[color=598527]Margarita said little in response to her chauffeur during the drive to her new residence, which she so dreaded spending time in a close space with Kindred she'd no previous interest in. The wink from the Tzimisce curdled her innards, giving her a singing sourness across her skin. At the mention of the other driver, Margarita grumbled softly, [b][color=aba000]"Let us not be so hasty in our assumptions about one's brainpower."[/color][/b] Her snide remark was obviously done for jest, as her own prejudice was just as hasty as her cohort's. She watched the lights zip by, and buildings tower above their metal machination's viewports. With the sudden burst of speed, Margarita clutched at the interior of the car. Her devilish nails made slight cuts in the armrest, which she shyly placed her hand over to hide the damage. Suddenly, her neck was nearly ripped out of socket as the pair swung into an ally and veered to stop.[color=aba000][b]"One piece is a relative phrase. I do believe I left part of my sanity at the waterfront, before being  flung around by your caterwauling vehicle. No offense to you or your precious carriage here, but I do prefer my own feet to carry me."[/b][/color] Her face was hard and annoyed before softening to an apologetic half-smile, which hopefully calmed any qualms the Kindred might have about her complaining. She wished little to upset something that would love to break every bone in her body for nefarious experimentation. 

Margarita followed the gang into the home, and chose to keep slight distance from the Coterie lest she upset them with her stench or being. Not that she smelled. She didn't think so. Perhaps her nose wasn't up to [s]sniff[/s] snuff anymore? Before long, her daydreaming was cut short by the blisteringly pristine apartment. [color=aba000][b][i]How does she keep it this clean?[/i][/b][/color] Was all that was running through Margarita's thoughts as the Tzimisce welcomed them to her [s][/s]asylum-themed apartment. As she walked on the carpet, she couldn't help but feel as if she were sullying every centimeter that she came into contact with. This led her to stand quite awkwardly next to the entrance, a few steps away. She curled her shawl around herself, and stood with a high back--looking down her nose, or up for the taller Kindred, at her fellows. It's what she was taught to do those many centuries ago, when faced with awkward adversity. Her misty eyes flicked from piece to piece around the room, laying wantingly for a few short moments on the luxurious couch that begged her to lay on it and kick her tired feet up. She hungered for the couch so badly that she thought she might've been salivating.[/color]