And Thou Art Dead, As Young and Fair

[Arabella Balfour]

Her time in Chicago had not been wasted. In fact, it had been exactly the sort of thing to put Arabella's mind back on what was most important to her. Originally she'd gone to stay with Fiona and Michele because they were both as family to her, and they lived in close proximity to the hospital where the the blood disorder specialist she had been recommended to see worked. There was nothing he could do for her. She did not have an iron deficiency or anything of the kind that medical science was going to solve. Her blood was two centuries old, that it was weak was the least of her troubles. He'd been correct about one thing, she required a transfusion, but not of anything that he could give her.

Arabella had been all set to spend her last days surrounded with old friends and new. Fi & Michele. Paddy. Duilo. All of them so diverse, like so many colored threads in the rich tapestry of her life. The most vibrant of the colored threads, the one that had most influenced the design was reserved for Byron.

Her prince had sent for her, and Arabella's resolve had crumbled like so much confectionery sugar. She could deny him nothing.

Almost nothing.

Suddenly Arabella had arrived. Roissy Airport, and it was just about dark.. She was weak, exhausted from travel and really just wanted to go to home, change and rest more than anything, but she suspected it was not to be so. Her suspicions were confirmed when she spotted Rose, the employee of hers that she had left in charge of her business, but more importantly that she had personally tailored to serve Byron in her stead once she was..gone. That she was here now probably meant that it was on his behalf.

"Mistress..", Rose greeted her with a steaming cup of tea, knowing how Arabella was always cold.

Gratefully taking it, she listened as she was told that her bags had been claimed and a car was waiting. It was nice to have competent people to rely on...

She had just assumed the car was taking to her own address, so when it passed her turn entirely Arabella opened her mouth to protest but then recalled she was not in Chicago anymore. She was in Paris now and subject to the whim of the prince.

[Byron Legard]

Paris was not called La Ville-Lumière without reason. The city rarely knew true darkness, the skyline aglow and flickering. Lights flashed by the car window as Rose sped in silence through the warm night, following the flow of the Seine river as it curved west. She turned onto the Rue François Miron, where the patios of café-bars were cluttered young men and women drinking dark, cheap wine. The car slowed to a crawl. Rose clucked her tongue as a trio of singing revellers stumbled out from the pavement into the conspicuously empty parking space outside of their destination: the Hôtel de Beauvais.

Stood alongside one of the rue's many cafés, the hôtel was unremarkable in its grandeur only because buildings of its kind were seemingly so commonplace in Paris. The grand façade was made no less impressive by the pair of a shirtless young men loitering outside the arched entryway, smoking. Pale stone mascaron – faces carved into the stonework – leered, with the same toothless grins as some of the drunks swaying down the street, at Rose and Arabella as they approached. The two smokers gave the two women a glance over, with eyes that were far sharper than their slouched posture might suggested, and waved them by.

Rose took the lead, stepping quickly into the cobbled pathway beyond. Stone columns and a domed ceiling (http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:P1060361_Paris_IV_h%C3%B4tel_de_Beauvais_rwk. JPG) marked the end of the short tunnel ahead, giving way to a grand circular courtyard overlooked by a dozen windows and a balcony. Dim lights shone behind the window panes while outside the burning tips of cigarettes bobbed about in the half-dark like fireflies.

Around twenty figures stood about in the courtyard in small groups, some drinking, others arguing. Other dark, indistinct shapes moved behind the tall windows; their presence gave the otherwise open, inviting courtyard a peculiarly claustrophobic atmosphere, as if their were eyes watching from behind every pane. On the balcony above, a unremarkable figure in black stood leaning one hip against the balcony, apparently in conversation with a pair of women with skin the colour of ash. His face was obscured by tangle of dark hair.

[Arabella Balfour]

Despite the considerable warmth of the grey wool pea coat snugly belted around Arabella, the breeze that chased her into the short tunnel managed to grab at her ankles and calves, giving her an all over chill. She followed Rose along obediently, a practiced expression on her pale face. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were becoming rosy with cold, but there was little warmth to be found among the company ahead, or so she had thought.. right until the moment she emerged in the courtyard and her brown eyes were drawn inexplicably upward, to the occupied balcony, sensing his presence.

