Did you know?

The Language of the Flowers was a popular method to express feelings where words might be improper, but did you know other means of doing so? Some ladies used their parasols, as well as their fans, gloves, and hankies to flirt with a gentleman (or alternatively, tell them to shove it!). — Bree

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Ester Montgomery for Thomas Montgomery. The one that got away (with the pornographer...)
This boy, then. He wasn't new. Wasn't one of the worst people in the common room, those rotten rich boys - like Mr. Jailkeeper - who could not fathom a world beyond their own farts. Was a good working class lad, so he'd heard. Had a bit of a weird looking face, and a bit of a weird thing for preaching. Still.

Aubrey Davis in The Under-Sofa

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Post at least once with the same character every day for a month.


(Need A Little Help)
Sometimes quick sand has a massive appeal to me
I want to be somewhere else

1st May, 1888 — Diagon Alley, May Day Event
Tilda MacFusty
This was his sort of celebration, he'd thought. A relaxed affair, outdoors - Diagon Alley, what could go wrong? Rue had come with her whole family, and there were plenty of things for the kids to do; meanwhile, Tony would be just as pleased about the politics.

Elias wasn't hard to please, himself, and cheap food and booze and good company were a more-than-adequate mix. Nothing had gone terribly wrong, either: he'd managed to avoid knocking over the grand maypole at one end of the street; had dodged most of the flowers being tossed about; hadn't bumped into anyone, spilled anything, or lost a limb. A success all round, then.

In hindsight, he should have known it was too good to be true. Dusk had just about fallen, and the festivities kicked up a notch, with fireworks soon promising, the crowning of the May Queen to come, and magical fire dancers whirling up and down the street before the crowd. Elias was just meditating on how talented they were, when a small ball of flames shot off from the nearest dancer's fire circle, and caught onto his jacket. Elias' eyes widened in shock. Though a rational part of his brain supposed they were probably magical flames, and thus perfectly harmless, he was also not particularly inclined to take that risk and watch as they licked up his arm and devoured his jacket. In - slight - panic, he started patting out the fire with the first thing he had to hand - a pamphlet on the 8-hour-work day - which was perhaps not the most helpful thing to stamp out flames.

He never did get the chance to determine whether he could actually feel the fire burning or not, since he had stumbled backwards in sheer surprise, and one thing led to another. A misplaced foot, a loose cobble in the street, his balance lost: the next thing Elias knew - with a quiet yelp as it happened - he had toppled backwards into a shallow fountain. His head only barely missed the other stony edge of it, but he was otherwise soaked from head to toe, and the force of his fall had sent water spraying out across the people nearest him in a freezing deluge.


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   Tilda MacFusty

1st May, 1888 — Diagon Alley
Ahhhh, May Day! What a liberating day! Tilda quickly navigated the streets of the May Day Festival hardly knowing which attraction to pay attention to. With Bella resting at her place, Tilda managed to drag her chaperone along and take a quick trip to London to pick up some more herbs for extra sleeping draughts. She brushed past a person who shoved a pamphlet in her hand - something about the 8 hour work day - and she briefly glanced at it before stuffing it in her cloak pocket to read for later. Bright colored ribbons were flouncing through the air and flower petals were being showered about the streets.

Looking up, the witch held out her hand as if to catch rainfall, though instead of catching water, she caught a few flower petals in her hand. In addition to flower petals, people were tossing about flower crowns. There seemed to be plenty to spare, so Tilda scanned the skies for one that suited her fancy. Beaming, she caught one and placed it on her head; purple delphinium and yellow-orange chrysanthemum scattered various petals in her hair as she made her way further into the crowd.

All of a sudden, a flash of orange caught her eye and she changed courses, intrigued by the spectacle that was happening in front of her; a young man had attracted one of the flames flickering about one of the fire dancer's circles. No doubt they were harmless flames, but it seemed to Tilda that for the man, panic seemed to have set in before logic could. One thing led to another and he was benched by the fountain's edge and sent toppling over. Tilda, not knowing whether to laugh or gasp, ended up emitting a sound that landed somewhere in-between, and hurried forward. Some of the residual splashes ended up watering her face in a surprisingly freezing shower.

She couldn't help but laugh as she peered over the edge at the now soaking wet figure in the fountain's pool. "I'm so sorry," she said, attempting to hide a chortle. She couldn't tell if the apology was about her laughing or about the initial fall and proceeding dunking. In any case, she reached out a hand to offer him help out of the predicament. "Are you alright, sir?"

[Image: xdMLee.jpg]
He wasn't sure whether it was the water's temperature or the sheer shock that had dazed him most, but it was a moment before he dragged his head and shoulders out of the water, droplets continuing to stream down into his eyes from his sopping hair. With the back of his hand, he brushed some of the fountain water away, and then managed to focus on the figure leaning over the edge of the fountain, looking at him.

