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Snippet #1563951

located in London, a part of Blood and Lace, one of the many universes on RPG.

London

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Damien stepped out of the carriage lightly. A number of people were making their way up the steps to the entrance of the great manor. Their chatter reached his ears, though it was mostly unintelligible, though from the snatches of conversation he did catch, he was certain that the discussion held no interest for him. Straightening his cravat, he started forward, mounting the steps quickly. There was some sort of commotion at the door, however, and the entire group (which was composed of several ladies and a few gentlemen), came to an abrupt stop.

Damien's fingers twitched in irritation. It appeared that one of the ladies had forgotten something in her carriage. They were debating whether or not someone should be sent back for it. It was eventually decided upon that one of the gentlemen ought to turn back and retrieve the item, though the question of which had yet to be answered. Growing rather impatient, Damien cleared his throat.

One of the gentlemen turned towards him in surprise, a question in his eyes. Damien recognized the man as Mr. Clocksin. They had met once or twice before, but Mr. Clocksin was an airheaded young man of only nineteen years, and his opinion of the gentleman was rather low. "Ah, Mr. Clocksin," he began, striving to keep the edge out of his voice as he gestured towards the door. "It is my desire to enter the manor."

Mr. Clocksin glanced at the door, momentarily bewildered, until one of the ladies at his side giggled. "Ben," her voice oozed syrupy sweetness with every syllable. "I think he means to say that we are inconveniencing him." Mr. Clocksin's expression cleared and he grinned in embarrassment.

"My apologies, Mr. Roskin," he responded promptly, ushering his friends over to one side to allow him access to the door.

Damien merely tipped his hat and strode through the door. The room he found himself in upon entering the manor left no doubts as to the standing of the Friedrick family. A cursory glance acquainted him with lavish furnishings and expensive artwork. Groups of people stood around the room, talking and greeting one another. He found that he recognized most of the guests. It seemed that Le Feuvre had yet to arrive.

Entering further into the room, he moved to stand off to one side, preferring solitude to conversation in that moment. The scents were already overpowering, and he could feel the beginnings of a sore head. Sighing, he swept the hat off his head and handed it to a servant standing nearby. The servant took his name and hurried off with a low bow.