Time seemed suspended between her one heartbeat and the next. One single glance was all it took and longing spilled through her blood, so strong she wondered how she had ever won the fight against such a bond and managed to leave his side in the first place. It was as though she were made of molten metal and Byron was the magnetic force that she could not resist. She had a care for her next step, lest the weightlessness making her feel suddenly empty and hollow lift her right up off the cobblestones.

"This way.."

Rose was talking to her. Urging her to keep following. Even though she knew no more than a moment had passed, Arabella suddenly felt so exposed. Instinct restored her dimple, hidden just at the corner of her lips, along with the look in her dark eyes that always seemed to imply that she was aware of something delicious that everyone else was not. She kept moving..

[Byron Legard]

While the courtyard was full of light and sound, the interior of the Hôtel de Beauvais was dark and still. The floors were bare as were the walls. The furniture had been covered with sheets, which were in turn covered with dust. The air was cold with a faint stale scent to it. Whatever grandeur had once inhabited the hôtel was long gone now. Without Rose to lead the way, Arabella could have easily followed the footsteps in the dust on the stone floor.

When they reached the balcony, the same two women – twins, apparently – stood by Byron, taking turns to offer him counsel. A pair of glass doors with golden frames opened out onto the narrow balcony. The doorway was guarded by a pair of Nosferatu who made it their business to be as inconspicuous as possible, to the point that they were practically invisible.

Ahead, Byron's eyes twitched up and across to the expectant face of Rose and -

“We'll talk more about this later,” he cut into whatever the twins were saying and was unapologetic as he turned away. Wordless, he held a hand out to Arabella.

[Arabella Balfour]

Arabella was not unaware of the presence of the Nosferatu, she was very aware of both of them. Knew them even, but she did not acknowledge them with a greeting. It had not been overnight, but she had become on relatively good terms with their clan. They had a mutually beneficial arrangement, each providing a particular service for the other. The Nosferatu expanded the reach of her eyes and ears. In turn she had provided them with the beauty and pleasure that would have otherwise been denied. In her establishment, they were not only welcome. They were favored. She knew enough to know not to draw attention to them when they were trying to remain as unnoticed as possible, and in truth... they were not her first concern at the moment. She could not be bothered to take proper notice of the twins either, except to note the expediency with which they departed when they had been dismissed.

A bound ghoul such as herself was easily created. It took less sips of vitae than the fingers on one hand for the powerful bond to be created, each taste only intensifying the need, deepening the bond. For Arabella, that number had been surpassed centuries ago. Most did not live as a ghoul for as long as she had, either becoming destroyed by their domitor when they had served their purpose, or ultimately by becoming embraced. Her bond to Byron was absolute. She could not have fought against the compulsion to go to him, had she wanted to, and she did not. As if an unseen puppeteer had Arabella bound in strings, her hand lifted from her side automatically, the fingers outstretching, reaching. The rest of her quickly followed, stepping forward to slide the tips of her fingers against Byron's outstretched ones. Her hands were chilly, but she would be willing to bet they were considerably warmer than his.

[Byron Legard]

There was no heat in his embrace. Even through the fabric of his clothing, Byron was ice-cold. Nevertheless, he felt some sentimental warmth where his heart had once beaten as he enveloped Arabella in his arms. If the current guests of the Hôtel de Beauvais had any interest in the moment of intimacy, they feigned otherwise.

“You have been gone far too long.”

[Arabella Balfour]

And so the rest of the universe dissolved, leaving behind only the two of them on that balcony. The other guests of the prince faded away. Rose with her knowing smile, obediently became one with the decor until she was needed again.

Arabella gave herself over to the sensation of being returned right where she was supposed to be. There was a divine perfection to the way her body fit against his. Put in fanciful terms her whole self tingled with the rush of being connected to the other half of who she was. So much of her exceedingly long life had been spent with Byron, that not being with him just felt distressingly wrong.

Two-hundred years was a fair bit longer than even the most successful mortal marriage. Arabella was no wife though.

It was the practiced hands of a courtesan that slid around his waist, her softly seeking fingertips skimming wantonly up his back. Time had not satisfied any desire she had for Byron Legard, just given her ample time to perfect her former trade, knowing exactly how to please them both..

"Oh, mon amour." She sighed dreamily into curve of his neck, from where her head rested against his shoulder. "You should definitely throw me in a dungeon so I can never behave so foolishly again."

[Byron Legard]

"Tempting."

