guardians - Printable Version +- 'Souls IPB Archive (November 2007–October 2012) (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb) +-- Forum: Dead IC (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=110) +--- Forum: Dead LASKY (https://soulsrpg.com/ipb/forumdisplay.php?fid=52) +--- Thread: guardians (/showthread.php?tid=23874) |
- Ezekiel de le Poer - 01-01-2012 [html]
Word took time to reach the southern coast of France, traveling through relatives and merchants and those whom knew of her name and her title. Mab did not see many strangers these days, content with her children and grandchildren and an extension of blood that reached all the way back across the Atlantic. She had often thought of those old lands, where she had once led, but her time there had not been a happy one. After all, the blind eye proved such a thing—it had healed, truly, for a few years…but age had chased after her as had all the ghosts and demons of the past. Ahren was never coming back. Draco had made that point very clear to her when he had returned a much changed boy. The trip to London was not a long one, though winter often slowed progress. Mab had enough connections to ensure her passage was comfortable, both for her and the horses. Draco was comfortable anywhere despite his constant complaints, but she expected such things from him. Though his true parents were long gone, Mab considered him her son and did not dispute his claim. They had landed in Ireland two days ago. Their horses were not used to travel and needed time to settle, and business kept them with family for an extra day. Once settled and prepared for the length journey to the land claimed, they had set out long before dawn. The ride was an easy one, though long. Traveling from Dublin to the small area mentioned was a long process; dawn came and went and the day wore on and grew late when they first spotted the encroaching landmarks. Mab, on the massive freisian, slowed only to have Draco come forward. The reddish hybrid advanced and regarded the small village with a low grunt. She laughed lightly, a sound that was oddly lyrical despite her rugged form and white-streaked hair. Age had sunk into her bones but good breeding and physical activity kept her strong. Blue eyes narrowed upon her adoptive son, one covered by a leather eyepatch she had taken to wearing since the return of her blindness. “Oh hush. He is your brother, after all.” “Half-brother,” the wolf replied, frowning. “Your father,” the harlequin woman countered sharply. “Is not my brother by blood, but I consider him such—even after what he became. You would do well to remember this lesson, Draco.” The man fell silent. Even though he was very much an adult, the older woman had served as his mother since he had been a child and commanded respect. She would have done so without such a claim, though. A former alpha, and a current Lord of various titles, she was powerfully spoken and carried herself with a presence that outweighed even the massive form of the burly man behind her. #siv-thor { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #siv-thor p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #siv-thor p.siv-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #siv-thor .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #siv-thor .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #siv-thor b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor u { text-decoration: underline; } #siv-thor b { font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Aisling Winters - 01-01-2012 [html] ooc: OH YEAH The Winters family rose early, also, but it was not for the practicality of travelling. Alaine rose before dawn, slipping away from the warm body of her mate and sneaking through the sleeping mansion to her small kitchen, near the rear. Although once occupied by a serving staff, the little chamber had been adopted by the Winters matriarch the instant she had returned home, to the sweeping valley of Airgid Gleann and the Macha estate it held within its voluminous green hills. It was the delicious wafting scents that curled throughout the house and into her own sleeping chamber that awoke Aisling. The young girl yawned hugely, and enticed by the smells wafting up from below, rose. She slunk quietly past the still-sleeping form of her sister, Sinéad, and down the hall, past the closed door where her male kin slumbered. The girls had been overjoyed at the return of their aunt - Since the death of the her father Bran, Leader of the Macha tribe, the family's existence had been fragile and without direction. Alaine had returned to the ruins of her pack, but she had brought more than just herself - She had brought her son, Elijah, and her grandson, Cern. Ais had been quick to accept her cousins. The girl was kind-hearted and welcoming, sunny in spite of her mother's deteriorating health. With Eimhear ill, and Elenore in mourning since the death of her son, Alaine had been quick to take up the mantle of leader. Her sister, and Aisling's other aunt, was the Triad of the pack - Eira had struggled to perform her spiritual duty to the Macha tribe, whilst also holding together her small, grieving family.
