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disgracefully
» Birthdate/Age: February 22, 1982
» Characters Played: Dawn Summerswatcherjunior, Snow White foundandfinding
CHARACTER FACTS
» Name: Bela Talbot. It's unknown if she legally changed her name to this or if it is one of her many aliases, like Mina Chandler, Alex, and Lugosi. Her birth name is likely Abigail, shortened familiarly to Abby.
» Canon: Supernatural
» Reference: Bela @ the Supernatural Wiki // Bela @ Wikipedia
» Canon Point: 3.17 "Time is On My Side"; after she hangs up with Dean and hears the hounds in the distance.
» Gender: Female.
» Age: 24. She was fourteen when she made her deal with the Crossroads Demon, a deal that gave her ten years.
CHARACTER INTERPRETATION
» Appearance: Bela's looks are a throwback to the classic film noir femme fatale. Standing at 5 feet 8 inches, she is tall and leggy, her height enhanced by an ever-present wearing of stilettos and her legs highlighted by her choice in attire. She is always made-up and well-coifed. Her light brown hair is kept long and nearly always worn down and loose. Her make-up is subtle and classic, complementing her peaches and cream complexion and her green eyes. Her body is voluptuous, sporting a slight hourglass silhouette.
Her wardrobe is professional and fashionable. She favors trenchcoats and leather jackets, and almost always wears some sort of accessories to put together the outfit. She does seem to prefer skirts over pants, but does know how to dress for the occasion. Even when she's trying to appear low-key, she's well-put together.
» Suitability: N/A
» Orientation: Complicated. Bela is never seen engaging in any romantic or sexual activities during her appearances on the show, aside from a dream of Sam Winchester's. There is evidence, however, that she prefers men or is, at least, attracted to men. In "Bad Day at Black Rock," while stealing the rabbit's foot from Sam, she is rather fliratious with him, even rubbing his lap with a towel. In "Red Sky At Morning," Bela is seen appreciating how nicely Dean cleans up in a tux, going so far as to say "When this is all over, we should really have angry sex." They pose as a couple as a fancy function, and she pretends to be 'engaged' with him (clutching the loosened neckline of her dress to her body) while providing a distraction as he steals the item they're after. In fact, in most of her interactions with Dean, their banter could be interpreted as having a sexual undercurrent, up until she steals the Colt from the Winchesters. It is unknown if Bela is or was attracted to women; it's never seen in the show, but not ruled out completely either by word or action. All of this is complicated by the evidence that she was sexually abused by her father. It's unknown how long the abuse lasted, but it is seen as the reason she made her crossroads deal.
» Personality Bela is not just a thief. As she tells Dean, she is a great thief, and a con artist of the highest caliber. If her life had been different, if she walked a different path, she could have been an award-winning actress. Instead, she puts that considerable talent to use for her own gains. She can become anyone she needs to be: a clumsy waitress, a consultant for the spirit world, a reporter, the over-indulged wife at a charity affair. Misdirection and subterfuge are her tools of trade, and she wields them with uncanny skill. Obviously, she has no qualms about lying. It comes naturally to her, as natural as telling the truth comes to most normal people. She finds nothing wrong with telling people what they want to hear, especially if her version of the truth lines her pocket and keeps her in expensive shoes. It's a job to her, and just as commonplace as such.
Considering that she deals in rare occult items, it's safe to say that she has some sort of belief system in place. Bela is not religious or spiritual, though she isn't above playing either for a job, but she believes in what's out there. Given her actions, she most definitely is not living the life of the traditional just and moral person. If anything, she falls into that morally grey area, heading straight for the dark, dark other side. She breaks commandments left, right, and center. She steals, she lies, she made a deal for her parents to be killed (so no honoring the mother and the father there). The only thing that seems to take special circumstance for her is killing. While she has no qualms over breaking multiple laws and commandments, murder is one that her hand must be forced into. Despite her claim that she killed her parents to get rich, it was likely the abuse from her father that pushed her into making the deal that sealed their fates. And while she shoots Sam and holds him and Dean at gunpoint for the rabbit's foot, it's unlikely that she would have actually killed either of them over it. The threat of death is often enough motivation to get what she wants. The only other time Bela is pushed to murder is when the prospect of getting out of her deal is dangled in front of her. Because when it all boils down, she will choose herself over anyone else any day.
