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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.


Not the Norm
September 28th, 1888 - Swallowbury District, Bellchant Cottage
Shawn was giddy. And nervous. Two things that Shawn Delaney, merchant and ship captain, was not. He was not the type of man to go about gallivanting on some sort of whim. Travelling to Scotland in search of a long lost love was about as spontaneous as the man got. But this, well this was an entirely different story.

He didn't even know Miss Bellchant but he felt as if he knew her very soul. There was a longing felt for the woman he wasn't sure he'd ever even seen. And, of course, Caro had latched onto the sudden and abrupt change in her brother without giving it much thought. She'd helped him, found out whatever bits of information she could about the woman. Surprisingly enough, the squib spinster met Caro's mark of approval. Not that he much cared for such a thing. He was a grown man after all. That, however, hadn't stopped him from dressing in the nicest day suit he owned, had his sister help him decide on a matching tie and even kerchief of a pale robin's egg blue that she claimed brought out the color of his eyes, and then had her help him decide on a bouquet from a local flower merchant not far from their townhouse.

It was with said bouquet, a mix of varying colors of daisies in bright and vibrant colors along with a few pure white sprigs of gardenia, that he stood in front of a quaint little cottage. He wasn't entirely sure the meanings behind the flowers but the impish grin he'd gotten from his sister before he'd been on his way was enough for him to know they were a good pick. With a deep breath, readying himself for the inevitable, he raised his hand and knocked on the cottage door.

He didn't have to stand there long before the door was answered and he was ushered in by a pretty little maid of color. He was fairly certain she gave him a good and stern looking over, her tone even a bit curt as she saw him into a sitting room to await her lady. She left with a pointed look at him, causing him to raise a brow and wonder just who the young maid was and why she felt the need to look at him in such a way.

He heard the door click with her departure though and soon he found himself meandering to a large window within the room to look out at it. He fidgeted slightly, another not Shawn like thing to do, as he awaited the arrival of the woman who had managed to ensnare his brittle heart with just a poem.

Help me, it's like the walls are caving in
Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I just can't
it isnt in my blood
Coding thanks to Lynn!
Miss Nimiane Bellchant was not the type of lady to get carried away with anything, she left that to her characters that danced from her pen. She sincerely doubted that she would ever love or ever be loved and past events had proved this. Even inisting to her father that any marriage chances were hopeless and begging to retire from the social scene. Yet, Nimiane found herself in a place she had prided herself of never being in that of being besotted by a gentleman. Worse yet, a gentleman she had never even met. One letter and she felt as if she knew him and yet, did he truly know her? She trembled to think upon it.

One letter had turned to two and before Nimiane quite understood her actions herself, there was a flurry of activity in the cottage that never expected guests. Marli was left in utter befuddlement of her mistress’s actions. It was a Friday and most guests were announced long before the time of their appearance. There was also the fact that Nimmie never fussed over her appearance and now felt her dresses, indeed even her very disposition, was not pleasing enough. She shouldn’t care, Nimiane knew this, knew that no matter her appearance when he found out the truth (for surely he could not know if he had still written with such adoration) he would be gone. But still she had to resist from fussing. She had never truly cared for such things in any case. Well he’d be gone as soon as he came, if he arrived at all, she finally calmed herself, might as well show herself as she was. Marli dressed her hair simply as she might if she were attending a family tea and Nimmie settled on a simple pale blue, almost white, dress that she had always loved for the ethereal presence she felt it gave her.

Unsure of what to do while she waited she settled herself at the writing desk in her room in hopes of writing, only to grow frustrated the moment she poised quill over paper as her thoughts scattered to wondering what this Mr. Delaney was like. She imagined him tall and dark, like a prince in a story. His words made her think of him as young, but perhaps not quite handsome. No, she shouldn’t think of this, it would drag her to agony. She’d focus on her stories. But again the words slipped from her.

Downstairs the door opened and she could hear someone being let in. Hastily she jumped up, knocking papers and quills and ink from their places and smudging her hands and a bit of lace of the dress on one side. She hardly even noticed though as she rushed from her room. Marli was on her way to gather her mistress for the stranger, Nimiane was beside herself so much she didn’t even notice the look that Marli gave her. Instead she looked at her maid hopefully, she so wished not to be let down. She felt that if she knew anything at all that this would be the man who wouldn't let her down. She’d felt that way since his letter had arrived this morning. But even that didn’t keep the doubts from her thoughts.

