[hr][hr][center][h1][color=#00ccff]Nora Kingston[/color][/h1][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/d65982248d22a4a2f08d12283f865536/tumblr_inline_mm97tybye31qz4rgp.gif[/img][hr]Location: Garden City - Apartment 301 Maratos Building at No.6 Walda Pasha[/center][hr][hr]After Nora completed her perusal of the gossip surrounding a one Lord Captain, her eyes fell upon a strange journal mixed in with her post. Carefully picking the journal from the small pile, Nora frowned slightly as her eyes swept over the printed words. As a mathematician herself, Nora understood some of the scientific world, and its joy of awarding prizes. 

However, she failed to understand why anyone should care to notify her of them. The Nobel Prizes and Nora were born, so to speak, merely a year apart. But given that there were no awards for archaeology, her dear father never quite did rave about them. At his core, he was a man concerned with class and appearances--and an award that could be of no use to himself was thus meaningless. She ran her fingers over the names, mentally searching for some pattern that would suggest why it was of such import to have the journal delivered to her. Had the events of that evening not already been highly bizarre and irregular, Nora might have brushed it aside as an accident, as misdirected post. 

She then noticed the prize for literature, and rolled her eyes ever so slightly. It was a knee-jerk type reaction, caused by her hatred for her sister-in-law. Fannie considered herself to be an experimental writer--the very profession that Nora found to be of almost no merit. Still, the fact that she had been delivered the journal listing the winners of Nobel prizes must have been some clue, Nora concluded. And so, she painstakingly copied down the names within her own journal, as well as any notes as to any other peculiarities she could find. 

Perhaps these winners were involved in some fashion. Her eyes flickered back up towards the Nobel Prize for Literature, awarded to an Irishman. [i]For his always inspired poetry, which in a highly artistic form gives expression to the spirit of a whole nation[/i], it read. Nora frowned slightly. [color=00ccff]"An spiorad náisiún nua go deimhin ..."[/color]