I struggle to keep up on large threads.))She had not, L considered, been expecting the emotion that ambushed her on that train after she'd uttered the name Aurelia. She cannot, even in retrospect, feel stupid for feeling it now; after all, when had been the last time she'd used anything but her real name? Two centuries ago in Spain, perhaps? Certainly not recently. L had been fortunate. As long as the domain's head knew who she was and why she was passing through, L found that her presence mattered little when Boons or minor artifacts or other such trinkets could be handed over. Cainite or Kindred, Baron or Prince, Bishop or Autark, everyone spoke the language of bribery.
She needed to get back to London, but she also needed to find Erika. Some stray Gangrel mentioned a theatre, and L recalled that Erika owned one. As long as L didn't feed here, and made up for lost time on the toll road, she reasoned Erika might fall into the category of Princes who just wanted information for her stay. Erika was a strange one though, more ammendable to matters of the heart than most of her status. L considered not for the first time how deeply into Mithras' Jyhad the Nosferatu was spun. Was she just a loose ally, a direct pawn, or something more?
L tapped her dirty glass with a blunt nail, idly swept the wet rim. She was sat at the bar, her dark hair piled into a loose knot at her nape, and her clothing that of a traveller. Dusky skin and high cheekbones gave the woman an Iberian appearance. Her rogue looks less like make-up and more like a burn, or a scar - or something smudged in so many times that it’s stained the skin rough. Her lips too, are stained dark, but when L says no to the top up from the bar, her teeth are clean, if not white.