.china-x01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#000000; letter-spacing:1px; } .china-x01 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .china-x01 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .china-x01 {margin:0px auto; width:450px; background-color:none; background-image:url(http://i1047.photobucket.com/albums/b47 ... /vine3.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:none; padding: 10px 0px 20px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#111111; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style> - Ezekiel de le Poer - 01-01-2012 [html]
Though both of the de le Poer’s who had come this day were trained for combat, it was Draco who had an advantage on the harlequin wolf. While her eyesight remained sharp, without the vision of her right eye the world was a much more difficult place to navigate. At their distance, he could see the approaching mass of a horse—the pale figure atop this beast was a bundle of ginger hair and a bold blue dress. A child. He made a low noise to attract Mab’s attention, though she had managed to catch the movement of the horse as it clambered towards them. It was an older, large mare. This was good. Her own steed, a frightfully powerful stallion, had a tendency to cause trouble when exposed to strange horses he considered a threat. A mare was not this, especially given his companion was also a mare; a younger Shire, but one he had already known. Next spring, their colt would prove most excellent. Mab too, wore blue, but her colors were those of her eyes and the true de le Poer. Silver lined this, and alternating styles of fabric (clearly French, by their make) showed off a lean body still toned by physical work. A healthy diet kept her curvaceous, and kept her pelt remarkably glossy—it was a raven’s wing stained red, as was common for her side of the family. Blue-black was not a color seen within the de le Poer line. Her companion was wearing only his tunic and chainmail, though his horse carried the bulk of their supplies. A sword was strapped to his saddle, though Draco was so well-trained in the art that should they have been attacked it would have taken mere seconds to drawn it. Comparatively, he was a messier looking beast. While his hair was tied back, it had been ruffled by the ride and the unforgiving Irish winds. Mab’s had settled rather easily back in place, for it was naturally wavy and suitable for such seasons. The Catskills had been a savage place, after all. She smiled easily at the approaching child. After so many long years of judging people on first sight, Mab was quick to see the nervousness and, under this, a free spirit well reflected in sky colored eyes. The girl’s voice was quite pretty. With a nod, Mab allowed the girl to follow—she held her tongue, as was custom, for proper introductions would be required for even such an informal visit. As this was the first time that she, as head of House de le Poer, would be meeting another house of respect a formal procession would likely occur. Nobility were, as she had quickly learned, sometimes forced into these peculiar situations. Ireland was a beautiful landscape, and Mab enjoyed that it lacked many of the rebuilt settlements and cities that were common in France and its neighboring countries. It was an open country suited for animals—the Eachan family, bound to her by her mate, were native to both Ireland and the countryside of England. Bowie had brought her to Ireland for a summer once, but Mab was duty-bound to France like it or not. Children had also kept her busy, though many of them now lived in various places of the world. The house that rose to meet them was worn and washed to the no-color of rain or dust, and smoke rose from various chimney flumes. It was quaint, and Mab was truly pleased to be seeing it. She urged her horse forward to match pace with the girl. “My dear,” her voice had aged, and it was a low melodic thing that spoke of her various travels throughout Europe. While she was a native of the Americas, the majority of her life had been spent crossing through European countries. France was her home, but it was a port town crossed by many strangers who all spoke with unique accents and dialects. Mab had particularly loved Vienna’s African tones, a beautiful thing perhaps more because she was not native—it had merged with the English one she had picked up from her husband, the rather enigmatic pirate who had recommended the ship they had taken here. “I think you may want to ride on and let your aunt know we are here.” She smiled, showing this was not intended to be hostile. Indeed, Mab was not a woman who truly expected formality…but she intended to display it none the less. #siv-thor { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #siv-thor p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #siv-thor p.siv-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #siv-thor .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #siv-thor .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #siv-thor b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor u { text-decoration: underline; } #siv-thor b { font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Alaine Winters - 01-01-2012 [html] Wordcount: + 1008 Alaine was full of nervous energy. It radiated from her, glowing from her skin and sparkling in the clear verdant of her deep, shadowy eyes. Her fists rested on hips curved from womanhood and childbearing - Even with this, she was a slightly, nymph-like figure, her collie blood prominent above all else. In her true youth, she had been a spectacular beauty; It was probably that which had drawn the monsters that sought to destroy her. But one had saved her from all such beasts, and even from the shade her own self had become - The true love of her life, and the only one to be able to contain the woman's wild Irish heart.
