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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)
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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
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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!

Same Shit, Different Day
January 2nd, 1889 - ABC
@Marmaduke Warbeck

Eileen was exhausted. She was tired of dealing with drunk idiots left over from New Year's celebrations, tired of work and the emotional upheaval of continually talking Tala off the edge. She was not meant for this. She did it and she was good at it, she was best friends and lived with Kieran after all, but she was spent.

They also had no food at their place- and if she ate at the Cauldron one more time this week, she was going to die; dramatically enough to make it an inconvenience to everybody around her. The fatigue was making her melodramatic, but she was at the end of her rope. Had she been thinking she would have gone to bother Betsy at the bakery, but her feet naturally carried her to the cafe. Oh well. She could bust Ray's stones, get a drink and a hot meal and then go home and sleep for the next two days she had off.

Taking a seat at the bar while glancing around the room for familiar faces, Leeny ordered a whiskey and some stew. Now that she was sitting, the exhaustion was really creeping up the back of her neck. Once her drink was poured, she took an appreciative swig and then it her head right down on the bar to wait for her food.

“And they will talk the talk
like a barstool prophet.”
Marmaduke would sleep when he was dead, and he was well near approaching that. The New Year only came around, well, annually, and who was he to turn down the festivities?

A more intelligent man (or woman) than he might have the answer, for this day found him sporting a hangover near momentous as the turn of the year itself.

Tala had only come up seven or so times in the drunken revelry of the night before, and he was not entirely fairly certain even well into his cups that he had kept commentary to himself!

He was just coming round the corner when he heard a familiar voice ordering whiskey and a stew.

“Make that two stews!” he put in, taking a seat next to her.

Look. If Leeny was going to order whiskey while the population at large was still hung up about women dueling, he was not about to pick this fight on an empty, drunken stomach.

His brain was still soaked in enough alcohol for, say, the upcoming year. Better known as ‘next week’.

He glanced to Eileen’s hand to make certain no new strange engagements had transpired, then tapped the bar gently next to her in attempt to rouse her.

“Eileen, Eileen. You can sleep when you’re dead.”
Duke had an annoyingly cheerful voice. Leeny wondered if he knew that. She bristled when she heard him order dinner on the coattails of her own meal request and knew it was indicative of him sitting down

Yep there it was.

"Duke, Duke. You can fuck off now." She echoed his comment and flipped him the bird from her head-down position. Was he drunk? He sounded a little drunk. Fuck that noise. If he was staying, he had to be quiet. Normally she didn't mind, but she was too tied for his nonsense today.

“And they will talk the talk
like a barstool prophet.”
If Duke knew that, he certainly did not seem bothered. With that same, unperturbed drunk smile he looked to her. Was that barstool sliding back screeching unusually loud? If it was, that too seemed beneath Duke’s notice.

“I can fuck off when I am dead,” he amiably countered with a nod emphasizing his last word. “Survived the New Year, I see. Nothing new to take to the grave?”

He had never been the most gifted at catching hints.
Eileen groaned and lifted her head just enough to look at Duke with what she hoped was a somewhat intimidating glare; hard for somebody who was only a little only four and a half feet tall, but still. "I can arrange that." She growled. "I worked last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, so I didn't exactly get to party like everyone else." Why she was explaining herself she had no idea.

"Are you still drunk?" She questioned more gently, though her brows still furrowed, Hufflepuff instincts kicking in. He couldn't possibly have had so much that he was still drunk. Unless he'd partaken in a little hair of the dog... Woof. Well, at least he'd ordered food, that would help.

“And they will talk the talk
like a barstool prophet.”
He’d had work – mostly busy work that was only vaguely related to his department. Paper-pushing was not exactly the most cerebral art out there.

“You positively slay me!” he laughed. “Make up for lost time.”

There was a brief look for the waiter, who literally ducked under the counter rather than make eye contact. Marmaduke paused at her question, probably contemplating dead things, the meaning of life, or whether that stir in his stomach meant something coming up or going down.

Whew. Down. He had some time yet.

“Drunk on life?” he mused with a droopy smile. “Drunk on possibilities? On the future, or the demise thereof?”
"Oh," Eileen laughed heartily now. "That's a yes. You need some water." She was able to catch the barkeep's eye and get a little adequate hydration headed their way. She was still grumpy and still mostly annoyed, but if he was still drunk today, he'd either had way too much last night or had already started in on today's consumption. Either way, she wasn't exactly thrilled about it.

At least he'd already ordered food. Something hearty would soak up that booze still sloshing about in his system. That would help. Ugh, babysitting drunks was not high on her priority list today. She'd done enough of that in the last forty-eight hours and at least she'd been getting paid then. "Just what did you do last night?" Leeny curved one heavy brow at him quizzically.

“And they will talk the talk
like a barstool prophet.”

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