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[Geneva Stockholm]

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Geneva's ears flicked back and forth idly as she flipped her journal open to a new page, having already filled it with some of her thoughts. She listened to the sound of the rain as she lay in front of the fireplace on her stomach, resting on her elbows. This spot had become her retreat, her comfort zone. Probably to the chagrin of the usually disgruntled Patriarch.

She took care to give him his space when he was in his chair and needed to think, but she frequented the spot in front of the fireplace as well. The place was probably rife with her scent - she herself couldn't smell much of anything, but she was certain that Jefferson could. She was baiting a tiger and she knew it, but she liked to get a rise out of him.

At the moment she was lost in her own thoughts, her pen working furiously over the lined paper. She had so much to synthesize. Her thoughts turned, as they often did, to Crimson Dreams and to her. She winced, stopping her pen. Their last encounter had left a bad taste in her mouth, but things would be the way they would be. She just wished she could change them, for the better.

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[Anatola]

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Anatola yawned. She was very tired after arriving to Phoenix Valley, but had decided on going for a stroll all the same. The female had looked at a map and thought going to the Ranch would be the most peaceful yet exciting. She had left the cottage she had spent the night at and was currently wandering around the Ranch. Anatola had her backpack on her shoulders with all of her belongings inside: her pocket watch, the map of Phoenix Valley, one outfit as she preferred her Optime form and her journal and pen.

The still confused female was sitting under an oak tree in the snow, her journal and pen in hand. She looked down at the blank pages. Anatola had wrote five complete pages but they had fallen out before she joined Phoenix Valley. Now, she had an empty diary. The female wondered if it was a sign that she was starting over. Anatola would not mind it if that was the case. Her life before joining the pack was stressful, agonizing and painful to just think about. In fact, Anatola flinched just thinking about it.

"They'll never accept me," Anatola murmured, starting to jot some of her thoughts down on the paper.

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[Geneva Stockholm]

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Geneva sighed, shaking her pen as it marked the page errantly. It seemed that it had run out of juice. She jabbed it into the page frustratedly before giving up. She rested it on the floor next to the journal, flicking it closed with a moment from her fingers. Now she just closed her eyes and reflected on the last few days and weeks. So much had changed in so little time. Would life ever slow? She wasn't sure she wanted it to, but she couldn't shake a feeling of helplessness.

She was introspective, synthesizing her experiences. Left to her own devices, she could go for days without speaking to a soul and just reflect. But now was not the time for that, as she tried to figure out how she fit into Phoenix Valley. She had tried to make herself useful, but the rain had chased away the thoughts she had concerning working outdoors.

She turned onto her back to contemplate the ceiling of the ranch. Her eyes traced wood grain patterns as she heard a voice. Turning her head, lime green eyes flashed to a brown female who mumbled over a journal of her own. Without rising, she intoned softly, "Who won't accept you?"

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