.china-x01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#000000; letter-spacing:1px; } .china-x01 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .china-x01 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .china-x01 {margin:0px auto; width:450px; background-color:none; background-image:url(http://i1047.photobucket.com/albums/b47 ... /vine3.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:none; padding: 10px 0px 20px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#111111; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style> - Gabriel de le Poer - 01-01-2012 [html] (891) Long weeks had passed since they had left behind the land in which he had been born. Gabriel, Alaine, and their two oddball children (though Cern was, technically, a grandchild) had traveled south along the well-founded route into the city of Freetown. That part of the trip had been easy, and pleasant. With only themselves and the children for company, a comfortable pattern had settled into their lives. After that, the world had begun moving incredibly quickly and without solid ground under them. Traveling across an ocean had been a grueling, awful experience for him. Having never really been on water, Gabriel had been uncomfortable and felt ill for nearly the whole ride. He had spent most of this trip holed up in their cabin with Cern, sleeping when he could. Elijah had loved the sea; the boy had spent his entire time on the ship babbling hysterically about all the sights he saw upon the water. Of course, once they had reached Ireland things had become even further complicated. Alaine, as it turned out, was related to a conglomeration of women whose entire goal was to drive him absolutely insane. By being a male, and by mating Alaine, he had unwittingly doomed himself into filling the empty position left at their household’s head. This meant, therefore, he was subject to all sorts of insane demands and requests and things he often denied in favor of running off with his boys. Alaine’s family did not favor their lupus forms, but he most certainly did—so he made a point to travel in it as often as possible. Yet Alaine often needed aid with the boys while she worked on her potions and brews, and hands were needed for various thing throughout the house. He in particular enjoyed making love to his mate while in the form; since she had filled out with rest and the rather pushy maid who seemed to think that they were never ever full, her body was particularly admirable to his eyes. She was still lean, as dogs tended to be, but oh how nice it was for her to feel like more than soft fur and lean muscle. Of course, he also truly loved her wild hair that her relatives so deeply despised, and made a point to often tousle it while they were involved so she might boast of her deeds without ever saying a world. Then again, those damned women often nagged after them about more children, for while Elijah was dearly loved and a male, he was…peculiar. Though his vocabulary and behavior had become far more normal since their arrival, no one could deny that he was a boy touched by something else. A frantic harpy shriek woke him and was echoed by the warmth being ripped from his body. Gabriel growled and rolled over as she attempted to blind him with the no-color light of the Irish winter. He was looking forward to the spring, but this northern land would not see such a thing for many moons yet. He grunted and finally rose as something struck him in the side. It was a well-worn tunic, old, and one he had worn before. This, as he had been told a thousand times, belonged to her father. The fact she had demanded him wear such a thing was often argued good-heartedly, but today he only rose and pulled on the worn thing silently. If this was truly so important to her he would put up with it, especially since it was his relatives coming. “Oh calm down,” he growled half-heartedly, running a hand through his wavy hair. It had become entirely black since he had aged, no longer a sun-colored thing streaked with red. Gabriel’s already thick frame had not lost its tone since his arrival, but his pelt had become a magnificent wolfish thing. No one doubted he was wild, and while he despised behind called a wolf, he was glad that he looked enough like a dog to be called a hybrid. Coyote would always ring true to him, but he knew that he had never truly resembled such a thing. He smiled at her frame and rose, trailing towards her. One hand slipped around her waist and the other rose to stroke at the thick red hair he so loved. “You worry too much, grá.” While Gaelic was not his native tongue, he had picked up on a few key phrases and liked to use them around Alaine. It was a low growling thing and once echoed by a suggestive brush of one scarred hand, but he quickly moved to avoid a jab from her fluffy elbow. A low laugh broke from his throat and he trailed over to the nearby dresser. The top drawer was filled with various pieces of jewelry and odds and ends both collected and given to them. Gabriel did not remove his even when he slept, but he was after a necklace for her. It was a golden thing dotted with glittering green gems, long ago brought from a pirate’s cache. “Wear this one,” he said, and once she was dressed, slipped it around her neck. Pleased, he moved towards the door. “I’ll go find those boys of ours…Lord knows that if they’re left alone at least one of them will end up running off.” .mel-crosstxt-box {background-image:url(http://imgur.com/D0dTU.png); background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position: top center; width:178px; height:237px; float:right; margin:3px; } .mel-crosstxt {font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing:0px; word-spacing:2px; text-align: left; margin:0px 25px;} .mel-crosstxt .ooc {font-style:italic; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:11px; text-align:justify;} .mel-crosstxt .wc {text-transform: uppercase; font-weight:bold;} .mel-crosstxt p {text-indent: 25px; margin:0px; padding:0px 5px;} .mel-crosstxt b {letter-spacing:1px; font-family:georgia, serif; font-size:12px; letter-spacing:-.05em;} </style> [/html] - Alaine Winters - 01-12-2012 [html] Wordcount: + 938 Her emerald eyes were focused on the dress, but every other sense was instinctively tuned to her lover. His presence was impossible to ignore - It filled every room he entered, brimming with power and the wild dignity that belonged to Gabriel alone. It was heightened by her love for him; She allowed his very being to seep into her, into her ever pore, until his movement and existence was as familiar to the matriarch as her own heartbeats.
