps the balance, like it's equally heavy and strong as the thorns.

Her eyes open slowly and calmly. Another day, time to break the circle.

"Ellie" she says softy. One of her food supplies. Such an intelligent creature, such a shame too. Helen took notice of her and she kept her around for general maid work.

She knew what was needed. Helen showed her the dress and the jewellery she brought but never wore and with that Ellie started helping her put on her dress. She didn't use her help before, her clothes were simple to wear without help and quite frankly she forgot how it was to have a woman around helping with everything.

"I want you to braid my hair today." Helen instructed her while Ellie was tying the corset.

There was a coldness in Helen's gaze, a deep rooted heavy weight. But there was acceptance also, acceptance of the reality and what was about to come.

She had an emergency plan, one where her fears won't come true nor her dreams.

Let it be, what come may come. She couldn't change his mind, tried, failed miserably, repeatedly, made fool of herself and she got a mental slap in the face as a result. A cherry on top, let's say. A rather bloody and painfully heavy cherry.

When Ellie is done she gazes herself in the mirror and she recognises her again. Not the real her but the one she knew. The one who fulfilled expectations, the one who was justifying falsely why royalty is special and should be given more rights. What a joke.

"I will ask for forgiveness that I know I have no right to ask..." she says to the mirror with a deeply regretful expression.

Not good enough. It should look more genuine.

She spends two hours talking to the mirror. Rehearsing her speech, ticking bits and pieces to make it believable. Like a professional actor, studying her character and playing with expressions and emotions like a puppet master.

When she is satisfied with the results she moves to her emergency plan. The plan that will prevent her nightmares from coming true.

"I missed you...waking up in this strange world was a slap in the face, a realisation that I miss a part of me. Only you can fill my void. I keep waking up and asking where are you, where are you?..." a bile in her throat is forming but her face looks convincing and with a deep breath she continues.

"Nobody can give me what you offered. I belong to you no matter how far I run, where I go, what I do or what skin I wear. Please take me back.

But if you don't... I'll always be yours regardless...even after you kill me. At least I will die by your side." and her gaze looks terribly oddly convincing, the hooded gaze, the parted lips, the hope in her eyes. All so convincing.

She keeps repeating the same speech for about three hours. Changing a word now and then, adding tears to the act. She tries not to think that she will waste words like that to him. What a shame.

When she is done she starts the writing. Three letters. One for Christine Daye, one for Violet Clyntan and one for Matthias Corvinus.

"Ellie, if I don't summon you after the 9th of December, send these letters. The addresses are written on them.

If I do summon you, just give them back to me. Now go back to where you came from and stay there, I won't need you again for something else, ever."

Ellie nods and leaves silently.

And Helen continues her rehearsal until the dawn and until her voice is raspy and she doesn't have any more crocodile tears to shed.

Statistics: Posted by annabelle — Tue Nov 14, 2017 5:54 pm


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2017-11-13T17:54:49+00:00 2017-11-13T17:54:49+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=294&p=4859#p4859 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Typical Bad Dreams]]> The deathly river, the stained room, the vicious snakes, the letter, the lifeless body.

Again and again and again. Like a broken song demanding a salvation that cannot be given.

She opens her eyes but she is still trapped in the dream, unable to separate the unreal from the other unreal.

With a groan she spasms and hits the bed violently, still feeling the horns and the fangs, wanting to rip something apart, anything.

Give me something, anything.

The crack of the bed wakes her up from the frenzy.

There is a moment of silence.

"Great" she murmurs.

"Bloody great."

She gets ready silently while watching herself in the mirror. Her face the same, like everyday...every. single. bloody. day.

One of the benefits of this gruesome transition...You might feel like shit but you will always look flawless.

She touches the mirror while looking at herself.

"Who are you?" she asks the stranger in front of her.

That strange moment when you observe your image and it feels unfamiliar, like this is not you, it's something else. And you are wondering why you are asking that and why the image of you is alienated when you pay attention to it. But then you go back to your routine of just being you, distracted by the seen and the material. Forgetting to ask again.

She drags herself to the horses again. Ignoring the demanding nickering of Dorian's horse. Her eyes focused on Phobos. He seems more happy to see her today, that's an improvement. She holds his head and rests her forehead against his while whispering.

"I can't do that. I am a coward. Last time I was close, I think, but I backed down. I will try again...but is hard... You know because of..."

