all that's left to do is burn - Printable Version
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+--- Thread: all that's left to do is burn (/showthread.php?tid=16920)
all that's left to do is burn - Nick Blott - April 21, 2025
Early 1880ish — The Hawthorn House
They were going to be married in a few days. Marion and Ned. It felt like a countdown to doomsday, except Nick had already been drowning since the engagement had been announced. He had intended to studious avoided them both since then, but when Ned had finally confronted him, Nick had had no choice but to make his position clear. He loved Marion. And surely Marion had always known that, because she had always – he believed – loved him back.
But somehow all this had taken place, grotesquely, right before his eyes without his ever seeing the danger of it, the signs that the future was being warped away from what it should be. So, obviously – he had spent the length of their engagement avoiding the bookshop, taking out his bitterness on Ned when they both had to be there, and hardly being able to bear seeing Marion at all.
Had she noticed his distance, his absences? Had she even cared? Perhaps Ned had confessed to her the cause of their rift, and Nick’s brooding mood; perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe he had been afraid to bring it up, Nick considered, in case doing so prompted Marion to change her mind, after all.
(Nick had decided he would take her back, if she changed her mind now. He cared enough for her to grant her that – to forgive her one gross, unforgivable mistake. She just had to say the word.)
He wasn’t sure what he was doing here at dusk, exactly, but he’d had a drink to drown his sorrows after his day working at the bookshop (no Ned today, thank Merlin). If he had meant to apparate home after that, he had ended up on her doorstep instead. He had rung the bell – the housekeeper had said she wasn’t in. Wedding preparations, probably. Fortunately Nick had brought the rest of bottle with him, and he had nowhere else to be tonight. He loitered a ways along the street until he saw the carriage trundling towards their gates. No doubt the bride-to-be was one of the people returning – he stowed the bottle on a low brick wall and caught them as they were coming in. “Marion?” he called, just loud enough to catch her attention. “Marion.”
But somehow all this had taken place, grotesquely, right before his eyes without his ever seeing the danger of it, the signs that the future was being warped away from what it should be. So, obviously – he had spent the length of their engagement avoiding the bookshop, taking out his bitterness on Ned when they both had to be there, and hardly being able to bear seeing Marion at all.
Had she noticed his distance, his absences? Had she even cared? Perhaps Ned had confessed to her the cause of their rift, and Nick’s brooding mood; perhaps he hadn’t. Maybe he had been afraid to bring it up, Nick considered, in case doing so prompted Marion to change her mind, after all.
(Nick had decided he would take her back, if she changed her mind now. He cared enough for her to grant her that – to forgive her one gross, unforgivable mistake. She just had to say the word.)
He wasn’t sure what he was doing here at dusk, exactly, but he’d had a drink to drown his sorrows after his day working at the bookshop (no Ned today, thank Merlin). If he had meant to apparate home after that, he had ended up on her doorstep instead. He had rung the bell – the housekeeper had said she wasn’t in. Wedding preparations, probably. Fortunately Nick had brought the rest of bottle with him, and he had nowhere else to be tonight. He loitered a ways along the street until he saw the carriage trundling towards their gates. No doubt the bride-to-be was one of the people returning – he stowed the bottle on a low brick wall and caught them as they were coming in. “Marion?” he called, just loud enough to catch her attention. “Marion.”
RE: all that's left to do is burn - Marion Flourish - May 12, 2025
The final preparations for her wedding had both been both exhilarating and - to put it plainly - annoying. There was no other word for it. In all the books that Marion had read throughout her (admittedly young) life, there was no other horribly accurate word to describe planning her wedding with her future mother-in-law other than annoying. The flowers were the wrong type of flower, the linens she chose were the wrong color, she’d chosen music that reminded her future mother-in-law of the music played at her late-future-grandmother-in-law’s funeral oh and by the by, regarding the appliqués on her veil that she’d had chosen, was she sure she wanted those flowers?
By the end of the afternoon, her head was ready to absolutely explode and she was nursing a throbbing headache. She needed a Drought of Peace or at the very least something to quell urges to throttle the elder Mrs. Flourish with her heaviest encyclopedia. The rattling of the carriage on the way home did little to help, and Marion stayed silent all the way home while her maid read her book. (Quinnie hadn’t even been permitted to read while Marion was trying on her dresses, so Marion was all too happy to let her do so in peace).
She was nodding off, succumbing to the invisible person taking a hammer to the back of her head, when she heard a voice calling her name. A familiar voice. She jerked her head up, her gaze immediately landing on a familiar figure to match to the familiar voice.
