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 ( Submit your own)
Featured Adoptable

Questionable Friend/Crush for Philip Aymslowe.
When your mum thinks you're gay for your best friend (but you probably are)
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
— Nominate a quote —
Featured Stamp
Post 3+ times in three or more class threads during the course of a school year. Must all be done with the same character, be they a professor, student, or school portrait or ghost!

Trying Times of B. Scrimgeour
Read Only 

Post Log
— 22 June, 1887 —
After experiencing the "season" for less than a month, I can confess that I am perplexed by my mother's eagerness to see me debut. She of all people should have known that I, especially standing next to Araminta as a direct comparison, would prove an undesirable match for any gentleman of good fortune.

I have decided to make an attempt with as much delicacy as I can muster to speak with my mother on the topic. I cannot for any reason make it appear that I am giving up, but I must let her know that any attempts to marry me off in my current situation are futile.

Post Log
— 28 June, 1887 —
For some reason, Mother decided that the best option is to send me to live with my Aunt Laverna for the remainder of the season. I didn't even know I had an Aunt Laverna. Apparent she is a widow with a daughter my age, Lucille Flint. The name is a familiar one, but I can't say that I ever got to know the girl; I thought the only Flint I was related to was Stephen Flint and his elder sister.

I was surprised that father was quick to release his tight hold on me, but I doubt even being on the other side of the isle will be enough to stop his constant inquisition into my doings. Mother says he'll still be providing most of my funds, which always comes with a caveat: constantly scrutiny. I leave tomorrow morning.

Wish me luck.

Post Log
— 29 June, 1887 —
Well, all I can say is that I do prefer the country to the bustling life of Hogsmeade. Aunt Laverna's lives in Dorset (about as south as anyone can get!), and her home, while undoubtedly old, has a certain charm to it that's kept me curious as I've settled in.

Aunt Laverna is far kinder than I've expected. She doesn't wear the same expression of skepticism on her face that mother does when speaking to me, and is almost a decade younger than her, too. I will reserve judgment for now, though; I've learned the dangers of allowing one's hopes to get too high.

Post Log
— 03 July, 1887 —
Judgment has been passed, and I have swiftly come to the conclusion that Aunt Laverna is a far better version than my own mother. Because of her, I now have a position as an intern at St. Mungo's; who would have ever thought that the wife widow of a Flint would allow such a thing? Miss Flint (or Lucy as I am permitted to call her, as she is my cousin) is sweet, albeit a little silly. At least she seems to lack the prejudices of her paternal side.

The hospital is just as nice as I could have imagined. Healer Fletcher Langley, Assistant Head of the Potion and Plant Poisoning department has assigned us "mentors" to handle our training, though I do imagine I'll be seeing him more. It's startling how attractive many of the male healers are—even the mediwizards!

I have reacquainted myself with Mr. Gladstone, and he no less charming than before. I can't help but feel a wee nervous around him; I assume it's the anxiety from the Coming Out Ball returning to the front of my mind. There's not as many women healers around as I would've hoped, but I'm sure my male coworkers won't be any less pleasant. They are healers after all, and healers are known for their gentleness and kind hearts.

Post Log
— 18 July, 1887 —
I don't think I've spent so much time on my feet since I was a small child! After beginning to fall asleep after four hours of work time, I can't help but question my ability to succeed at the work I'm longed to do. I'm more afraid of being fired; I'd much rather admit to defeat on my own than being told that I'm incapable of doing my dream job.

Post Log
[time-skip because honestly I will never do this if I'm stuck one year in the past]

— 16 April, 1888 —
Reasons April has been absolutely awful:
  • I've been slandered in every issue of Witch Weekly to come out this month. That would be awful enough, if not for the fact that:
  • Mr. Langley apparently thought I was in love with him. While that in itself is not too awful, not I'm concerned other people (or more specifically, another person) might have the same, completely accurate suspicions.
  • Father decided to contact me, and through letter, regarding last month's rumors. I may have done things to spite him, but luckily he's not aware of that yet.
  • I ran off to Ireland with Reuben Crouch. Things happened.

  • Post Log

    Forum Jump:

    Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)