And laughing too, which Elias did not much begrudge, though she had apologised anyway. Elias gave a slight snort to admit that he didn't blame her, and started leaning upwards to take her proffered hand before he paused and reconsidered.

He was alright; bumps and bruises were not, he was ashamed to admit, a new sensation, even if falling in a fountain was. (And it was a much more embarrassing excuse, too.) "I'm - fine, thank you," he admitted ruefully, his hand instead moving to push his hair out of his face, "but maybe I'll just lie here for a minute." He was grinning, slightly, but also not entirely joking. Between the panic about catching fire, the loud splash and the louder thud, Elias wasn't quite certain he'd mustered the will to continue on as if nothing had happened, even if he was lucky enough to now possess a young lady knight-in-shining-armour. "Sorry for splashing you," he said, his hands venturing to the base of the fountain pool to prop himself there, reclining as much as he could without entirely immersing himself again. "Do you suppose anyone else saw that?" Elias inquired, though he wasn't holding out enough hope to truly mind about the answer.

1st May, 1888 — Diagon Alley
Though the man grasped her hand, Tilda could see the hesitation. He looked like he wanted to stay there, and frankly Tilda couldn't blame him - he was quite soaked through. Were she in his position, she would definitely had just apparated home to change. She held back a laugh again. "Trust me, I've been splashed by worse!" she said, referring to the shower of fire that some of the more temperamental female dragons exhibit when they're in heat. "I don't believe too many people saw you," she said unconvincingly, glancing around at the obvious crowd they'd drawn. "Perhaps only those who got sprayed?"

She made a slight shooing motion with her free hand at the crowd. Nothing to see here, there were animals with multiple heads that had gotten less stares than they had. Of course animals with multiple heads were rather common in the Wizarding World, so Tilda's logic wasn't exactly airtight.

"You know, I'd love to comply with your request, but do you really think this might be the best weather to be lounging around in?" she pointed out, glancing to the sky - the sun was just about setting and despite the warm crowd, there was a nice cool breeze blowing about the street. Not waiting for an answer, Tilda grasped his hand again and heaved. She'd restrained enough dragons; helping a man up shouldn't be too hard, should it?

Elias Grimstone
Your call as to if Tilda is strong enough or if it's her turn to be dunked ;)

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Elias was intrigued about what she could possibly have been splashed with that classified as worse - what else people got splashed with at all, on a day to day basis - but he didn't get the chance to ask, as she glanced around the place and started shooing people off.  

A laugh bubbled up, at that. In honesty, Elias was sure he had suffered plenty of indignities worse than this fountain dip; he just wasn't sure how much energy he had to recover from it, straightaway. If only he'd gotten more drunk by this point - he'd have an excuse for having fallen in, and potentially even an excuse to pass out here.

The girl was probably right, though. "Oh, I don't know -" Elias began, though he could already feel the chill settling in through his sodden clothes, but without further warning, she'd already started pulling on his hand. Although he hadn't been prepared for it, he had no intention of being a useless lump, so started trying to scramble to his feet at the same time. He'd gotten his weight back onto his feet, and pulled himself up out of the water almost to a standing position with the redhead's assistance... however the base of the fountain was more slippery than he'd thought, and as Elias moved to step over the edge, he fell backwards again, this time pulling the girl in with him.

She eventually turned out to be wrong in her previous assumption.

Tilda was just thinking about what drying spell to use (in addition to what food she wanted to get for lunch) when she felt him pull against her arm. When pulling someone up, it was natural for some pull back, however Tilda didn’t expect so much. It happened within the span of a few seconds.

She heaved with all her might. Not a second later, Tilda took in the sudden surprised expression on the man’s face that told her something had gone wrong.  He went falling backwards. With the grip on his hand so tight, Tilda found herself following suit and she pitched forward with a startled shriek.

The fountain was ice cold. Tilda herself swallowed a generous amount of the water and nearly gagged over the brackish taste that it left. She emerged, sputtering and coughing as she struggled to get some air. She also realized that she was straight on top of the man she’d just tried to help. Her hair was hanging down in thick red ropes as it dripped onto his face. Her own expression was mortified and she turned almost as red as her hair as she gave another startled squeak.

"I'm so sorry!" she gasped, attempting to brush her hair out of her face and scramble off of him at the same time. The result was even more splashing. Ooohhhh what a mess she must look! Tilda blinked rapidly in an attempt to get water out of her eyes. "Are...are you alright?" she asked again, in the same mortified tone.

[Image: xdMLee.jpg]

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