(Untitled)

[vojvode]

London, 1899.  City of a million souls.  An endless series of diversions, sacred and profane.  He could spend years alone just exploring her underground tunnels and passage ways, not to mention her drawing rooms and publican houses, her parlours and the twisting labyrinth of her streets and alleys.  It is a strange and wondrous place, teeming

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[hark_at_her]

Mina has settled in to life in the Bar very quickly - the security of having her door within easy reach has proven very uplifting, and she feels much less constrained than she did upon her first visit to this remarkable place.

She enters the bar from her rooms, dressed rather more simply than usual; black skirt, white shirt, deep red silk tie at her throat, and gold wireframe glasses perched upon her nose. Her sleeves are rolled up, and her gaze is fixed upon the book in her hands. Barely looking up, she heads towards the fire, a few whisps of copper hair escaping from her bun.

[ooc: Oh god, couldn't resist...]

[vojvode]

He watches her cross the room as he removes his hat, scenting the nature of her before she has taken two steps across the threshold.

Another vampire. Walking freely in this place. How curious.

Gloves go in the hat, and rest beside his chair. He leaves the dark shades on. He will make no attempt to break her reverie, until she notices him, and then he will simply dip his chin in greeting.

[hark_at_her]

She sits, still not entirely aware of her surroundings. She's disturbed by a passing waitrat, surfacing long enough to order a glass of red wine. She glances around the bar to check for familiar faces, and, finding none, her eyes move back towards the fire.

She can feel eyes on her, however, and she finds his gaze...arresting. She is suddenly, desperately unnerved, and yet she cannot think why. Her pulse quickens, and she nods in polite greeting before forcing her gaze back to her book, her mind awhirl.

[vojvode]

The rat brings his port and pipe, and he murmurs a small gratitude. He is not the least bit surprised by her physiological response.

Elegant hands light the clay pipe and he draws in a breath. A thin ribbon of smoke trails from his lips as he continues to watch her, letting her thoughts wash over him, listening to her inner voice as one might enjoy the susurration of a forest stream.

[ostro_goth]

Not far away, by the fireplace, there is a tall, dark-haired man in black, playing a small harp that he holds in his lap.

[vojvode]

Vlad removes his hat, tucks his gloves inside, and settles back, eyes drifting closed as he listens to the oddly familiar melody.

[ostro_goth]

It is sad and quiet, and seems to sound like every old folk ballad that you might know, at times.

[vojvode]

The music is a welcome diversion. It allows him to listen to the quiet murmur of thoughts from the bar's patrons. The bard himself seems a little off to him.

One of the walking dead, but human still.

This place is so very strange to him.

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae shouldn't have done it, but it was just so peaceful outside.

She'd gone out with all good intentions. She'd work on her makeup work and at least get through the section on telling time and the next lesson on writing cursive! But there had been distractions. The sleepy-making sunlight, random bugs, pieces of grass to try and make buzz like Spike had shown her, some cats that had wandered by for some attention... way too many distractions for her to get much of her makeup work done.

So it's only when the light got too dim for her to read that she concedes and comes in. But the little girl is determined to get at least the cursive section before she heads back to her world.

One corner of one of the bar's couches is soon taken up by a small, copper-haired girl curling up in it, workbook open and balanced on her lap, pencil balanced precariously behind her ear like she'd seen her mother do while doing things at her desk at home.

[vojvode]

He recognises her instantly. How could he forget such a stunning head of hair, nor the sweet scent of her skin? She is just as radiant as a child as she is in her prime.

"What are you studying, child?"

His voice is pitched low, a soothing baritone thick with an ancient accent.

[sunbaked_baker]

Rae is caught in the middle of wondering who in the world thought a capital Q should look like a fancy 2, when she looks up at the man who spoke.

"Cursive," she answers. She's unafraid - and why should she be? She's only met with kindness, here, even if this place does show up unannounced. It was a bright spot in the misery of last winter.

[vojvode]

"The fluid script."

His head tilts a bit as he studies her.

"Your -- quill. Does it require no ink?"