.china-x01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#000000; letter-spacing:1px; } .china-x01 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .china-x01 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .china-x01 {margin:0px auto; width:450px; background-color:none; background-image:url(http://i1047.photobucket.com/albums/b47 ... /vine3.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:none; padding: 10px 0px 20px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#111111; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style> - Ezekiel de le Poer - 01-12-2012 [html]
Mab’s eyes settled on the slowly gathering party at the house. She studied them all as they approached, her blue eyes hard but not cruel. There had never been a reason for her to be such—even when she had led Chimera her heart had not been made mad. Hardened, perhaps. How could she not have been? A blind eye attributed this fact well enough, though she had carefully learned to shift her wild hair in ways that hid the eyepatch. Few had seen her without it; she disliked the fear produced by such a thing. Her family was not afraid of her, but this was to be expected…though she was certain that Draco had jokingly threatened his children with her “magic”. There was a brunette woman, well-built, lingering near the red-haired girl. She was busy fretting over what Mab assumed was her daughter, though a taller, paler woman was trying to calm her. A remarkably dark and imposing man was standing behind two boys, both which resembled him to an extent—he was, Mab realized upon careful study of his face, Ahren’s son. There was not much beyond that to go on; Corona had been easy to indentify, but this man…he was a different beast entirely. The boys were different ages, and the gray one was laughing about something or another as they approached. A shock of red peeked out from behind a loose shirt, but it was his eyes she noticed; they were a blue even paler than her own. Something radiated from the boy, something that made her hair stand on end. Magic? Perhaps. The Line had been gone for so long, but yet... And then she settled on the woman in green. She was startling beautiful, and had a strong look to her despite the softness of her pelt and body. The same sort of feeling came from her, though it was weaker. Mab wondered, briefly, what sort of things had happened to make them such a way. Touched by something, do doubt, as she herself had been. The boy came forward as they dismounted, with the massive mare behind him. She followed him like he was a colt, and the thought of such a thing made her smile. Mab trusted him immediately for such a thing, and she and Draco passed their loose leather-thong reins to him. He headed off, making noises that she thought at first came from the horses. Animal magic, then, perhaps. At this thought, she made a note to call back her hawk soon—David rarely went far, but he was aging, and she worried for him. Both ears rose high as her name was called, and Mab subconsciously straightened her posture. She regarded the approaching woman silently, her good eye gleaming against the harlequin face. Matriarch; that was something she appreciated. Women were, often, better leaders then men. “Well met, Lady Alaine,” she replied, and raised her right hand to touch her left shoulder as was her formal greeting. “I am indeed; though the title Lady is not mine. I am Marquise Mab de le Poer of Montpellier, Head of House de le Poer, Curator of Exham Priory, Head Regent of Cerberus. My consort,” she paused to breath, motioning to Draco without averting her eyes from the dog. “Is Baronet Draco de le Poer, Grand Chamberlain of House de le Poer. Please,” she continued, and lifted her hand with the palm up, facing the group. “Do not use our titles here. We are not visiting as members of court. I do not think such formality belongs amongst family.” She smiled and took a step forward, gently easing her hands over those still being wrung by Alaine. Mab could see the nervousness well enough, and sought to ease such a thing. “I would like to meet your lovely family, Lady Alaine.” #siv-thor { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #siv-thor p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #siv-thor p.siv-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #siv-thor .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #siv-thor .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #siv-thor b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor u { text-decoration: underline; } #siv-thor b { font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] - Sirius Revlis - 01-13-2012 [html] Wordcount: + 1164 The woman's blue eye - for Alaine could only see one, amongst the locks of well-groomed hair that sat well about Mab's stately features - seemed to scour each of them in turn. Although willing to impress as she was, the Winters matriarch felt a surge of righteous pride within her; Her family was the most precious, most perfect thing she had. They were the result of a long heritage, made from the clay and stone of these cliffs, given breath by the wild Irish wind and beauty by the silver river that meandered through Airgid Gleann. They were the people of the Macha Tribe, blessed by the three faces of Morrigan, and by nature they were a proud, wise bloodline. So whilst the strangers watched them, and whilst she sought their approval, Alaine did not forget herself and fall into doubt. The smile on her beautiful face was natural, and welcoming.