Bela plays her cards very close to her chest and keeps an iron-tight facade up at all times. Weakness is not tolerated, and it certainly isn't tolerated to be shown. She's never seriously affectionate towards anyone; at best, she banters, tossing out a double-edged rejoinder. Everyone is kept at an arm's length, at least, even people she knows can help her or be of some real use to her. It isn't that she's truly cold-blooded. It's safer this way, for her. There's a danger in connections, in feelings. By connecting with someone, she could open herself up to being hurt by them. Given that she was hurt by the two people she should have trusted above all else, she doesn't ever want to be hurt again, or put herself in a situation to be hurt. Connections could also be used against her. In her line of work, Bela deals with dangerous, even crazy, people. If a job were to go terribly wrong, a significant other would only be cannon fodder to be used against her. And feelings. Given her commentary on hunters, it's clear how she feels about emotions. Emotions make you stupid, make you have knee-jerk reactions and do things you'll later regret. It's likely this stems from her own empty taste of vengeance. She's had her slice of that dish best served cold, and now, she won't even live long to fully regret it.
It is in Bela's hours of need that a glimpse of her real character is shown. She shows fear in the face of death, the two times it's shown, though she does not run from it. Knowing that the hellhounds are coming for her, she gives Dean the name of the demon who holds their contracts, charging him with finishing her, since Bela cannot. It's not so much bravery, though, as it is resignation. She's known that she's been damned to Hell since she was fourteen. Death, to her, is inevitable and unavoidable. As she tells Dean, “we're all going to Hell. May as well enjoy the ride.” Despite the callousness, this is her belief. Having one debt hanging over her head, she is loathe to incur more, paying Sam and Dean when they save her life in Red Sky at Morning. She is also loathe to ask for help; instead, she lets herself fall into dire straits before giving in. She becomes desperate when cornered, trying anything and everything to fight her way out. She steals the Colt in hopes that it'll break her deal. When the deal changes, she hesitates, but ultimately gives in at the last moment. She seems to wait until the very last second, still clinging to some naïve hope that she'll be saved.
For all her callousness and coldness and distance, underneath it all, Bela is still poor abused Abbie. Disheartened, dejected, pushed to her limits and frightened. She was failed by her father, but still hopes to be saved and protected, even as she pushes away the people who could do that for her. When the hard outer shell of the tough femme fatale crumbles, all that's left in its place is a lost schoolgirl.
SAMPLES
» First Person Sample Choice: prompt one
[ The video feed starts, showing a woman sliding back into place in her seat after turning on the device. If she's startled over where she is, she doesn't show it. She's gotten dressed, the leather jacket still pulled on despite warmth outside, and it's clear she's found a bathroom to clean up in. Her hair has been brushed and her face has been washed. ]
I'm all for spur of the moment getaways and romance, sweeties, but a girl like me needs to know her host. Call it a self-preservation instinct.
[ Her voice is coy, her accent British. She looks more like the Queen of Sheba, lounging in a chair, than the newest prisoner on the island. ]
The domestics in the hallway weren't the least bit illuminating or friendly. I would look into hiring a better staff. A resort like this could do marvelously with a bit of actual hospitality. However, they did say any answers I needed could be found through this little bit of technology, though again. Short on the explanations.
[ She reaches up to brush a lock of hair from her hair, her hand falling to the collar around her neck. ]
The jewelry is quite lovely, by the by. Seems to lack a clasp. And I hope there are no expectations attached to this. You can have it back before I'll whore myself out to "pay" for it. Lovely, but I've got much nicer.
Now. Who'd like to tell me where I am and, more importantly, how I get out of here.
» Third Person Sample Choice: prompt one
Everything felt worn and sore and over-extended. Part of her had expected this, albeit reluctantly and with no great enthusiasm. After hanging up with Dean, Bela had heard the hounds begin to howl in the distance. The sound alone made her chilled to the bone, shivering despite the black leather jacket she wore. This had been a moment ten years in the making, though some stupid naïve part of her always believed she'd find her way out of this fate. But her only chance to break free of it was speeding away down any one of the major freeways and dirt back roads leading away from Erie. There had been nothing left to do then, but wait. Every avenue had been exhausted; no amount of money could buy her way out, no protection sigil or amulet could hide her, no matter where she ran, the hounds would follow. She'd pushed the ruined blow-up doll off the bed, stretching out over the covers. She should have been smarter. She shouldn't have hesitated, once she knew where their hotel was. Feelings of remorse, of guilt, had stayed her hand, kept her until the last possible moment, and left her utterly fucked. But there was no sense in letting what ifs and regrets eat at her mind, when all too soon the hounds would literally be eating at her. After a moment, hearing the howls grow closer and closer, she'd closed her eyes. It was a gesture meant for peace, for calm. Bela never expected to fall asleep.