Byron whispered the word into her neck, lips brushing against her warm skin as he breathed in the smell of her. He ran his fingertips through the soft hair at the nape of her neck, tracing down and around to linger over the familiar pulse of her jugular. There was a rhythm he would never forget, no matter how long Arabella spent away from his city.

"How was the New World?"

[Arabella Balfour]

Contented to stay there in the circle of her prince's arms, Arabella murmured a sleepy reply. "Much like the last time I was there."

It was not precisely the answer to the real question though.

"There was little he could do for me."

She spoke of the hematologist she had traveled across the Atlantic ocean to see because he was reported to be the best. What ailed Arabella was nothing that modern medicine was going to be able to correct. Her body, while still appearing as youthful as ever, was worn thin to put it plainly.

"He prescribed some medication. Something to strengthen my blood, he assured me."

[Byron Legard]

“Medication.” When Byron said the word, it was with obvious disdain and his breath tickled Arabella’s neck with a short huff of bitter laughter. His opinion on the American hematologist was no secret.

“You know that there is only one thing that can truly strengthen your blood.”

[Arabella Balfour]

Unseen, Arabella's lips pursed in a gesture of familiar futility. One word could convey so much, it seemed. This was an old, worn topic. While the excuses might have evolved over the years, nothing had changed really.

Byron's breath on her skin was all the reminder she needed that her body was not under her own control when she was with her prince. Goosebumps rose up. Her neck slowly, languorously tilted, yielding to him. By the time he had finished speaking the word, blood, she might have whimpered. She was quite reminded of exactly what she had become living this way, well beyond a reasonable amount of time. A junkie. A very refined, well dressed, lovely junkie who was presently in the grip of withdrawal, and had exactly what she needed to feel better in her arms.

Another temporary fix to stave off death? And how much longer did she expect that to work. For all her long years and experience, in this one regard Bella remained a silly girl, and she knew it. She still had the same old fears. She would die and go straight to hell for her extended lifetime of sin. Or she would die and there would be nothing at all. Or she would would submit, let him finish it.. and never be herself again. A stranger in her own skin, and what if she hated him for it? What would be the point in immortality then? It was the one thing that scared her.

"I know."

[Byron Legard]

“One day, perhaps,” Byron said, echoing words he’d said so many times before. “But not today?”

It was a question Byron knew the answer to, though could not help but ask. Each time they were reunited, he made the same offer, and each time Arabella’s answer was the same. The day he stopped asking, however - well, that wasn’t worth thinking about.

“Are you hungry?”

[Arabella Balfour]

This was the part where she gave a noncommittal, 'Perhaps.. Not today', or listed her many reservations. He had to know it was what she wanted, to just give in. To belong to him in a way that even she couldn't really understand, not as she was. Arabella had held onto the fraying edge of her life for too long, the thought of letting go was panic inducing to her. Even now her heartbeat sped up tellingly, just thinking about it.

"Soon, I think.." That was a different answer at least. Not one she had given before.

Tipping her head back to smile mischievously, Bella affirmed her appetite. "I could do with a bite of something."

[Byron Legard]

“Soon?” The combination of that word and the sudden gallop of Arabella’s pulse was enough to stir hunger inside Byron too.

“Somewhere more... private?” he asked, pulling his eyes away from Bella for the first time to look down on the courtyard of the Hôtel de Beauvais. There was still the semblance of a party going on down below and though he had no concerns about doing whatever he wanted, wherever he wanted, he was courteous enough to offer Arabella the discretion that she might prefer.

[Arabella Balfour]

Arabella gave him a single, almost shy little smile. Yes, she was serious. She would let him do the thing that scared her most. She would let Byron kill her. Because it would save her, yes.. but also because it truly was the only way forward. It had to be him or she would never agree to it at all.

She was reminded just then of her dangerous single-mindedness where Byron was concerned, having tuned out everyone and everything else. Really, she could not have cared less what was observed just then. Arabella was given leniency because of her connection to the prince, and to Gabrielle de Montespan, but she would not go so far as to say she was liked. The plain truth was that she provided a useful service, and there it ended for most of the Kindred. They did not hate her, but she was not one of them. 'Byron's pet' was one of the nicer things she'd been called over the years, actually. It did not bother her in the slightest.

