December 27th
Libson, Portugal
Bahbem Estate
5:55 PM
It had been a most troubling Christmas for Louise Zi Britannia and her (now self-appointed) firm right hand. The loss of Lemuel to the foul Mulians was being kept tightly under wraps - but for how long, none could say in the age of instant transmit of information. Nevertheless, with Rose's firm guiding grip on her shoulder, the Princess had been practically wheeled onto a plane towards the only lead the two had:
That of the man called "Methuselah". When the call had been placed - without much hope, at that - there had been only the slightest of delays on the other end of the line before a voice had responded, pleasantly:
"He's been expecting you."
"Princess."
The door of the limousine creaked open, the enormous, European style manor nestled away on the edges of Lisbon towering overhead, as a gloved hand was offered to her, helping her out into the dim evening light.
Rose gave her a reassuring squeeze, and a faint smile. Since her arrival, she'd shed much of her previous almost tomboyish demeanor, dressing in the finery of a Britannian uniform, and carrying herself with the grace and dignity one might expect of her office. And yet, in those steely eyes glimmered the same blazing fire as ever, undimmed, shackled, but in no way tamed - a side that made itself known whenever the subject of retaliation came to mind.
"How are you feeling?" Asked the former Reclaimer, glancing at the surroundings.
To say it was markedly different from the pastel buildings that dotted the town was an understatement. Yet here, the streets were clean, the air fresh, the people happy - all due to the contributions of the Foundation and its deep, deep coffers. To say they were out of their element was a slight understatement, and yet...
There was doubtlessly something familiar about the place.
Libson, Portugal
Bahbem Estate
5:55 PM
It had been a most troubling Christmas for Louise Zi Britannia and her (now self-appointed) firm right hand. The loss of Lemuel to the foul Mulians was being kept tightly under wraps - but for how long, none could say in the age of instant transmit of information. Nevertheless, with Rose's firm guiding grip on her shoulder, the Princess had been practically wheeled onto a plane towards the only lead the two had:
That of the man called "Methuselah". When the call had been placed - without much hope, at that - there had been only the slightest of delays on the other end of the line before a voice had responded, pleasantly:
"He's been expecting you."
"Princess."
The door of the limousine creaked open, the enormous, European style manor nestled away on the edges of Lisbon towering overhead, as a gloved hand was offered to her, helping her out into the dim evening light.
Rose gave her a reassuring squeeze, and a faint smile. Since her arrival, she'd shed much of her previous almost tomboyish demeanor, dressing in the finery of a Britannian uniform, and carrying herself with the grace and dignity one might expect of her office. And yet, in those steely eyes glimmered the same blazing fire as ever, undimmed, shackled, but in no way tamed - a side that made itself known whenever the subject of retaliation came to mind.
"How are you feeling?" Asked the former Reclaimer, glancing at the surroundings.
To say it was markedly different from the pastel buildings that dotted the town was an understatement. Yet here, the streets were clean, the air fresh, the people happy - all due to the contributions of the Foundation and its deep, deep coffers. To say they were out of their element was a slight understatement, and yet...
There was doubtlessly something familiar about the place.