She hears a horse snorting and she feels teeth on her right shoulder. With fast movements she turns around and sees Dorian's horse looking almost...affectionate while snickering. Its eyes... Loving?

Her dress is torn and there is a small piece of flesh missing from her shoulder...mostly hanging. The blood is staining her dress and she chuckles.

She pets the horse softly and smiles sweetly at him while her wound is healing but still bleeding.

"Awww. If you weren't Dorian's horse you would have been mine darling. You are wonderful, aren't you?"

With a wicked smile she continues
"You sealed your fate.. Crap. That's your new name until I give you back to Dorian."

With joy and excitement she whispers something to one of the servants.

They don't look pleased with her request but they comply while picking up some feces from the floor and rubbing Dorian's horse with them.

Helen runs away trying to suppress her laughter, not wanting to be associated with the consequences the servant will suffer because of her instructions.

She just hears Crap groaning, almost screaming with desperation and she laughs harder.

She doesn't wipe the bloody tears from her eyes. She has messy hair, a torn blood stained dress and a blood stained face. This time she genuinely looks like shit. Far from flawless.

If that won't work...

She thinks and heads towards her companion.

Statistics: Posted by annabelle — Mon Nov 13, 2017 5:54 pm


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2017-11-11T19:31:10+00:00 2017-11-11T19:31:10+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=294&p=4832#p4832 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: Typical Bad Dreams]]> ()

The corridor is filled with bible black, pitch black blood.

She is walking silently, slowly, her bare pale feet creating ripples. Stains of blood are all over her white nightgown, but she doesn't seem to mind. She is holding a sword in her hands, a beautiful sword but is not hers. The weight is familiar, she has been holding this sword, sleeping with it. But when?

The more she walks in this corridor the more stains are marking her dress.

There is a room at the end. She is aiming there but she doesn't know why. A huge golden door is closed, stained in wine red. She just walks, no thoughts, no fear, no nothing. Familiar state.

She was waiting for that moment. She knows where she is going.

The door opens by itself and with it the river of pitch black flows in the clean room. Staining the floor, the carpet and horribly levitating to the walls. Like snakes aiming for the kill, flowing silently and gracefully.

Her gaze follows the river and with wide eyes she realises there is a body laid on the bed in the middle of the room.

It's like dozens of swords are piercing her chest. Deep. Deeper that she could imagine, deeper than an abyss, going straight right through the void and beyond that. Beyond the void, right through her soul. Shattering it in million pieces for the desert wind to spread like dust in the wind.

Paralysed and with horror she sees a hand giving her a letter. A hand attached to a body she doesn't care to notice. A letter with a familiar stamp. The letter of her freedom. The one she craved more than anything else in the world. The one she came for.

With a fluent fast movement, calculating and cold... she amputates the hand. A perfect cut, surgical and straight.

The hand falls with the letter in the pitch black and she doesn't even try to save it. She is just watching it dissolve in the darkness without a care.

The fury is enveloping her.

Her gaze frozen on the bed and she feels a weight on her head, a painful tug in her skull and fangs and everything is stretching…and she knows where this is going…she remembers…this is not real…this happened again… somewhere…somehow…she doesn’t want to see that again.

Wake up.

And with that she opens her eyes. Back to the bed. It became a routine these days, a habit. This was new. She prays she is not a seer and this is just her mind speaking truths to her.

She stays there for a while, thoughtful. She is definitely not a Seer but her mind is warning her. How she ended up drowning like that in her own misery, she doesn’t know. Even in the hardest of times she was proactive, she knew what needed to be done and she was going for it. What’s the difference now?

With this question in her mind she went straight to the Horses. Upon her arrival Dorian’s horse is nickering arrogantly, it seems terribly impatient for its daily grooming. Phobos, her own horse, on the other hand is keeping a distance from her, politely looking elsewhere trying not to draw her attention. She chuckles and with a touch and a kiss it seems relaxed.

“I am not going to brush you today it’s fine, relax.” she says softly while Dorian’s horse is nudging her arm demandingly. With a sigh she takes the brush and starts brushing it carefully. Manual labour was helping her mind in so many ways these days, why many servants dreamed of being highborns was beyond her. They had no idea the weights royals were carrying whilst they were enjoying their simple life. Idealising something that you don’t have it’s the easiest of the wishes.

