She accepted the letter from Koltar’s hands and bowed her head. “Thank you, My Lord.” She broke the seal and skimmed the text, a slight smile on her lips. “Please let His Grace know he may expect an answer this very night,” she asked the Ventrue. When Koltar turned away with a nod, she read the words again. The ancient patterns of Cacophony were more than familiar to her. The ancient turns of phrase made her smile.

His handwriting was that of a warrior, but she had expected nothing less from him. The smile remained on her lips as she made her way to her desk. On the way, she stopped briefly to kiss her husband and tell him the news. Speaker. This was a great honour.

She settled down at her desk, and once again reached for parchment, quill, and ink. This time she kept the letter much more informal - as was usual when it was a continuation of a communication, but still wrote it down in antique forms of Cacophony.

She delivers her letter herself this time and leaves it in a place Marcus tells her as suitable. If possible, she delivers it directly to the recipient, but does not stop him further.

She took a second to let her gaze roam the tavern as she casually shifted the weight of her package from one hip to the other. The movement seemed natural, graceful like that of a feline predator. Then she smiled softly as she spotted Illmahgo and stepped towards him with her husband.

“Thank you, elder,” she murmured softly as she glided past him. Undead had no odour, and yet a delicate scent of lemons and roses rose from the long, raven hair. Oil, one could assume.

Only when the door had closed behind them did she bow to him properly. “Your Grace, I certainly didn’t mean to hold you up. But it is very kind of you, to spare a moment.” Carefully, she held out the parcel.

It was large, about a cubit long, only slightly less wide and about a hand’s width high. The package was made of the heavy silk velvet, so popular among the elders and was embroidered with silver threads. A silver V, with a crown over the base. A work of art on its own.

“I just wanted to bring you my answer, and something I brought you from home.”

Tatjana returned his smile. To the passing observer, it seemed superficial. Illmahgo could see that her eyes softened, two cute dimples appeared in her cheeks. Not a polite smile, as one used at court, but an honest one, given to someone one cared about.

“We will leave you now, my elder. I’ll see you at training? Even if it somewhat ruins the intention of not meeting you covered in dust or blood,” Again that charming, pretty smile without the mask of etiquette. She curtsied, her skirts spread gracefully, her head bowed respectfully.

The demon is always in the detail. On the surface, it was a curtsy in line with his rank and titles. It lasted exactly as long as was polite.

The demon is in the details. She tilted her head and a single, carefully curled strand of hair slipped over her shoulder, curling over the soft, white skin.

The demon is in the details. The tip of the strand of hair lay just above a vein that showed bluish through the white skin. It remained there even when the young woman stood up again. “Until training, Your Grace,” she mumbled. Had her voice always been so dark?

Her hand laid on her husband’s arm, soft touch. Then the two of them left.