The dream that followed she could only chalk up to a last minute hallucination. This one felt different than the others she'd suffered in the past days. It lacked the gruesome blood, the gnashing teeth, the grinning skulls and black eyes – it was... well, pleasant. And almost too vivid. The press of flesh, the warm smell of skin, sweat, and something she couldn't put her finger on. Their bodies were tangled together, breaking apart only to shift position. Fast, slow, frenzied, patient – the dream seemed to last in endless night. It wasn't until her partner in this bit of imagined debauchery leaned back that it all clicked into place. That familiar smell of gun oil and leather undercut by a tang of salt and whiskey, those unmistakable green eyes.
“Dean.” The fact that her voice came back to her, clear as a bell and unhindered by the sounds of the pit or the screams of her fellow damned made Bela open her eyes. This... was not expected. Where was the pain? Lilith had only hinted at the torments that awaited the damned in the beyond, and her imagination and lackadaisical Anglican upbringing had filled in the rest. Brimstone, hellfire, eternal torture. Pain beyond belief and every nightmare she'd ever had coming true, again and again. She couldn't be alive. She shouldn't be alive, not by any stretch of the imagination. She took a deep breath, feeling the soft silk sheets slide over her skin. Searching, she pulled back the covers, her hands running over her stomach and hips. No blood, no marks, no scars. No trace left of the hellhounds that had been after her. No clothes either. What had happened? Surely, there'd been no late-minute reprieve. Hell had governors and presidents and kings and princes, according to lore, and not a one would show mercy, not for someone insignificant as her. Intersession had come from higher on the metaphysical chain. But who or what had more oomph than Lilith?
Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stood. Her body was well-worn, feeling almost boneless. Had that not been a dream? No. Not possible. The last time she'd seen him, Dean had wanted to put a bullet between her eyes, not... that. Of course, she had gone to do the same, of which he was well aware. If the hounds hadn't been bound to kill her, she highly suspected Dean Winchester would have been the end of her. Or, he'd try, at the very least. With one hand, she leaned against furniture as she moved, searching the room for clues. The open window let in a soft breeze, carrying the salty scent of ocean in with it. The decor and structure of the room had a distinctive ancient Greek or Roman flair, easily priceless in its pristine condition. Pieces like this would fetch a very fine penny, though she'd have to seek out fences who dealt in more mundane things. Nothing stood out as overly showy or extravagant. It all fit within the theme, seamless and perfect. Of course, if she could get her hands on a spirit board, maybe she could find something more up her alley. Something that gave her a better idea of where she was and what the hell was going on. Turning back to the bed, she found her clothes piled at the foot, folded neatly. Her boots sat to one side of the stack and her guns, one with silencer, sat on top. Wherever she was, they didn't view her as a threat, if they'd left weapons with her. Their mistake, surely. Anyone who knew her, at least enough to whisk her away like this, would have known that she rarely missed when she took aim. Either the guns were an oversight, or someone was testing her. A cold knot slowly formed in her stomach as she looked to the door. Could this be an elaborate illusion, designed to screw with her mind before Hell's demons rended her in two? Some sort of sick game, like giving her a chance to fight before being dragged through the pits. Well, test or not, she couldn't go out in shambles.
Carrying the stack with her, she located the room's mirror. Her make-up was smeared, her hair in need of a brush and blowout. Whatever had actually happened, Bela certainly looked the part of well-fucked and well-rested, with her lipstick everywhere but her lips and her hair matted and tossed. Looking into the mirror again, her eyes fell to the item around her neck. It was diamond and platinum, or at least it looked so, and it fit perfectly around her neck. Whoever had stayed the hounds, if that was what happened, had an eye for stones, it seemed. Wanting a closer inspection, she twisted it around, fingers sliding underneath the jewels and metal to find the clasp. The twisting grew a bit more frantic as she failed to find one, the settings of the diamonds catching and tugging at her hair. Another point at this being just a game, her being a pawn in an elaborate chess-set. The idea didn't sit well with her and, with one last tug, she let the collar go. It weighed on her skin when she let it drop, a constant reminder of its presence. Might as well have had a bell on it for how prevalent it would be in her mind.
Well. Best to get dressed and find out exactly what was going on here. Whatever laid beyond that door was in for a rude surprise.
