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First names were most often used by childhood or school friends. If the friendship was made after school age, first names would only really be used by women. Men were far more likely to refer to their friends by their surnames, a mark of familiarity. — Documentation

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Emilia Wright for Jude Wright. Casually alienating offspring since 18882.
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D

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Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.


Separate Ways (Worlds Apart)
30th May, 1888 — Infirmary Staff Room
Miriam Trelawney
It was, to put it mildly, possibly the most embarrassing experience Temperance had ever endured and that was saying something after the debacle at May Day. She still didn’t want to think about that but at least no one knew about that. This time she had scratches and bites in places she didn’t even like to think about, there had been too many onlookers for the whole thing to simply go away, and the worst of it was that one of the onlookers had been Miriam Trelawney.

Who might be the smuggest person Temperance had ever met.

“Careful!” She gritted through her teeth as the girl prodded one of her wounds.
This was the best day of Miriam's life. She was containing her smile, because it really was a terrible thing that had happened, but it happened to Miss Temperance Fairchild, which made it slightly better. Slightly.

"I'm trying to get a handle on the problem," Meer said, quirking an eyebrow at her coworker, "Please do be patient."

She couldn’t say she had expected anything approaching a respectful tone from the young healer, but her obvious pleasure in the face of Temperance’s pain was intolerable. Why did her Samaritan have to be so ineffably smug?

“It seems I have no choice but to be a patient,” she gritted out through her teeth, wincing as a particularly long and deep scratch pulled and sent a shot of pain through her body.
Miriam was most concerned about the bites; gnomes were not especially clean creatures, and Miss Fairchild might be at risk of infection. She reached past her patient to grab a bottle of green paste. "The dittany should help," Meer said. She popped open the bottle and, with her fingers, began to smear the dittany onto Miss Fairchild's scratches.

Biting back the retort that she already knew that Temperance bit her lip as the scratches began to sting, highlighting to her for the first time quite how many of them there were. She tried to keep still but couldn’t help the growl of pain-tinged annoyance as she reached out to wrap her fingers around Miss Trelawney’s wrist.

“I think there are more on my back, you’ll have to help me…”

She didn’t exactly relish the thought but she could see little other alternative. She certainly did not want to wait for another healer - it would only make the mortification worse - and Miss Trelawney was unlikely to think worse of her for having to help her remove her dress. The girl had no respect either way.
MT had no particular desire to undress Miss Fairchild, but sometimes that was just the job. It would, also, be much worse for Miss Fairchild than it was for her.

"Alright," she said, mildly, and began to unceremoniously unlace the back of the woman's dress. "That really was a nasty creature."

“Takes one to know one,” she muttered back, lashing out at the other woman for want of anyone else to unleash her displease upon as her dress was stripped away and she had to physically restrain herself from wrapping her arms around exposed flesh. The cold air made her skin feel tighter, goose-pimples tautening the flesh and pulling the scratches anew: she hissed at the feeling and flinched away before she could stop herself from showing weakness.
Miriam rolled her eyes. She was terrible, and she knew it, but so was Temperance Fairchild, in a more insidious way. Meer felt for the children who lived with her - the quiet girl, and the Indian boy - and wondered what kind of adults Temperance would produce if she was this insufferable at work.

"You alright?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow, bottle of dittany in one hand. The scratches on Miss Fairchild's back were deep and expansive, and if she had not been so insufferable Meer would have felt terribly for her.

The dittany stung even more than she had anticipated and Temperance cried out, fingers gripping the sheets as the sharp pain flared through her body, making her toes curl in her boots as she felt it begin to work its magic. It wasn’t the healer’s fault, she knew that better than most, but she still felt the urge to lash out and may well have done if she could even comprehend the notion of twisting her back and pulling the slashes.

“Do I bloody look alright?” She snapped, before immediately flushing, biting her tongue, annoyed anew but this time she felt quite able to blame Miss Trelawney. Apparently her foul mouth was catching.
"No," Miriam snapped, "That would be why I asked." It was textbook inappropriate bedside behavior, but Miss Fairchild was textbook inappropriate patient, so Meer was happy to provoke her. With more care than her tone would have suggested, she began to spread the dittany over the wounds on Miss Fairchild's back.

Jerking forward at the sting Temperance felt tears come to the corner of her eyes. At least she was blessedly facing away from the other woman so they would not be shared. With any luck the dittany would do its work then they would never have to speak of this again – although she was would not put it past the girl to have rubbed salt in her wounds.

“Whoever suffers in the body is done with sin,” she muttered through gritted teeth, a response of sorts and a reminder that she had brought this upon herself.
"I don't know what that means," Meer said, which was true, because Freya had never much bothered with religion and neither had she. Dittany applied, she reached for the numbing agent and applied the salve to Miss Fairchild's scars.
Temperance rolled her eyes. Of course the wicked little tramp wouldn’t know what it meant. She wouldn’t know a bible verse, or the definition of godliness, if it smacked her in the face: an act Temperance would dearly love to enact if it weren’t for her ability to control herself.

She hissed as the last of the salve touched her skin and immediately began to work its magic. It was like tension being released – she hadn’t even realised how tautly she had been holding her body till it sagged a little in relief.

“Earthly pain brings us closer to the Lord,” she replied authoritatively.
"Hmph," Meer said. She wanted to argue, but did not know enough about the Bible to dispute it. She watched Miss Fairchild's skin knit itself back together. "I think we're done here," Miriam said flatly. Of course, now she would probably have to help Miss Fairchild redress. Great.

Thank the Lord for small mercies.

"Help me," she muttered immediately, being incapable of asking more directly, or in a manner than might have been considered polite. The salve was easing the pain and a dull ache was not nearly enough to distract her from the utter mortification of being half-dressed in front of the girl: being so vulnerable was also not an experience she had any desire to repeat.

Meer rolled her eyes, helped Miss Fairchild redress, and stalked out of the room to help someone hopefully less irritating.

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