Did you know?

Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune

— Submit your own —

"The Prodigal Sister" for Ophelia Devine. Faked deaths, scandal, and schemes!
Kristoffer was going to be great at this, because he was great at everything. Also his memory was greater than everyone else's, because he bet no one else had ever lost their virginity somewhere exotic like Morocco. Hell, he bet no one else had even lost their virginity. Inexperienced losers.

Kristoffer Lestrange in Shining, Shimmering Splendour

— Nominate a quote —
7 Deadly Sins

Complete seven threads, one where your character displays each of the Seven Deadly Sins — Pride, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Weath, Gluttony, and Greed. Each thread should be at least ten posts, with at least three being your own. Character accounts can be combined.


Not a Recluse
May 4th, 1888 - Salem Square, Irvingly at the Irvingly Market

Nimiane did not consider herself a recluse. Nor the fact that she enjoyed her solitude and the peace of her cottage did not make her a recluse. In his letters and his infrequent visits, however, Papa made if very clear he thought her as close to one as a person could get. He did not care of her writing career, nor her desire to remain by herself, and as such saw her as a pitiful creature who could not stand society. His society, perhaps, but not that of her surroundings.

It was shortly after one such visit when Nimiane determined she would prove him wrong. Perhaps she did not venture into the small village as frequently as he thought she ought to, but she did venture out from time to time - when she wasn’t caught up in her work, that is. Today, though, today she’d remind him of her perfectly acceptable social skills. Not that he was around to see. He could be with his magic, she supposed, never really having grasped what could be obtained by magic and what couldn’t be, but she felt certain she would know if he were watching.

Setting out at an acceptable hour of the morning Nimiane made her way down the path toward the town square. The market was today and living mainly on her own Nimiane rather enjoyed looking over the wares. The sun was out this morning and the rain appeared to have agreed to give the market time with the sun, a gentle breeze tickled her shawl and she had opted for a bonnet instead of her parasol. She’d discovered in the past few years that with her place in life some rules could be bent. Tilting her face to the sun, Nimiane smiled, enjoying the peace of her pathway.

The closer Nimiane got to the Salem Square the more noise there was, the bustle of a time coming alive. With the precise and graceful steps that Nimiane had long since been trained in, she glided into the square, stopping at stalls to pursue their goods. The smell of fresh baked bread drew her to a baker’s small stand. In front of her all manner of goods lay out still as warm as if they had just left the oven. She purchased a loaf and several rolls for later and a muffin to nimble on as she walked. The staff would like the treat, she felt certain as the goods were wrapped in paper and handed to Maggie who trailed dutifully behind her.

Content with the outing Nimiane turned to head back home when she turned right into another person. “Oh! I do apologize. I should have been more careful!” Nimiane’s quiet voice began to effusively apologize as she noticed that her muffin had dropped to the ground in the chaos. A shame, she’d really been enjoying the honey and blueberry treat.
Nimiane Bellchant :

Gregory did not often come to Irvingly, and indeed if his soon-to-be unemployed stableboy hadn’t been careless in watering the horses (of course they were of magical stock, which arguably made the oversight worse) he wouldn’t have had to visit for another month or so. As with all setbacks in his life he considered the misfortune with a stiff upper lip; privately, however, he was rather alright with it, all things considered. It wasn’t that he suddenly longed for small-town life, or that he wanted to mingle with the muggles (who he considered, with the exception of the mapmakers, with something almost like bemusement); it was that he was able to gain a rare respite from his darling wife that was, for once, not ‘his fault’.

At the moment, however, with his chest aching from a sudden impact and the familiar woman that had caused it (if she was a man, the unconcerned part of him thought to himself, he might have actually tottered), all he wanted to do was apparate home before someone of actual importance saw the scene…or he had to spend time with Phoebe’s cousin.

“It…is, oh, quite alright, Miss Bellchant. Were you, uh, harmed in any–any way?” He looked down at the half-eaten pastry sitting sadly on the ground, unable to help remarking on it. “Certainly…your biscuit–I mean muffin–muffin, of course–is not in, well, the best condition.”
Gregory Yaxley was one of the last people Nimiane had expected to cross paths with today. Her cousins' husband had never seemed especially humorous of Nimiane's place in the family. Although to be honest that was rather a common theme. While they tolerated her little it had done a lot to keep them from attempting to throw her to the wolves of eligible young men who would really never be interested in her. Some part of Nimiane was rather surprised that her father, like her cousin Phoebe's parents, hadn't arranged a marriage for her before the age when anyone might have noticed her peculiarities.

Stepping back to a polite distance Nimaine looked up at the gentleman. "No, no, I am quite alright. Yourself?" She wasn't one to judge on peculiarities, but Gregory had never seemed very assure of himself. Stumbling over words and seeming as if he were only half there. "No. I think it's taken a turn for the worse." She admitted, glancing at the poor muffin on the ground.
“My breath is...returning, uh, to me quickly enough, do not...worry.” Through his usual monotone, slurred voice, one might have noticed a nugget of wryness buried deep in the tone. “I do not—I do not think, meanwhile, that, well, any sign of life will return to that, err, particular...particular pastry.” He paused for a moment afterwards, apparently thinking of saying more (an impromptu eulogy, perhaps?)

“I could—I could purchase you, well, another, if you wish.”

Forum Jump:

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)