» Journal:
disgracefully» Birthdate/Age: February 22, 1982
» Characters Played: Dawn Summers
watcherjunior, Snow White foundandfindingCHARACTER FACTS
» Name: Bela Talbot. It's unknown if she legally changed her name to this or if it is one of her many aliases, like Mina Chandler, Alex, and Lugosi. Her birth name is likely Abigail, shortened familiarly to Abby.
» Canon: Supernatural
» Reference: Bela @ the Supernatural Wiki // Bela @ Wikipedia
» Canon Point: 3.17 "Time is On My Side"; after she hangs up with Dean and hears the hounds in the distance.
» Gender: Female.
» Age: 24. She was fourteen when she made her deal with the Crossroads Demon, a deal that gave her ten years.
CHARACTER INTERPRETATION
» Appearance: Bela's looks are a throwback to the classic film noir femme fatale. Standing at 5 feet 8 inches, she is tall and leggy, her height enhanced by an ever-present wearing of stilettos and her legs highlighted by her choice in attire. She is always made-up and well-coifed. Her light brown hair is kept long and nearly always worn down and loose. Her make-up is subtle and classic, complementing her peaches and cream complexion and her green eyes. Her body is voluptuous, sporting a slight hourglass silhouette.
Her wardrobe is professional and fashionable. She favors trenchcoats and leather jackets, and almost always wears some sort of accessories to put together the outfit. She does seem to prefer skirts over pants, but does know how to dress for the occasion. Even when she's trying to appear low-key, she's well-put together.
» Suitability: N/A
» Orientation: Complicated. Bela is never seen engaging in any romantic or sexual activities during her appearances on the show, aside from a dream of Sam Winchester's. There is evidence, however, that she prefers men or is, at least, attracted to men. In "Bad Day at Black Rock," while stealing the rabbit's foot from Sam, she is rather fliratious with him, even rubbing his lap with a towel. In "Red Sky At Morning," Bela is seen appreciating how nicely Dean cleans up in a tux, going so far as to say "When this is all over, we should really have angry sex." They pose as a couple as a fancy function, and she pretends to be 'engaged' with him (clutching the loosened neckline of her dress to her body) while providing a distraction as he steals the item they're after. In fact, in most of her interactions with Dean, their banter could be interpreted as having a sexual undercurrent, up until she steals the Colt from the Winchesters. It is unknown if Bela is or was attracted to women; it's never seen in the show, but not ruled out completely either by word or action. All of this is complicated by the evidence that she was sexually abused by her father. It's unknown how long the abuse lasted, but it is seen as the reason she made her crossroads deal.
» Personality Bela is not just a thief. As she tells Dean, she is a great thief, and a con artist of the highest caliber. If her life had been different, if she walked a different path, she could have been an award-winning actress. Instead, she puts that considerable talent to use for her own gains. She can become anyone she needs to be: a clumsy waitress, a consultant for the spirit world, a reporter, the over-indulged wife at a charity affair. Misdirection and subterfuge are her tools of trade, and she wields them with uncanny skill. Obviously, she has no qualms about lying. It comes naturally to her, as natural as telling the truth comes to most normal people. She finds nothing wrong with telling people what they want to hear, especially if her version of the truth lines her pocket and keeps her in expensive shoes. It's a job to her, and just as commonplace as such.
Considering that she deals in rare occult items, it's safe to say that she has some sort of belief system in place. Bela is not religious or spiritual, though she isn't above playing either for a job, but she believes in what's out there. Given her actions, she most definitely is not living the life of the traditional just and moral person. If anything, she falls into that morally grey area, heading straight for the dark, dark other side. She breaks commandments left, right, and center. She steals, she lies, she made a deal for her parents to be killed (so no honoring the mother and the father there). The only thing that seems to take special circumstance for her is killing. While she has no qualms over breaking multiple laws and commandments, murder is one that her hand must be forced into. Despite her claim that she killed her parents to get rich, it was likely the abuse from her father that pushed her into making the deal that sealed their fates. And while she shoots Sam and holds him and Dean at gunpoint for the rabbit's foot, it's unlikely that she would have actually killed either of them over it. The threat of death is often enough motivation to get what she wants. The only other time Bela is pushed to murder is when the prospect of getting out of her deal is dangled in front of her. Because when it all boils down, she will choose herself over anyone else any day.
