One more work trip, reduced activity! &lt;3<br><br><!-- |start_wrap| --><wrap><br><b>ALIAS:</b> Chris<br><b>DATE LEAVING:</b> 2/25<br><b>DATE RETURNING:</b> 3/3<br><b>REASON:</b> These few days I will be doing a turn &amp; burn to Copenhagen. Posting may happen, but could be intermittent as I need to type from a work computer and transfer to a mobile device.<br></wrap><!-- |end_wrap| -->

<!--c1--><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1' id='CODE-WRAP'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1--><br>[b]Jubilation Lee[/b] (Jubilee) [Callina Liang] — [i]Coco[/i] — 03/03<br><!--c2--></td></tr></table><!--ec2--><br><br><s>I swear I'm in a groove now to actually finish her this week</s><br>

<!-- |start_wrap| --><wrap><br><b>ALIAS:</b> AJ!<br><b>DATE LEAVING:</b> 02/21<br><b>DATE RETURNING:</b> 03/14<br><b>REASON:</b> Looks like I am needing to move in a hurry, so I will be absent on and off for the next three-ish weeks!<br></wrap><!-- |end_wrap| -->

Amara watched as Betsy gently cradled the tablet, it seeming so delicate despite being hammered in spite. There was something almost ironic in that – this thing born of bile and vengeance being handled with such reverence among curated works of art. As she watched Betsy examine the defixio, she began to second-guess herself. What possible use would someone like Betsy Braddock have for something so ordinary? Amara had almost asked to drop the whole thing, snatch the tablet back, and disappear forever in embarrassment – had Betsy not affirmed her initial thoughts. <br><br><span style='color:#a46858'>“It is unusual, isn’t it?”</span> It was one thing to have doubt, it was another to have a woman like Elizabeth come to the same conclusion. <span style='color:#a46858'>“To curse a fellow man is human. But who would want to bring about damnation to the whole world? Seems like some deep-seeded hate.”</span> And an unrealistic one, at that. <br><br>To Amara’s knowledge, Romans didn’t believe in the concept of some Biblical or catastrophic end to the world. That was a Judeo-Christian concept, born <i>after</i> the fall of the Republic. So, to her, to curse the entirety of mankind seemed...excessive. And yet, watching as Betsy’s fingers traced the deliberate punctures in the lead, the intent felt far too heavy for a mere exaggeration. <br><br>As Betsy focused on the defixio, Amara focused on her. There was an effortless grace to everything she did; tilt her head, turn the tablet over in her hands. Even her office seemed impressive. Decorated with personal effects, art, a collection of treasures that served as architecture, framing the woman inhabiting it. The allure and sovereignty of Elizabeth’s presence was admirable; and an odd thing to covet for someone born of a Republic where the very notion of royalty was despised. But that was then, this was now. Amara could admire the tradition, <i>and</i> the woman. After all, even a daughter of Rome could be awed without her ancestors weighing in.<br><br>Betsy’s voice snapped Amara back, her question about the tablet’s origins a necessary compass, steering her attention once more. <span style='color:#a46858'>“Ah, of course.”</span> That was the very reason she was here, after all. <br><br>See, Betsy belonged to the legitimate art world where curators courted reputable collectors and archaeologists, pedigrees and all. Amara, by contrast, operated in the shadows of that world, motivated not by duty or wealth, but by nostalgia. Simply put, she missed Nova Roma and so she sought out Rome. For Amara, the ‘how’ of the acquisition was second to its authenticity. Besides, she knew the secret truth of conservators: what was looted today, ended up in the museum the next week. <br><br>That wasn’t to say Amara was consciously seeking out black market relics. She simply didn’t view history as something that could be owned by a modern government. <br><br><span style='color:#a46858'>“A colleague of mine at NYU,”</span> she lied. <span style='color:#a46858'>“He knows I’m a collector and thought this might be of interest.”</span> A partial lie. Amara <i>did</i> know a historian at New York University, and he had put her in touch with the third-party selling off-catalogue items. <span style='color:#a46858'>“We’ve collaborated before. I can personally vouch for its authenticity. The Latin, the lead... it’s real, if that’s what you were asking.”</span><br><br>The risk of an untruth to a telepath didn't register until the words were already in the air. Not that she was in the habit of being dishonest. She only wanted to provide enough context to bridge the gap between their worlds. The equivalent to padding her resume, except the interviewer was a psychic. <br><br>When Betsy asked to look closer, Amara extended her hands, offering the tablet like a dark communion. <span style='color:#a46858'>“Of course, be my guest.”</span> She wasn’t sure what Betsy could glean from it, though she was interested to see. <span style='color:#a46858'>“I can help translate the Latin, if you’d like.”</span><br><br>