"Where you go, I'll follow, mon coeur." If she did not have to share him though, she was absolutely not going to.

[Byron Legard]

Taking Arabella’s hand in his, Byron lead the way in from the balcony, to the hotel’s dust-sheet covered interior.

“Get out, Erik, Michel.”

The words were spoken without any malice, rather quite matter of factly. The Nosferatu who had moments ago been little more than shadows in the balcony doorway peeled away from the wall they’d clung to and slipped away to join the ghosts haunting the rest of the building. As they left, the evening light stretched through balcony doorway into the unlit interior. Guiding Bella away from that fading light, his bare feet padding across the bare floor that vibrated with the pulse of music (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOdHND_wt0k) playing somewhere else in the hotel, Byron sank down onto the only piece of furniture that was not covered: an antique chaise lounge.

“My heart and everything in it are yours,” he said, as he pulled open the collar of his shirt. With his eyes fixed to hers, he raked one preternaturally sharp nail across bared skin, dark blood trickling down his chest.

[Arabella Balfour]

Before joining Byron, Bella shrugged her arms out of her coat and let it fall forgotten to the floor. While there was a certain amount of temptation to give into the intensity of the ghoulish craving she had for him, she was absolutely not going to pounce on Byron and rush anything. There was little pleasure to be had that way, and Arabella was all about the pleasure. Sliding slowly down to one hip, her feet curled up behind her upon the chaise lounge. One by one, her shoes dropped to join her coat in forgotten neglect on the floor. They were only things. Things could be replaced. If she carried on for a thousand more years, no one would ever replace Byron Legard.

Leaning her body closer into his, Arabella knew her impressive show of restraint was given away by the trembling of her skin. She did not immediately go for the blood made so endearingly available to her. She would get there, but she still had enough control over herself to know what she wanted, and what she wanted was to kiss him. Several times in fact. Small, sweet sips of kisses, completely unhurried and placed like little presents on his mouth. Right now she needed him, but she also loved the world only because he was in it, and needed him to know, to forgive her stupidity..

Soft, manicured fingertips curled around the back of her beloved's neck. Her dark eyes were held captive by his as her mouth finally drifted to the slow trickle of blood. It took some effort to drag them away to the task. She did not slaver upon him like the ravenous creature she really was. Instead she used her tongue in deliberate, darting little flicks that would make sure she missed not a drop.

[Byron Legard]

Since Arabella and Byron had first met, he had not sired any childer of his own, nor had he allowed any other Kindred to feed on him. He could hardly remember how it had felt, to be mortal and overcome with the exhilaration of drinking a Kindred’s potent blood, but the sensation of Arabella’s teeth and tongue on his skin gave him a rare thrill.

“Don’t hold back.”

The blood of clan Gangrel was wild, and though it had been absent from Arabella’s veins during her absence from Paris, it was only a matter of time before it’s feral influence took hold.

[Arabella Balfour]

Owing to the unfortunate circumstances surrounding her first experience with a Kindred, Arabella had been cursed with a terrible hunger for their blood, one that had lasted for two-hundred years. While thus far still retaining her mortailty, the upside was as long as she never stopped, she remained ageless. She had been young and foolish, thinking then that she was the indestructible one. Nothing had been 'too much' for her. The result was that she had wound up in the company of one of the true monsters. It had changed her, taken one life from her, but given her another. One with him.

Despite her own absurd attempts to maintain control over herself, Arabella knew what was inevitable. From the moment she had arrived, she was already unraveling. As surely as he had pulled her hand into his, Byron was the one pulling the thread of her, simply by being present. There was no controlling the level of desire she had for him. As a former courtesan, Bella was no stranger to pleasure, but even the most intense of pleasurable sexual encounters could never compare to the ecstasy that was feeding her starved body her lover's powerful blood. She was forgetting now.. why it was she would want to be soft and gentle to begin with? She was well aware not only would Byron not judge her for it, she felt sure he would prefer she surrendered to whatever it was she felt compelled to do. No matter what she got up to, the odds of her doing him any lasting harm were.. silly.