Bela plays her cards very close to her chest and keeps an iron-tight facade up at all times. Weakness is not tolerated, and it certainly isn't tolerated to be shown. She's never seriously affectionate towards anyone; at best, she banters, tossing out a double-edged rejoinder. Everyone is kept at an arm's length, at least, even people she knows can help her or be of some real use to her. It isn't that she's truly cold-blooded. It's safer this way, for her. There's a danger in connections, in feelings. By connecting with someone, she could open herself up to being hurt by them. Given that she was hurt by the two people she should have trusted above all else, she doesn't ever want to be hurt again, or put herself in a situation to be hurt. Connections could also be used against her. In her line of work, Bela deals with dangerous, even crazy, people. If a job were to go terribly wrong, a significant other would only be cannon fodder to be used against her. And feelings. Given her commentary on hunters, it's clear how she feels about emotions. Emotions make you stupid, make you have knee-jerk reactions and do things you'll later regret. It's likely this stems from her own empty taste of vengeance. She's had her slice of that dish best served cold, and now, she won't even live long to fully regret it.
It is in Bela's hours of need that a glimpse of her real character is shown. She shows fear in the face of death, the two times it's shown, though she does not run from it. Knowing that the hellhounds are coming for her, she gives Dean the name of the demon who holds their contracts, charging him with finishing her, since Bela cannot. It's not so much bravery, though, as it is resignation. She's known that she's been damned to Hell since she was fourteen. Death, to her, is inevitable and unavoidable. As she tells Dean, “we're all going to Hell. May as well enjoy the ride.” Despite the callousness, this is her belief. Having one debt hanging over her head, she is loathe to incur more, paying Sam and Dean when they save her life in Red Sky at Morning. She is also loathe to ask for help; instead, she lets herself fall into dire straits before giving in. She becomes desperate when cornered, trying anything and everything to fight her way out. She steals the Colt in hopes that it'll break her deal. When the deal changes, she hesitates, but ultimately gives in at the last moment. She seems to wait until the very last second, still clinging to some naïve hope that she'll be saved.
For all her callousness and coldness and distance, underneath it all, Bela is still poor abused Abbie. Disheartened, dejected, pushed to her limits and frightened. She was failed by her father, but still hopes to be saved and protected, even as she pushes away the people who could do that for her. When the hard outer shell of the tough femme fatale crumbles, all that's left in its place is a lost schoolgirl.
SAMPLES
» First Person Sample Choice: prompt one
[ The video feed starts, showing a woman sliding back into place in her seat after turning on the device. If she's startled over where she is, she doesn't show it. She's gotten dressed, the leather jacket still pulled on despite warmth outside, and it's clear she's found a bathroom to clean up in. Her hair has been brushed and her face has been washed. ]
I'm all for spur of the moment getaways and romance, sweeties, but a girl like me needs to know her host. Call it a self-preservation instinct.
[ Her voice is coy, her accent British. She looks more like the Queen of Sheba, lounging in a chair, than the newest prisoner on the island. ]
The domestics in the hallway weren't the least bit illuminating or friendly. I would look into hiring a better staff. A resort like this could do marvelously with a bit of actual hospitality. However, they did say any answers I needed could be found through this little bit of technology, though again. Short on the explanations.
[ She reaches up to brush a lock of hair from her hair, her hand falling to the collar around her neck. ]
The jewelry is quite lovely, by the by. Seems to lack a clasp. And I hope there are no expectations attached to this. You can have it back before I'll whore myself out to "pay" for it. Lovely, but I've got much nicer.
Now. Who'd like to tell me where I am and, more importantly, how I get out of here.
» Third Person Sample Choice: prompt one
Everything felt worn and sore and over-extended. Part of her had expected this, albeit reluctantly and with no great enthusiasm. After hanging up with Dean, Bela had heard the hounds begin to howl in the distance. The sound alone made her chilled to the bone, shivering despite the black leather jacket she wore. This had been a moment ten years in the making, though some stupid naïve part of her always believed she'd find her way out of this fate. But her only chance to break free of it was speeding away down any one of the major freeways and dirt back roads leading away from Erie. There had been nothing left to do then, but wait. Every avenue had been exhausted; no amount of money could buy her way out, no protection sigil or amulet could hide her, no matter where she ran, the hounds would follow. She'd pushed the ruined blow-up doll off the bed, stretching out over the covers. She should have been smarter. She shouldn't have hesitated, once she knew where their hotel was. Feelings of remorse, of guilt, had stayed her hand, kept her until the last possible moment, and left her utterly fucked. But there was no sense in letting what ifs and regrets eat at her mind, when all too soon the hounds would literally be eating at her. After a moment, hearing the howls grow closer and closer, she'd closed her eyes. It was a gesture meant for peace, for calm. Bela never expected to fall asleep.
