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Victorians could hire 'professional mourners' to attend their loved one's funeral. These people would partake in the procession and were not allowed to speak, just look awfully sad! — Rune

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"The Prodigal Sister" for Ophelia Devine. Faked deaths, scandal, and schemes!
Kristoffer was going to be great at this, because he was great at everything. Also his memory was greater than everyone else's, because he bet no one else had ever lost their virginity somewhere exotic like Morocco. Hell, he bet no one else had even lost their virginity. Inexperienced losers.

Kristoffer Lestrange in Shining, Shimmering Splendour

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Big Blue Eyes
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Open to a female character, preferably hurlable but not required. And no, she doesn't have to have blue eyes.

March 24th, 1888 — Chance D'Amour
Tierney, though by no means prudish, had better enough sense than to be too openly forward, especially when it came to woman. His reputation — and that wasn't even getting into his sister's matters with Witch Weekly — was already shaky enough, and he had absolutely no desire to add fuel to the first. Sadly, magic was a thing and it was often a thing he didn't have control over, especially when coming from another's wand. Such was the case that day in Chance D'Amour.

After noticing that too much sugar had been poured into his tea, Tierney had spent an ungodly amount of time stirring it before finally allowing himself to take a sip. It was good, but something was definitely off — probably the sugar, he assumed. Though as he stared off into space, his vision became focused on one person, a young woman sitting not too far from her. She was beautiful, and he just had to talk to her.

Taking a chance that he wouldn't have ever taken without being under the influence of whatever it was, the ginger moved from his chair and took a seat near the woman.

"You have the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen," he sighed, his American accent thick and clear.

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This... was a strange place. Irvingly was a little odd itself the way it allowed magical and non-magical people to knowingly live amongst one another while also knowingly segregating themselves. Most places people were intermixed but separated between magical and non-magical peoples naturally Yasmina much preferred Hogsmeade, and even London - what it lacked in magical openness it made up for with a wide variety of things to do, people to see, nightlife, everything, magical or mundane.

The place she found stranger still, however, was the Chance D'Amour, which she had just stumbled upon that day. It looked like a café but low and behold she was now nursing her first drink of the day and it was only 3pm. She felt very posh drinking it there too, especially with it's funny French name. Yasmina could speak a number of languages but French was not one of them and so it seemed quite exotic to her.

She was minding her own business in this manner, when a man with a shock of red hair took the liberty of strolling up to her. Yasmina braced herself for whatever he was about to say. She was not expecting what she heard. Men complimenting her was not so very uncommon that it took her by surprise when it happened, but it was the first time she had ever been compliment for her blue eyes, namely because her eyes were very decidedly dark brown. "I think your hair is on fire." She affected a tone of concern, assuming he must be a drunk and would find this revelation alarming.

Her response was nothing that he would have expected, but it also wasn't something that he minded in the moment. Keeping his eyes on her and the goofy smile on his face, Tierney reached up very slowly to touch his hair.

No fire. No heat. Just hair.

But if she wanted to believe it was on fire, that was fine with him.

"It's only because you're so hot," he responded dreamily, gazing into her eyes.
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   Yasmina Khatri

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Yasmina observed with mild amusement as he set to investigating the top of his head with his hand which would have been very foolish if his hair were actually fire. Apparently satisfied that he was not aflame, he proceeded to try his hand at flirting. Yasmina wondered if it was really him talking or just the drink he'd evidently imbibed. "Does that one usually work for you?" She had not drunk enough for this.

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   Tierney Walsh

Smile stupidly at her, Tierney took a seat in front of her — rather boldly, too — and continued to gaze into her eyes. "I don't really think I've ever tried, honestly," he sighed dreamily. "I suppose that makes you a special snowflake — no, you're more like a blazing wildfire. Fiery and beautiful."

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She couldn't help to laugh, though it was at least a soft laugh, not the sort she'd reserve for one of her brothers were they to spout such things in front of her. "You're very sweet." She smiled. Between what he'd said himself and the overall impression she was getting, Yasmina thought he was unaccustomed to drink and probably spent very little time talking to women who weren't related to him. He was probably shy normally. It was endearing, albeit not in the kind of way that made her want to spend an intoxicated night in bed with him. "Although, I'm not sure you of all people should be calling anyone 'fiery'." Red hair was unusual and his seemed particularly vibrant compared to the handful of other redheads she had seen. "Not that it's a bad thing," she added with a chuckle.

Shy and unaccustomed to drinking were not two accurate ways to describe Tierney, but no one would have believed that in his current state. With his pride, tact, and sense gone, all that was left was flattery, and even that was cringe-worthy.

"Sweet," he echoed in a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. "I'm very sweet if that's what you like," he responded finally, his brows raised as if to proposition her. He'd say anything to get her to want him at the moment, even if it meant losing any sense of his self... which, admittedly, it seemed he'd already lost.

"And I may be fiery on the outside, but you're fiery in the soul," he sighed, gazing so deep into her eyes that one might assume he was seeing into her soul.

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