“Nikesh!” She blurted out, and immediately called for the carriage to stop. Perhaps it was the fact that she was overtired and completely caught off guard by the appearance of her old friend but Marion threw open the carriage door and only realized when she stumbled to the ground that it had barely stopped moving before she’d flung herself from it. It was no matter, though. She ran to her old friend, eyes blazing.
“Nick, it really is you!” She exclaimed, flinging her arms around him in a hug. “Where on Earth have you been?” She demanded before pulling back.
By the end of the afternoon, her head was ready to absolutely explode and she was nursing a throbbing headache. She needed a Drought of Peace or at the very least something to quell urges to throttle the elder Mrs. Flourish with her heaviest encyclopedia. The rattling of the carriage on the way home did little to help, and Marion stayed silent all the way home while her maid read her book. (Quinnie hadn’t even been permitted to read while Marion was trying on her dresses, so Marion was all too happy to let her do so in peace).
She was nodding off, succumbing to the invisible person taking a hammer to the back of her head, when she heard a voice calling her name. A familiar voice. She jerked her head up, her gaze immediately landing on a familiar figure to match to the familiar voice.
“Nikesh!” She blurted out, and immediately called for the carriage to stop. Perhaps it was the fact that she was overtired and completely caught off guard by the appearance of her old friend but Marion threw open the carriage door and only realized when she stumbled to the ground that it had barely stopped moving before she’d flung herself from it. It was no matter, though. She ran to her old friend, eyes blazing.
“Nick, it really is you!” She exclaimed, flinging her arms around him in a hug. “Where on Earth have you been?” She demanded before pulling back.
RE: all that's left to do is burn - Nick Blott - June 8, 2025
He almost wished he hadn’t put down the bottle, as if it might have shielded him from Marion’s embrace, all her painful enthusiasm as she sprang from the carriage. Whether desperate or unwilling, he tucked his arms around her as she clung on for a moment. Was she so glad to see him just because they were old friends? Was that really all she felt?
“Oh?” he asked roughly, as though he were surprised at the question, that she had even noticed he had been absent in all the whirlwind of her engagement, her wedding preparations. (Had Ned not mentioned his encounter with Nick, what Nick had confessed to him? Of course not – Ned was probably as afraid of Marion changing her mind as Nick was hopeful that she might.) He gazed at her, half-belligerent, half-imploring. “Does that mean you missed me?”
“Oh?” he asked roughly, as though he were surprised at the question, that she had even noticed he had been absent in all the whirlwind of her engagement, her wedding preparations. (Had Ned not mentioned his encounter with Nick, what Nick had confessed to him? Of course not – Ned was probably as afraid of Marion changing her mind as Nick was hopeful that she might.) He gazed at her, half-belligerent, half-imploring. “Does that mean you missed me?”
RE: all that's left to do is burn - Marion Flourish - July 10, 2025
He was…more gruff than she’d last remembered. Merlin, had it really been that long? There was something about the air around him that seemed to solidify and vibrate at the same time, and it set Marion a step back as she looked at him. “Of - of course I've missed you!” She replied, eyes scanning over him and finally landing on the bottle he’d set on the pavement.
She frowned. “Nick, have you been drinking?” She squinted at him, suddenly being able to place that odd energy around him and something stirred in her gut.
She frowned. “Nick, have you been drinking?” She squinted at him, suddenly being able to place that odd energy around him and something stirred in her gut.
RE: all that's left to do is burn - Nick Blott - July 31, 2025
Well spotted, Nick thought acidly, as she either saw the bottle he’d brought or caught the whiff of alcohol on him.
As if she had missed him. If she hadn’t wanted to miss him, perhaps she ought not to have agreed to marry his best fucking friend behind his back, then. “Could have fooled me,” he said, his eyes not leaving her face even as she took that cowardly step back. He let out a short, bitter laugh, and stepped closer to her to erase any progress away from him she had made. He put a sarcastic finger to his cheek to ask: “And what could have possibly driven me to drink, Marion, do you think?”
Plenty of things in life could have sent him spiralling for a day or two, maybe – but nothing else in the world could have wounded him like this.
As if she had missed him. If she hadn’t wanted to miss him, perhaps she ought not to have agreed to marry his best fucking friend behind his back, then. “Could have fooled me,” he said, his eyes not leaving her face even as she took that cowardly step back. He let out a short, bitter laugh, and stepped closer to her to erase any progress away from him she had made. He put a sarcastic finger to his cheek to ask: “And what could have possibly driven me to drink, Marion, do you think?”
Plenty of things in life could have sent him spiralling for a day or two, maybe – but nothing else in the world could have wounded him like this.