If Lorna was coming undone, Amara didn’t notice. Truth was, she barely knew her – and in the alcohol haze of this bar, she wasn’t so sure she knew herself either. She was all pleasantries and a warmth that radiated the longer she imbibed. <br><br>The open bar excuse was one Amara recognized with a laugh, perhaps a little too well. <span style='color:#a46858'>“I’d say it’s more than fair. Just about everything in life has its price,”</span> Pretty had its privileges, and she, like Lorna, had every intent to collect on each and every one of them. <br><br>At her casually bringing up impaling her date, Amara let out a thin, humorless laugh. A reflex, more than a reaction to her rather violent suggestion. Treated like nothing more than the ramblings of a bar friend. Amara even raised a glass, adding: <span style='color:#a46858'>“Here’s to that,”</span> What self-respecting woman wouldn’t want to imagine a little poetic justice for the guy who thought he could up and ditch her? <span style='color:#a46858'>“If only you could. I know a few guys I wouldn't mind throwing up there myself.”</span> They were just kidding – girls being girls, and all that. Or so Amara thought, a little too tipsy to read any further into anything tonight. <br><br>Like that flash of green earlier. A glitch in her periphery. Had she been sober, Amara might have connected the dots. <br><br>Beneath the blur of lights and bodies, the dreamy alcohol sheen, everything felt incredibly <i>unserious</i> for once. Maybe Lorna was being hyperbolic – but who <i>cared</i>? How could she when they were looking <i>this good</i>, and the drinks were that strong, and the beat was this <i>hypnotic</i>? <br><br>It felt like the whole room had their eyes on them. For good reason, too. Amara was hot (duh) and Lorna had that indistinguishable quality about her, electric and a little dangerous, that made for a perfect co-conspirator. Have fun, do something wild, and quite possibly forget it all ever happened in the first place. And judging from the way Amara tilted her head back and finished this last glass, the latter was certainly bound to happen. <br> <br>By now, Amara was finding it difficult to take anything too seriously. Herself included. The champagne was starting to make everything feel lighter than it probably was. But the night would have its way of escalating soon enough. <br><br>Her eyes, blue and unfocused and glazed with alcohol, locked onto Lorna’s. Her mouth curled into a wicked smirk of her own. Less maniacal, but no less enticing. Magma under thin stone, waiting; each of them ready to erupt, though differently. <br><br><span style='color:#a46858'>“Screw them. It’s their loss anyway. I mean, look at us,”</span> she said, though she really meant to point out who was looking. Practically the whole club. Their dates be damned. Now she had Lorna–<i>Lo</i> by her side, and together they were going to be a problem tonight. <br><br>Then, the beat dropped. The energy of the room shifted, supercharged. Amara didn’t hesitate, she reached for Lorna and encouraged her to join her on the dancefloor. <span style='color:#a46858'>“Come on. Let’s show them what they’re missing,”</span> <br><br>Attractive, drunk, and standing on the precipice of a beautifully ruined evening.

I need an extension, por favor

<!--c1--><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1' id='CODE-WRAP'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1-->[b]MEGAN GWYNN[/b] (Pixie) [Elle Fanning] — [i]Doomy[/i] — Sunday, February 22, 2026.<!--c2--></td></tr></table><!--ec2-->

<b>ALIAS:</b> Morgan<br><b>DATE LEAVING:</b> Feb/11<br><b>DATE RETURNING:</b> Feb/27<br><b>REASON:</b> Travel

<!-- |start_wrap| --><wrap><br><b>ALIAS:</b> Chris<br><b>DATE LEAVING:</b> 2/9<br><b>DATE RETURNING:</b> 2/14<br><b>REASON:</b> This week, I will have reduced activity. Since I'm a loud mf'er, I thought I'd say I'll be traveling to Europe for work. Posting may happen, but could be intermittent as I need to type from a work computer and transfer to a mobile device.<br></wrap><!-- |end_wrap| -->

<!--c1--><table border='0' align='center' width='95%' cellpadding='3' cellspacing='1' id='CODE-WRAP'><tr><td><b>CODE</b> </td></tr><tr><td id='CODE'><!--ec1--><br><br>[b]Jubilation Lee[/b] (Jubilee) [Callina Liang] — [i]Coco[/i] — 02/16<br><br><!--c2--></td></tr></table><!--ec2-->