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multiversallogs2011-08-15 04:34 pm
pridegoesbefore.livejournal.com) wrote in multiversallogs2011-08-15 04:34 pm
Entry tags:
what one requires is good staff.
Who: Narcissa Black and anyone who feels like it
What: A place of her own, finally
Where: Syriac Well
When: About a week after the celebration at The Apache
Notes: Um.
Warnings: None?
A slightly unusual sight, but not for one of Narcissa's world (unless one knew Narcissa), there is a line of floating, dropcloth-covered items trailing neatly behind the elegant blonde as she walks confidently through the quiet streets of Syriac Well.
Not one to spurn an opportunity when she finds it, she's well aware that there were victims of this most recent... troubles whose symptoms developed to a more permanent status. In other words, there were several stately homes standing empty in this part of Baedal, and the judicious sale of the crowpearls she'd been hoarding had been enough to secure her ownership rights to one of the smaller manses on the Rue Sainte-Catherine. There was no need for a full manor house, but she'd had more than enough of the Inn, and cared not for the smaller apartment-style homes available.
Finding an agent of sale had been a little difficult, but a few words here and there located one she felt reasonably certain was reasonably honest, and after carefully checking the contract of sale and title, she was satisfied that this home was hers for the taking. All she had to do now was get the few new items of furniture arranged inside. Tables and chairs were one thing, but she flatly refused to sleep on a mattress someone had died on - and there were linens, tableware, a chaise... rather a lot for one person, really.
What: A place of her own, finally
Where: Syriac Well
When: About a week after the celebration at The Apache
Notes: Um.
Warnings: None?
A slightly unusual sight, but not for one of Narcissa's world (unless one knew Narcissa), there is a line of floating, dropcloth-covered items trailing neatly behind the elegant blonde as she walks confidently through the quiet streets of Syriac Well.
Not one to spurn an opportunity when she finds it, she's well aware that there were victims of this most recent... troubles whose symptoms developed to a more permanent status. In other words, there were several stately homes standing empty in this part of Baedal, and the judicious sale of the crowpearls she'd been hoarding had been enough to secure her ownership rights to one of the smaller manses on the Rue Sainte-Catherine. There was no need for a full manor house, but she'd had more than enough of the Inn, and cared not for the smaller apartment-style homes available.
Finding an agent of sale had been a little difficult, but a few words here and there located one she felt reasonably certain was reasonably honest, and after carefully checking the contract of sale and title, she was satisfied that this home was hers for the taking. All she had to do now was get the few new items of furniture arranged inside. Tables and chairs were one thing, but she flatly refused to sleep on a mattress someone had died on - and there were linens, tableware, a chaise... rather a lot for one person, really.