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Nefret Forth

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[Apr. 25th, 2006|02:35 pm]

Nefret Forth is and always has been a very sound sleeper – on the outside.

Were one to look inside her head, what they’d see would be far less than peaceful, sound sleep.

While this is something that Aunt Amelia knows, and the Professor knows, and Ramses and David and Lia, it’s rare that Nefret talks about the dreams themselves.

Unlike Amelia, she does not see Abdullah.

But there’s someone, indeed, who she does see.

”I really am rather busy, Percy. What do you want?”

”A cozy little chat,” Percival Peabody slurs, drunkenly. He smells dreadful – of whiskey and cleaner.

”You are not in fit condition to be in the presence of a lady,” Nefret improvises, using every bit of pretentious cliched mannerisms she’s collected over the years to smooth her skirts, eye him up and down and look haughty.

”A little Dutch courage,” Percy mumbles. ”Don’t be angry, Nefret. I’ve kept my part of the bargain, haven’t I?

“I don’t recall striking any bargain. You had better go before Ramses comes back. I expect him any moment.

And, as it goes, as it always goes, he grabs her before she has any chance to get away.

”Let go of me!” Nefret shrieks, but Percy ignores her, talking on, holding tightly to her wrists.

”You don’t mean that. All you high-spirited women are alike – all you really want is a man who can master you.”

She knows how it really happened, knows it was all really okay, so what she can’t explain is why, after that line, she always wakes up, cold and shivering.

It’s another mystery.
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Nefret's room - 12:00 am, May 12th (Well, 13th. Silly midnight) [May. 13th, 2005|05:35 pm]

Milltimed, slowtimed, you name it, we have it?

Nefret, now in her silk robe and dressing-gown, is perched at the end of her bed combing her copious blonde hair ... 100 strokes, like Amelia Emerson always did dictate.

The room, otherwise, is unfurnished, except for a single vanity with a mirror, and a wardrobe. Nefret is unsure of how either of those things got there, but there they are.

And, she appears as if she's been crying.
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letter. [May. 12th, 2005|09:38 pm]

The following is tacked upon the door of Ramses Emerson's room:

R. -

I desperately need to talk to you.

Come to my room tonight at midnight, as we always did before?

N. F.

The initials, of course, because they may be being watched and held captive by all of these people after all. It's possible.

OOC: Saro, next you see me, ping me or something and I'll pop up a post to thread in. <3
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test of layout. [May. 14th, 2004|07:15 am]

... Is the Lady right, is it pretty and shiny?

I hope so. I'm acting so uncharacteristically lately.
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