The dream that followed she could only chalk up to a last minute hallucination. This one felt different than the others she'd suffered in the past days. It lacked the gruesome blood, the gnashing teeth, the grinning skulls and black eyes – it was... well, pleasant. And almost too vivid. The press of flesh, the warm smell of skin, sweat, and something she couldn't put her finger on. Their bodies were tangled together, breaking apart only to shift position. Fast, slow, frenzied, patient – the dream seemed to last in endless night. It wasn't until her partner in this bit of imagined debauchery leaned back that it all clicked into place. That familiar smell of gun oil and leather undercut by a tang of salt and whiskey, those unmistakable green eyes.
“Dean.” The fact that her voice came back to her, clear as a bell and unhindered by the sounds of the pit or the screams of her fellow damned made Bela open her eyes. This... was not expected. Where was the pain? Lilith had only hinted at the torments that awaited the damned in the beyond, and her imagination and lackadaisical Anglican upbringing had filled in the rest. Brimstone, hellfire, eternal torture. Pain beyond belief and every nightmare she'd ever had coming true, again and again. She couldn't be alive. She shouldn't be alive, not by any stretch of the imagination. She took a deep breath, feeling the soft silk sheets slide over her skin. Searching, she pulled back the covers, her hands running over her stomach and hips. No blood, no marks, no scars. No trace left of the hellhounds that had been after her. No clothes either. What had happened? Surely, there'd been no late-minute reprieve. Hell had governors and presidents and kings and princes, according to lore, and not a one would show mercy, not for someone insignificant as her. Intersession had come from higher on the metaphysical chain. But who or what had more oomph than Lilith?
Her legs wobbled beneath her as she stood. Her body was well-worn, feeling almost boneless. Had that not been a dream? No. Not possible. The last time she'd seen him, Dean had wanted to put a bullet between her eyes, not... that. Of course, she had gone to do the same, of which he was well aware. If the hounds hadn't been bound to kill her, she highly suspected Dean Winchester would have been the end of her. Or, he'd try, at the very least. With one hand, she leaned against furniture as she moved, searching the room for clues. The open window let in a soft breeze, carrying the salty scent of ocean in with it. The decor and structure of the room had a distinctive ancient Greek or Roman flair, easily priceless in its pristine condition. Pieces like this would fetch a very fine penny, though she'd have to seek out fences who dealt in more mundane things. Nothing stood out as overly showy or extravagant. It all fit within the theme, seamless and perfect. Of course, if she could get her hands on a spirit board, maybe she could find something more up her alley. Something that gave her a better idea of where she was and what the hell was going on. Turning back to the bed, she found her clothes piled at the foot, folded neatly. Her boots sat to one side of the stack and her guns, one with silencer, sat on top. Wherever she was, they didn't view her as a threat, if they'd left weapons with her. Their mistake, surely. Anyone who knew her, at least enough to whisk her away like this, would have known that she rarely missed when she took aim. Either the guns were an oversight, or someone was testing her. A cold knot slowly formed in her stomach as she looked to the door. Could this be an elaborate illusion, designed to screw with her mind before Hell's demons rended her in two? Some sort of sick game, like giving her a chance to fight before being dragged through the pits. Well, test or not, she couldn't go out in shambles.
Carrying the stack with her, she located the room's mirror. Her make-up was smeared, her hair in need of a brush and blowout. Whatever had actually happened, Bela certainly looked the part of well-fucked and well-rested, with her lipstick everywhere but her lips and her hair matted and tossed. Looking into the mirror again, her eyes fell to the item around her neck. It was diamond and platinum, or at least it looked so, and it fit perfectly around her neck. Whoever had stayed the hounds, if that was what happened, had an eye for stones, it seemed. Wanting a closer inspection, she twisted it around, fingers sliding underneath the jewels and metal to find the clasp. The twisting grew a bit more frantic as she failed to find one, the settings of the diamonds catching and tugging at her hair. Another point at this being just a game, her being a pawn in an elaborate chess-set. The idea didn't sit well with her and, with one last tug, she let the collar go. It weighed on her skin when she let it drop, a constant reminder of its presence. Might as well have had a bell on it for how prevalent it would be in her mind.
Well. Best to get dressed and find out exactly what was going on here. Whatever laid beyond that door was in for a rude surprise.