The heat started slowly, curling her toes, arching her feet. Once it had begun the fire caught quickly, spreading through Arabella's veins, burning her deliciously from the inside out. The walls of her heart began to bang so fast inside her rib cage. If she did not know better she would be afraid it would burst, it's muscles previously sluggish atrophy driven away. Sudden vigor flooding through her, and Byron's encouragement was the end of any self-restraint Arabella had. She moved quite quickly, shifting positions so that she had the Gangrel Prince of Paris between her thighs atop the chaise lounge. No concern was afforded to the silk of her dress as it was shoved up her thighs to accommodate such a position. Any softly uttered love words, any kittenish licking, had ceased. Gradually she changed to using the flat of her tongue, lapping greedily and then when that was no longer enough, she began to grow more insistent using her teeth and tongue to push deeper into the wound. She would get it open, tear it like a seam. Make it big enough to crawl inside and swim through through the darkness in his veins, the way he swam through hers.

[Byron Legard]

His head tipping back, Byron grinned. The longer Arabella drank from him, the more she let go of the pretenses that still tied her to the mortal world. Whatever airs the Kindred of the Camarilla liked to affect, the truth of their existence was brutally simple: they were beasts, concealed beneath thin cloaks of humanity. Why, then, in the privacy of each others company should they pretend to be anything other than their true selves? Every second that ticked by that Arabella’s mouth was locked to his bare chest, Byron imagined how it would feel to return the favour, to give in to his own desires, until… there was no denying it any longer.

With a restless growl and a buck of his hips, he was sat bolt upright on the couch. Arabella straddled his lap. The fingers he had minutes ago sifted lovingly through her hair tightened into a fist, pulling her head backwards to expose her neck. In the time it took for Arabella to gasp, perhaps in shock, pleasure, or both, Byron’s fangs buried into her neck and he groaned in pleasure at the first taste of her blood.

[Arabella Balfour]

Arabella was unclear precisely when it had happened, but her breathing had escalated from deep and ragged, to audible and obvious. She made note of it only as she caught the sound of her own rapid exhalations, each one increasing into a slightly higher moan than the last. The contrast between Byron's smooth, cold skin beneath her and her own igneous flesh was it's own delightful torment. She was coming undone fast. The only thing that could possibly have made her pleasure any greater would be..

A squeak escaped her as Byron snatched her up, burying his fangs in her throat. La petite mort, they called it. Those climactic moments that could be strong enough to overtake a person, on an almost spiritual level. They had no idea. Her legs locked around his hips. Her spine turned into clay beneath his touch, following the path of her neck backward in submission to whatever he chose to do to her in that moment. Pleasure ran like an electric current through her, buzzing through her bones, beginning at the place where Byron's fangs remained penetrating her skin. Her graceful fingers tangled into his hair, keeping him clutched to her throat, exactly where she wanted him.

She could not have said what words came spilling out from her in that moment. Promises that she would never again leave. That she would stay with him. Arabella meant every babbled word of it. She was done with being a ghoul. Done with having to alternate sources of blood just so that she didn't lose her mind and become dangerously obsessed with Byron. From where she stood, or sat as it were, she could not be more dangerously obsessed. It had been the promise of being reunited in heaven with her family that had always held her back, but having given it years of thought Arabella had come to a final realization. Her family had known her for twenty years of her mortal life. They had suggested, and allowed, her to ruin herself for their financial security and then cast her aside when they had been saved. Why the hell would she want to see them again? Her family was here with her. Byron. Gabrielle. The only family she required..

[Byron Legard]

Had he ever been this hungry? As a fledgling vampire, newly embraced, Byron had felt the desire to feed as a constant, maddening ache deep in his bones. Staggering from farm to farm, tearing the throats out of humans and animals alike, he’d known nothing but the need to find his next meal. Yet even now, in a position where he rarely wanted for blood, he was ravenous. It was as if he’d been drinking dirty water from the Seine for months, and now someone brought him the finest vintage in all of France.

The euphoria of what some Kindred called ‘the Kiss’ was such that Arabella would stay in Byron’s arms until he released her, even if that release was to her death. When Arabella’s hold on the back of his head began to weaken, he knew he had to stop. She would die if he did not stop. In a minute, just a minute more. Another minute of her trembling breaths, of her taste on his tongue, of the sublime rush of life and power -

With a gasp as if emerging from underwater, Byron tore himself away, teeth and chin smeared with blood.

[Arabella Balfour]

So weightless with euphoria was she, that Arabella would not have noticed had Byron drank every last bit of her up. She wouldn't have cared, in that moment in the least.

