[@gravity22] 

[i]Dinner plans were changed, wonderful. Probably someone had a food allergy or just the new girl being a snob.[/i] Roberto didn't really care which it was. He continued to tread the ground's perimeter, barefoot. His shoes sat on the porch where he'd left them after the first circuit. He liked the feel of the earth beneath his toes. That was his heritage, at least on his sire'd side. He didn't know much about his mother's side, whoever she was, she hadn't wanted him any more than his dad had. But she was different, he could do things his "family" couldn't. They didn't like that, which made it a point of pride for Bob, anything they hated he'd come to cherish in some form or fashion, if only to spite his elders. [i]If they think I owe them anything, they're wrong, and if they want me dead, see if I care, it's not like I have a life anyway. My only real joy any more is pissing them off. What would piss them off most here? I could burn the cottage... They'd just have another one built, to insignificant. Osik... Do I really have to do this? Well, it's not like I'm going to just find an army standing around waiting for orders. I may as well make the most of what I can here. One thing I will not do is emulate my sire, I will thwart him in particular at every chance I get.[/i] 

That decided, Roberto checked his watch, and figured he had time to left to write a short postcard to the ever doting Mumsy. What possessed her to love him, Bob never could figure out, but she did, and she was the only one who ever had or ever would as far as he could tell. He grabbed his shoes and slipped in the back door, pulling out a post card and pen, he dashed off a few short lines, that weren't wrong, but didn't really say anything either. The cottage was nice, he had a room to himself, his window had a nice view, the others seemed like nice campers, etc. He put a stamp on it, and addressed it, before sticking it in his back pocket. He'd put it in the mail bin on his way to dinner in about five minutes. He checked his bag, grabbed a pair sandals, and slipped them on. He'd unpack the rest later. He stepped outside, and made his way to the dining room, dropping off his postcard on the way. He fully expected the mail would be censored, which would be amusing, since he never told Mumsy anything anyway. Bob knew if told her the truth she would just get herself killed trying to stand up for him and then he really would be alone in the world. So he didn't, he played nice and wore a thick mask, it'd come in real handy for the next few weeks. Bob stepped into the dining room at 1753, (5:53pm) and found a wall to lean against while waiting for further instructions. He noticed he couldn't smell dinner... that was odd.