"Hmph. That's rich, you're gonna lecture [i]me[/i] about being from 'the reaches'? You're so far out in the middle of nowhere I had to get lost to find you! Do you have the slightest idea who you're talking to? I'm, hahaha, I'm..."

She wants to throw her head back and laugh until this entire joke of an office cracks in half under the weight of her ego. Her throat itches with want to spill titles, accomplishments, and especially lineage like venom to melt this pathetic, pretentious ass into sludge. Her muscles twitch as though about to lift her off the couch with such grandeur that it'd send mortal creatures sprawling to their knees to worship her like a queen. She'll roll forward and rise to her full height, she'll stretch with such luxury they'll pay her triple just to keep looking at her, please, please, Your Highness, I!

But her neck tips slowly toward the table, instead. She sits forward, but only to lean and hunch forward with her elbows on her thighs. Her eye flicks across the pamphlets, full of words and pictures and ideas she doesn't know. They smile at her. Of course they're smiling at her. She shoots a nervous look behind her, expecting to see Him sitting in the corner in a lotus stance with his horrible and infinite smile. Her only company forever. But there's nothing. This room is just a room. What makes it amazing is that it's someone [i]else's[/i] room. 

Bella does not laugh. She does not boast or stand or prove the majesty that took dozens of generations of careful breeding to produce. She doesn't turn her claws or her regalia or her Auspex on this stupid, hapless rube. Where did any of that get her, anyway? Here. So deep inside the the backwards half of reality that they stopped measuring themselves by their distance from Tellus... from home. In someone else's trashy, fake, scam of a room.

She sighs, and shakes her head.

"...Trēdecima. That's who I am. My actual name. Never mind the rest. You wouldn't understand it anyway."

Her heart twists itself into knots inside of her chest. She squeezes her claws into her palms and snorts in shock when some instinct that shouldn't be inside of her stops her before she can break the skin. So much pressure. No release. She needs to vent, she needs to get it out, she needs to tear something into little pieces!

"Your coins are stupid," she says haughtily, "They're meant as passage for the Ferryman for a reason. With eighteen hundred of them I'd barely be able to move around. And these are how you get food?! Stupid. Insulting. Stupid. Is it all like the trash you left sitting out? Nobody would pay for that, not even with favors. Your plan is stupid, too. The Order of Hermes will just shrug and say it's a shame it didn't finish me, after everything else. And if Her Imperial Majesty hears that I let--!"

Bella goes silent. Her eye stares with hollow, ravenous emptiness at the pamphlets in front of her. But for the slight flaring of her nostrils, she barely seems to breathe. When she finds her voice again, it's hollow too.

"...If it's supposed to take a week before I can fend for myself, then what the fuck did you expect me to do in the meantime? I just finished flushing the chlorophyll from my system, I am [i]not[/i] turning green again just to help your fat ass out."