Feeling deliciously complaisant, she managed to realign her body, spine straightening gracefully once more, like a marionette being pulled upright. Her hands slid up Byron's chest curling around his neck, her thumbs stroking the column of his throat, just before she kissed him again bloody face and all. Wildness still pumped through her heart, it's beating had slowed considerably, but she did not mind. There was a strange contentment in being fed upon by Byron, a satisfaction in knowing that he wanted the taste of her.

[Byron Legard]

Awash with the heady rush of feeding, Byron sagged back against the couch with Arabella on top of him. Everywhere their bodies touched, his skin felt alive with overwhelming sensation. How much time had passed while they were consumed with and by each other? The sounds of conversation outside and the music in the rooms beneath them were gone now, leaving the hotel in silence.

With languid movements, Byron pulled the back of his hand across his blood-stained lips and licked what was left of Arabella’s blood from his fingers.

“What do you feel, ma louve?”

[Arabella Balfour]

What she felt was sated to her core, and yet as though she would never have enough of him. Slowly, one fingertip traced a serpentine path through the remaining trail of blood on Byron's chest, bringing the droplet to her tongue. From where she lay, curled against him Arabella glanced upward. A wolf was she? She grinned, yes that was her, Beauty and The Beast all rolled into one fancy package, she nipped him with her teeth to emphasize the point.

"Like I am precisely where I am meant to be.. home.", Bella answered honestly. "And I have a bothersome combination of pure lethargy, and also a desire to run off and do something crazy all at once. What do you suggest, my darling?"

[Byron Legard]

“Mm,” Byron smile, tipping his head back against the arm of the chaise lounge. The feeling that she had described was one he knew all too well. The afterglow of feeding, the sense of bone-deep satisfaction mingled with the explosive potential of expending all of that newly acquired vitality.

“We could take a walk around the city, howl from the top of the Notre Dame tower, or… go to Fountainbleu forest and you can show me how strong that Gangrel blood runs in your veins. Or something else entirely. You are my guest, Arabella. The choice is yours.”

[Arabella Balfour]

It was hard to bring to mind anything they could do that would be more satisfying than where Arabella found herself presently. There was no denying the facts as they were, that the ghoul in her was most intoxicated on his blood. Other kindred were capable of keeping her alive, prolonging her life, and her time with them had been pleasant enough, but only Byron made her feel like this. It was a singular phenominality that she had only ever found with him, which was precisely why it was so dangerous. Vitae being the source of her addiction, Byron Legard was without a doubt her drug of choice. Curled against him, she smiled besottedly, running her fingers through his unruly hair.

She loved him all the more for giving her a choice. It was not as if he had to. Enthralled as she was, had Byron suggested she jump into a volcano she'd have found it a clever way to get warm. The thought of going outside did sound appealing though. Arabella thought the feeling of the night air on her skin would be nice for a change, at the moment she was anything but cold. "Yes, let's take that walk. I have missed being home."

Home being wherever he was. She could find something crazy to do along the way, they had plenty of time.

[Byron Legard]

After a time, they managed to extract themselves from the chaise lounge and wandered down through the now deserted hotel. The few Kindred who remained were in the central courtyard, playing cards. They nodded to Byron as he passed, with one arm around Bella’s shoulders. From the hotel, it was a short walk along the narrow Rue de Fourcy to where the Pont Marie crossed the Seine. The bridge’s footpaths were almost empty, only a few scant shadows moving in the darkness.

Byron leant against the low, stone wall of the bridge, with the length of the river stretching out behind him, it’s dark water reflecting the light of the ornate lamp posts lining both banks.

“Where to? The city is yours.”

[Arabella Balfour]

Indeed it was not, it was his. Bella grinned anyway.

They might have been mistaken for any other pair of lovers, strolling about La Ville-Lumière, taking in the sights. All of which was a bit of a blur to Arabella presently. She rested easy with the knowledge that in time she would level out. For now though the only parts of the city that held any interest to her were whatever parts were important to him. If she listened carefully, she felt sure she would hear his name repeated in her heartbeat..

"Hmm, I do not know, mon coeur. Take me somewhere? Tell me a story I don't know?"

Close by, someone else drew her attention. Another couple, taking pictures. Laughing. Not doing anything unseemly, and yet.. "What do you think they would do if I suddenly chased after them?", she mused, partially considering it.