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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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Knockturne
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April 4th, 1889 — Knockturn Alley
For Conundrum Roulette

The night is often dark, and can be full of terrors if you find yourselves in the wrong pocket of it—and Knockturn Alley is distinctly the wrong pocket. Quiet and dingy by daylight, the district truly comes alive at night and a wrong turn, misplaced apparition, or intentional trek can see you lost within its labyrinth of side-streets, alleyways, and dead ends.

Enter our intrepid heroes, a vampire, and a minor explosion. What's the worst that could happen?

No post order, but please wait two days or two posts before replying again!

@Cyrus Westerman, @J. Alfred Darrow/@Ophelia Devine, @Petra Sleptova/@Ursula Black, @Azazel/@Benedict Sterling, @Theodore Gallivan/@Elias Grimstone
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Winter was always a slower season for nautical men, given the storms that tended to rage only a few miles off any coastline. In Alfred's day it had been the practice of the Navy to spend most winters refitting and refurbishing their vessels before things picked up again in spring, and he would have been happy to continue the trend. The problem was, after several months of fundraising for his two ships, he had poured every cent into the Avalon expedition, which left next to nothing in the coffers for repairs. With ships that were somewhat less than ship-shape, as it were, Alfred had been forced to pick up whatever nautical work he could find freelance in order to make do until the weather warmed. This had taken him, on more than one occasion, to Knockturn Alley as his ships helped ferry vessels through treacherous waters (vessels which were laden with goods both legal and slightly less-than, if he understood correctly).

What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him, though, and so Alfred had stayed as blissfully ignorant of the nature of these journeys as possible. They had returned only a few hours ago from a week-long underway, and although it was late, Alfred had decided it would be best to go and see his employer for their payment straight off. It was more likely to find a shop open in Knockturn during the night than during the early morning, and his crew would want to be paid sooner rather than later, so there was no reason to delay. Besides, it wasn't as though anything was really different about Knockturn after dark — even if it certainly felt different.

On second thought, maybe he'd apparate home instead of walking back from the storefront. He didn't want to run into any shady characters, particularly with his pockets full of gold.

He was just cutting through an alleyway and back to one of the main roads (he knew Knockturn better than he might have preferred after the past few months) when the wall to his left began to crumble with a loud noise. Alfred turned to try and see what had caused the explosion, but took a brick to the head instead, which knocked him to the ground.
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Her evening was going horrifically. Pet didn't like parties at the best of times but this evening had been a disaster from the very start. Her eye had popped out in the middle of a dance and as if that wasn't bad enough, someone had stepped on it and fallen over which had caused quite the spectacle. Humiliated, Pet had sheepishly retrieved her glass eye and intended to sentence herself to a self-imposed exile for the rest of the night, avoiding as much interaction with people as was possible.

Ordinarily she didn't drink anything alcoholic if she could help it, she thoroughly disliked the notion of voluntarily impairing her brain function even if it was on a temporary basis. Tonight, however, was an exception. She understood alcohol could dull other things besides the senses such as negative emotions and as she couldn't leave yet and couldn't face the party either, she decided just this once to try it. It was an experiment really, she told herself.

Merely two glasses of some pale colored liquid later Pet decided she preferred being embarrassed rather than trapped in her suddenly clumsy body that was liable to say or do something she'd regret. Deciding fresh air was probably the best way to make it go away, she delicately (in her attempt to minimize her lacking coordination) made her way towards the nearest door which happened to be the one she'd entered by.

The outside air did not immediately cure her and so she misguidedly decided a brief walk up and down the street would set her right. Except this was London and the fog was thick, the light was dim, and she was not in possession of her wits. Before she knew it she was lost. Now very distressed, she took out her wand and was on the verge of apparating home when the thought of splinching occurred to her. What if she not only splinched herself but also ended up in the wrong location and got into worse trouble? The building she'd come from couldn't be far she'd surely be able to find it if she persevered a bit longer.

A considerable amount of time passed and she was just about starting to sober up, at least enough so that she was starting to realize the implications of being a young unmarried female wandering alone at night in a large city. If she managed to get home without incident it'd be nothing short of a miracle if the whole of Hogsmeade hadn't gotten wind of her suspicious disappearance. The shame and disappointment she'd bring her father... Pet blinked back a tear and realized she'd been staring vacantly at a sign she recognized. The Leaky Cauldron! Someone there could surely help her. A fully sober Pet might have stopped to consider that The Leaky Cauldron was an inn and thus no place for her, especially at this time of evening, but then a sober Pet wouldn't have been there in the first place.

Upon entering The Leaky Cauldron she finally realized it was not the sort of place she felt comfortable lingering about and rather than go back out into muggle London, she hastily continued on through to Diagon Alley. She realized now that she was garnering looks from the few people who were still out and about which oughtn't to have perplexed her so considering she was dressed for a night of dancing. Her feet carried her clumsily but fairly swiftly through the street avoiding incident until someone grabbed her arm. The adrenaline started to kick in and she squealed, wriggling out of their grasp and running away as best she could in heels on a cobbled street. She turned down a street and the sound of a very close explosion startled her so much that she almost lost her footing, it was only a few seconds later that she finally did fall flat on her face. She was distinctly aware that she'd tripped over something large and somewhat soft but solid enough to send her flying. Pet had managed to hit her head on the cobbles and knock her eye out for the second time that night but she thought she might at least be sober now or certainly close to it.

Lifting her head a fraction, she managed to turn it just enough to identify the thing she'd tripped over as a man. She didn't have time to look at him any closer, however, for she could hear her eyeball starting to roll away from her. She managed to clap a hand over it before it got away but didn't immediately restore it to her eye socket. She couldn't be here, she had to get home or at least back to the party before things could get out of hand. It might even already be too late...
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