At the top of the steps Nimiane attempted to compose herself. Feeling as giddy as her eighteen year old self the first time a gentleman had come calling Nimiane stepped carefully down the stairs to keep from rushing. Ladies never rushed, her mother had always told her. It felt as if it took forever but Nimiane finally arrived at the threshold of the parlor, opening the door quietly as if to contain the magic of the moment before she was disappointed.

The parlor was well lit as it always was in the afternoon, one of the reasons it was her favorite place to write, but a gentleman stood by the window. He was tall and dark as she had thought, and .. had he brought flowers? “Hello.” Nimiane’s gentle voice held little hint of the knots her stomach had tied itself into, serene despite the storm. Contining to hover in the doorway she could feel hope creep into her tone as her lips caressed his name, “Mister Delaney?
Shawn had been lost in thought, wondering how he'd managed to come to such a point in his life. He'd long pined after his lost love, felt his heart shatter into a million pieces upon hearing she'd married, and had grown quite content in the thought of being nothing more than a bachelor sailor that spent more time on the sea than not. He'd pretty much decided that would be his lot in life. He'd grown okay with that despite Caro's pestering. And then the poem had shown up.

His heart had swelled and he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, he could have a second chance at love. He hadn't expected such a response from her, certainly hadn't expected to be sent her address so that he could come and see her. But there he was, standing in her sitting room and staring out the window at the world outside. His reverie was interrupted by the sound of what he could only describe as heavenly.

He turned slowly, his stormy blue grey eyes settled on her. She was older than the young debutantes he was constantly stuck around but that suited him rather well. But despite that, she was a rather glorious woman. Pale skin with dark hair that stood out in a stark contrast. The faint blue of her dress nearly matched what he'd opted for to adorn his own suit. He smiled at her, straight white teeth standing out against the dark hair of his beard. He preferred to always have a full beard but made a point to keep it trim and neat. One look at him and no one would suspect he preferred a life at sea. He was clean cut and certainly struck an impressive figure.

Nodding simply in regards to the question of his name, he took a step forward and held the bouquet of flowers he'd brought out to her. "I came as soon as I was able," he said, voice deep and a bit gravelly with his American accent, "I brought you these, Miss Bellchant."

Help me, it's like the walls are caving in
Sometimes I feel like giving up, but I just can't
it isnt in my blood
Coding thanks to Lynn!
The gentleman who turned was not only tall and dark, but handsome. His blue suit brought out his blue eyes and she rather liked the beard. Not many fashionable men wore beards. But surely, the fact that he was pleasing to the eye indicated this was all a trick. Something bound to go terribly astray when he found out the truth of her.

What she had not expected was the accent. Clearly not a British gentleman, she would hazard a guess that perhaps he came from America, but she had met few of them in her social circle over the years. But the cataloging of thoughts and ideas that she started when she met someone knew came to a halt when he handed her flowers. “Oh!” Surprised, she accepted the flowers taking them in. Her mother had passed along the knowledge of what flowers meant. Despite their meanings Nimiane had loved flowers enough that she had even endeavored to dabble in gardening enough to plant a few beds of flowers behind the cottage. The bright daisies smiled at her cheerfully indicating sincerity and cheerfulness, while springs of gardenias peeked at her speaking of love and purity. They were also one of her favorites. Smiling, Nimiane lifted them to her nose to inhale the lovely sense. “They are beautiful.” She told him sincerely, lifting her eyes from the bouquet, “Thank you.” Whether he knew their meanings or simply thought them pretty she couldn’t mistake the gesture, warmth spread through her at such kindness.

Please, sit.” She indicated the couch beside them before Marli returned with the tea. “Marlene, could you find these some water?” She asked before she impulsively took the seat next to the gentleman. This could be some trick but how could it when he made such gestures and his words caressed her very soul? Whatever the situation she felt a tug to be as near to him as possible and served him tea from beside him rather than the proper spot of across from him. Surely he wouldn’t mind. “How do you take your tea?” She asked, gentle voice almost nervous that she did not know. How could one feel as if they knew someone’s soul but not what they preferred to drink. Did Americans even drink tea? She fretted.

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