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

Brigit Langley for Fletcher Langley.
The Matchmaking Menace
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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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!

Recurring Mistakes
12 February, 1889 — An Hour After Sunset — Echelon-Arnost Home, Garden

Lyra would rather have been anywhere in the world but here. The trouble was there wasn't another option, not if she wanted to save an innocent woman's life. Well, innocent in this instance, anyway. Whatever the woman's faults were, and whatever her past sins had been, Lyra didn't think she should be condemned for a murder she hadn't committed — even if the only reason she hadn't committed it was lack of opportunity.

But the word of a vampire wasn't worth much, as far as the investigators chasing down a vampire murderer were concerned, and Lyra wasn't going to waste what could be precious time trying to convince them on her own. She needed some sort of proof — or, lacking that, a very good lawyer.

Which was what had brought her here. August was, after all, the best lawyer she knew (although she was almost certainly biased), and he was the only one that she had even a prayer of being able to convince to help her. She didn't have money. As far as she knew, Galina hadn't had any either. No one in their right mind would take on a case like this pro bono. Fortunately, August wasn't in his right mind — he was in love. Or, at least, she hoped he still was. Otherwise, this entire conversation was going to make her look very silly.

Would he even come out? For a few moments she doubted that he would, and then she heard the click of his cane on the garden path.

Once upon a time, she'd told him to meet her in a different garden. They'd been planning to elope, but the cane had surprised her. Merlin, it was strange to think that she'd once determined to marry a man sight-unseen... and that she had, against all odds, picked the only man in the world she'd ever want to marry. But that had been a different life.
He shouldn't do this.

Meeting with Lyra was a bad idea. Meeting with Lyra outside of his own home, meeting with Lyra anywhere - it was a bad idea. There were palpable risks to it. He didn't know what she needed, he didn't know what she wanted, and no matter what it is - it was surely going to be something he would regret signing on to. If he signed on. He may be in love - he was still, he thought, in love - but he wasn't stupid.

Meeting her, though, that was stupid. The sort of thing Thom would tell him not to do. And still, an hour after sunset, August left through his front door and walked down the garden path, the steady tap of his cane against the stones acting as a grounding influence. Just because he was meeting with her - and his heartbeat was quickened at the thought of it - did not really mean anything.

He saw her outline in the distant light of the Wellingtonshire streetlamps. "Lyra," August said - breathed, really - as he had every time before this. It felt like history repeating itself - and he still wouldn't stop it, was the worst part.

"August," she answered with relief, moving to close the distance between them. There was no use pretending formality in a situation like this. She might have thought it would be better to stay away from each other, to pretend their history was only history, but trying to keep up that pretense when she was here to beg for help would be ridiculous.

Should she touch him? She ached to, but she didn't want to overstep. Did he still love her? Or had he only come to meet her in the garden for the sake of what they had once been to each other?

"I shouldn't be here. I'm sorry," she said, feeling suddenly foolish, as though he had already rebuffed her although she hadn't even brought up her errand yet. "I just didn't know what else to do."

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