While looking at Phobos with guilt she realises something. Phobos liked her…a lot…but her obsessive brushing seemed to make him withdraw from her…He got sick of her in his own horse-like way.

What if….

A sad smile marks her features suddenly. The idea making her sick to her stomach. She had two cards, abusing both could work. Oh…she doesn’t want to do that no…especially one of them… She did worst before for their own sake, she can go through this for sure. Isn't she?

With a frown and a deep breath, she forces herself to decide. The dream fresh in her head giving her strength and determination.

She forces a newly created mask, one she obtained by months of observation by keeping mental notes and with that she heads towards her companion.

Statistics: Posted by annabelle — Sat Nov 11, 2017 7:31 pm


]]>
2017-11-09T18:04:50+00:00 2017-11-09T18:04:50+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=294&p=4828#p4828 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Typical Bad Dreams]]> Her sister standing in front of her, shining brighlty like the future Anna invisioned as a child. She extends her hand
"Anna come... We have a Gypsy kingdom to build... Hurry."

Her sister's grin reminded her of something, something...something... A fogue was enveloping her senses. She knew she needed to remember something but the fogue.. Oh the fogue..

With hope in her eyes she makes a movement but she abruptly stops.

That smile, that invitation, the way she extended her hand, her eyes..red...No these are not her pure brown eyes..

There is something wrong, something is wrong, there is a warning deep in her core. So she takes a step back. A bile is forming in her throat, the pull she felt between two forces, agony...This is not her sister... This is the...Demon.

The girl in front of her grins, but this is not a grin Anna seen before. A high pitch note pierces her ears, like a broken violin, played to hurt. Anna screams.

Glorious horns are emerging from her sister's head and she is laughing. Her mouth full of teeth and gore and her eyes manic black. A small flame is getting born on front of this creatures feet. This is not a demon either. Don't think, don't look.

Anna wants to move but she can't, she is frozen in her place, unable to run, unable to do anything. Her voice is gone but the tears are floating now like a river of pitch black. She is looking her white nightgown, pitch black tears and dark red human blood are staining her dress and she hears a moan of pleasure from a man...

She knows this voice, this voice... Her Sire.. This nightgown.. She remembers that nightgown. No she cannot remember that, this was forgotten. No!

Her feet are bare and she feels a sudden wetness. Looking down she sees a pool of blood, human and kindred blood combined. With horror she realises there are naked bodies on the floor. Four girls laying still, cold and dead as it can be. She recognises the two of them from the recent events but there is a another one that is clouded, cannot see her body shape, she knows she is there but she cannot see her. She sees her but she cannot perceive her.
The fourth body is familiar. Anna moans, this is her sister..her lost hope, her gypsy queen.

But wait...she cannot be there.. She is in front of her. But there is a sudden realisation of the weight she didn't notice. Her trembling hands touching softly and carefully the weight.

Horns.

Anna roars and this is not a human or kindred roar, is an animalistic cry of pure fury and a snarl coming from somewhere far away matches her own. With horror she realises she is burning, flames enveloping her body and she doesn't feel like herself anymore. This is wrong, this is so wrong.

With a moan of desperation she snaps out from the dream. There is blood everywhere, her arms bleeding with deep nail wounds. She did this herself but she doesn't give it a second glance.

She looks around her and she realises she is alone. She stays there with closed eyes. It's the anxiety she knows. It plays with her mind, the Fire court memories will take long to heal along with the rest. There is a queue of traumas to be healed. One by one waiting for its turn. And she needs to talk.

She craves to talk to him but every time she tries he is pushing her away making her react badly, like always, not something new. A vicious cycle of actions and reactions. Bringing memories of her human years, repeating the same mistakes with the ones of importance to her. What a cliché.

She rocks back and forth, trembling. The confusion, the fear. Oh, she did not fear for her life no. She was tired, utterly exhausted but...but things changed so fast, her nothingness replaced by something else. Way worst.

What am I doing?

A moan escapes her, moan of grief and desperation. She cannot just sneak out. He might go there by himself. Changing his mind perhaps? That might worth the try.

Have hope, a little voice says to her.

What are you doing here?

She butchered that little voice long time ago and it's coming from the dead to punish her now? She cannot hope, she cannot dream. All the possibilities, no she cannot feel. But these might be her last days, are you gonna waste them in despair? Such a shame, like everything else familiar.