.china-x01 b {font-weight:bold; color:#000000; letter-spacing:1px; } .china-x01 .ooc { font-style:italic; padding:0px; font-family:verdana, sans-serif; font-size:11px;} .china-x01 p {text-indent:25px; padding:5px 10px; margin:0px;} .china-x01 {margin:0px auto; width:450px; background-color:none; background-image:url(http://i1047.photobucket.com/albums/b47 ... /vine3.png); background-position:bottom center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:none; padding: 10px 0px 20px 0px; font-family: georgia, sans-serif; font-size:11px; color:#111111; line-height:16px; letter-spacing:.5px; text-align:justify;} </style> - Ezekiel de le Poer - 01-13-2012 [html]
There was much to be said for the power of perception. Mab was not this way simply by change; she had been born with a dominant sign at her back, and this was coupled with a leadership taken by force at a young age. She had not intended to lead a coup, but who would have claimed Chimera? A madwoman? The rapist son of the alpha who had not yet gone mad? Oh she would have liked to run then, but she had been obligated and obligations would keep her until her eye went blind and her mind threatened to break. She was lucky. Her cousin-turned-brother had not been, and she felt a great sorrow for his loss. Each name was given a face; there was a woman who was their priestess of sorts, the darker shade to this Alaine woman, and she interested the harlequin wolf almost as much as the boy. Elijah—she took note of this, as well as the intention to seek him out later. For now, though, there was a need for formality. Such rules, for example, meant she could not reassure the woman she saw nothing wrong with her son. There was a protectiveness there that was more than simply a mother; Mab was a mother twice over now and had watched her children grow and run off to all parts of the world. Last she had heard, Aren was in Freetown with relatives and Gawain was off in Russian and Zenaida had been caught up in the thrill of chasing a Roma boy (much to her displeasure) and Morgan was busy with her father’s family south of here, in Dublin. She was often grateful that Draco had assumed the title of her son; he kept her company when the others had run off to see the great world they lived in—some of which she herself intended, having sent them on missions as she had this boy. Gabriel; she recognized the name of the prophet and focused her eye onto his own. He was a handsome man, scarred from head-to-toe, with a red brand on his shoulder and a cross around his neck. She found he matched her gaze and there was a flicker of recognition between them; he saw someone else, she believed, and she saw his father. They would have to talk long, these two. So too, she noticed, would the half-brother’s. Both knew; they had known of each other long before meeting, and now as men, they were able to view each other with six years of life behind them. Had they been boys, she was certain they would have been savage to each other. She expected nothing less of Draco, and the wildness in Gabriel was unquenchable. They followed her silently, Gabriel close to his woman, Mab pleased by this display. She wondered if he was humoring her and keeping his mouth shut. Bowie often did the same, though her husband was a charming man and once been a lively fellow Now that he had aged, he craved quiet—it was lucky they had two properties. They would spend time in Dublin this winter, while Draco and his young wife held down the land in France. Mab settled, shifting her slit-leg dress as she did so, favoring one leg over the other. Her limp was barely noticeable, though present. She was glad for the lack of snow, and let out a light laugh at the mention of it. “Oh, I’ve seen many an Irish winter, my girl. My mate, he breeds horses out of Dublin. We chose this day well, and I am glad for it.” She gingerly lapped at the tea, used to the heavy taste. While she favored lighter, eastern flavors, she could appreciate this. Draco remained silent, and he and Gabriel kept looking at each other as if they were sizing up an opponent. The dark haired woman rolled her eyes and shot the red wolf a look. “I think my son,” she said the word firmly, getting the man’s attention. “Might be more comfortable when he retrieves our hawks. Perhaps you,” she looked now to Gabriel directly. “Could show him to the barn?” The two men rose, Gabriel lingering to brush his hand across Alaine’s, and then departed. Satisfied, the older woman looked at the fair thing before her and smiled warmly. “I’m sorry to break up your party. Draco was never one for formal occasions, and I don’t believe your Gabriel is either. He looks like his father, you know,” she paused to lap at the tea, her smile fading. “I suspect that dark fur of his comes from his grandfather, though. He’s much bigger than either of them, if you can imagine that with his mother being a coyote.” Another light laugh escaped her, and she refocused her eye back on the collie. “But enough, I came to learn about you and not talk about my nephew.” #siv-thor { font-family:'times new roman', times, serif; font-size:14px; width:95%; margin:0px auto; line-height:18px; } #siv-thor p { text-indent:50px; padding:0; margin:10px 0; } #siv-thor p.siv-img { text-align:center; text-indent:0; font-size:11px; font-style:italic; float:right; margin:5px; } #siv-thor .txtooc { text-align:left; font-size:12px; font-family:georgia, serif; text-transform:none; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } #siv-thor .txtooc .word { font-weight:bold; font-family:arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-style:normal;} #siv-thor b { letter-spacing:-.5px; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor u { text-decoration: underline; } #siv-thor b { font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 12px; } #siv-thor b.npc { letter-spacing:.5px; font-style:italic; font-weight:normal; } </style>[/html] |