House of Cards RP

What is it someone once said? Only on horseback can one truly be free. While Katya would not 100 percent agree, it is true some of her most enjoyable time comes from saddling Koschei and riding him cross-country, feeling wind in her hair and leaving cares of Spades far behind.

Not that they ever leave her. Still, it is true, riding horses is often better than sex. So. If she is being honest, that is not true. Sex is excellent method to relieve stress. In end she decides horses are preferable to men because they do not talk or bring her problems.

Find her out and about or returning to the stables. She might ask you your opinion on why horses are better than men.

Ian Fleming is probably not really meant to be a comedic author.

It's just that the whole thing is ridiculous, really. The suave man-about-town secret agent with the license to kill, who wants his martinis shaken, not stirred, who attracts beautiful women like bees to honey. He's a fantasy with little bearing on the business of spying; if you want a realistic spy novel, you'd be better served to pick up John le Carre. But no one really wants a realistic spy novel, and Elisha supposes he's among that number.

Especially since he's in Inkwell, wandering through the thriller section and paused at the Fs. He's read them all, of course, but he never keeps them around. So the question is:

Moonraker or From Russia With Love?

The most observant of individuals will begin to notice a bit of strangeness in the air since the first Snow Fall. It has been colder, and the animals seem somehow more skittish- but maybe that is all part of the changing of seasons. But strangely enough, odd quirks seem to be popping up around Town.

While walking from one Castle to the other, someone might observe that it seems to take longer. And there has been a whisper or two from the outpost, saying that people are not arriving off Deck to the places they had been wanted to go. Nothing to worry about, of course; hick-ups have happened in the past, after all.

But...for those that are particularly prone to conspiracy? They might well have to wonder.

One, two...three...four. Leona stopped to look from the last from cross street she'd passed and then back to the street ahead with a curious sort of look on her face. It wasn't that she made a habit of counting steps (who did that?), but it was something to pass the time every now and then.

But there was something officially off about today's counting. Maybe she was taking longer steps, but she didn't really think she was, and there was this strange little urge to go back to the corner and start again. But that required back tracking, and somehow she couldn't bring herself to start all over just to count steps.

There were, after all, a lot of factors that could be affecting it. That aside, however, it was odd.