She forces herself out of the bed. She grabs a book and little pieces of paper are falling from it. Pieces she found and just took out of the books because they meant something. And all of them were hopeless and pointless except one. In this one there was a hint, a hint of a promise.

Because there were times when she will allow herself imagine them surviving this, going back to Aquaesulis together, unharmed and free. Greeting her newly made friends.

Christine...seeing her glory on the stage...

Violet... Hearing her snarky remarks and asking her about the Aquae-sulis shenanigans. Having the pyjama party at last.

Even foolish Katherine... Curious to see if her experiment is working or going horribly wrong.

And before she recalls the rest of newly and potential friends the pale cruel eyes of Miroslav will pierce her daydream. Accusing her for his friend's death. But she won't go back if that happens, she might never go back anywhere.

The piece of paper is now trembling and stained by her blood.
How many times she holded this particular poem next to the fire since she've met that one? And how many times she couldn't burn it?

Plenty is the answer, more times than a sane one should..

My house is black
Filled with watered roses
In darkness I reside
Where thoughts can't cope to mark their growth
Neither time can frame
The phenomenon of purpose
Neither I can frame
The blessings nor the burdens
Time, let us be
Let our thorns have their way
The brighter the light becomes
I hope it will unveil
It was all worth my pain


And a brilliant music with fill her senses at the end of the poem. One of rebirth and love.

Statistics: Posted by annabelle — Thu Nov 09, 2017 6:04 pm


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2017-11-06T13:20:11+00:00 2017-11-06T13:20:11+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=290&p=4783#p4783 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • A Lost Love]]>
Bright and beautiful, exciting and exotic, they were still a shining light in the inexorable darkness despite the passage of time. They inspired, lifted the spirit and laid a gentle balm upon all ills and ailments. If he were to die wrapped within their arms he would die with a smile on his face, no matter how it came or what face it wore.

Death, quite honestly, was quite unfortunately high on the list of things that could happen. Not that he would ever admit that to his companion, they were worried about enough things to do with this endeavour without confirming the stakes they were playing with to them. Or anyone else. Not even his oldest and dearest friend. Who he probably should have mentioned this part to but, well, things happened and there wasn’t time and besides, he had dear, delightful Reggie to keep him amused and out of trouble. They could look after themselves; they had managed well enough beforehand. Miri would have tried to talk him out of it probably and that was a conversation he didn’t wish to have.

But things had changed, hadn’t they? They no longer had the safety of the bosom that they had rested within and he…well…here he was. Staring into a potential abyss with a daft grin on his face and wondering what wonders it held in store for him. His companion hadn’t asked why for some nights now, perhaps they had gotten bored of not receiving an answer or perhaps because of the potential end that he dragged them toward. At least it slowed the petty attempts to get a rise out of him. Their nervousness only increased as they got closer to their destination whereas his cheer only grew to match it.

Although...their reaction if he told them the real reason for helping them would be a sight to behold.

He grinned wickedly to himself and squeezed the arm linked through his with playful cheer

He hadn’t done anything so…exhilarating…for such a long time.

And it could be an end. Perhaps for both of them. Perhaps just his own. Perhaps just theirs. Perhaps they would both escape with their skin and souls intact. Who knew? At least he would have seen her again. His long lost love. Even if it was for the most fleeting of moments, the merest glance was enough to lift his spirits and chase away and worries. They still lived. It was them that gave him a renewed strength, a renewed will.

With a bit of luck it could even be a beginning.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” he said softly to the rat accompanying him. His rat blinked a couple of times in bemusement and looked between what lay before them and their Domitor. Confusion warred with a concern that fought with delight at the soaring of their master’s mood. In the end prudence won out and they smiled, simply nodding along in agreement.

She preferred Rouen but she would never say so out loud to her King.

Statistics: Posted by Guest — Mon Nov 06, 2017 1:20 pm


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2016-10-21T16:50:53+00:00 2016-10-21T16:50:53+00:00 https://bathcamarilla.com/viewtopic.php?t=111&p=1488#p1488 <![CDATA[Beyond Even That! • Re: A Week in Paris]]>
She smiles at him as she suits actions to words.

"Remember darling, there's always Paris."

Statistics: Posted by Valentina Audley — Fri Oct 21, 2016 4:50 pm


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