September 25th, 1891 - Sanditon Closer
Tilda MacFusty

Eugene had been rather enjoy himself and Miss MacFusty's company this evening. Their courtship (he couldn't really officially call it that yet) was going well this season and he'd been able to make several social calls upon her this summer, he knew there were things they needed to discuss, if only could truly get a moment alone with her, without a chaperone or some other party guest overhearing.

Their evening found them on one of the many terraces surrounding the ballroom itself and Eugene for one, was glad for the fresh air. He always, at some point in the evening felt the ballroom to be stuffy, though usually it had to do with who he was surrounded with. Tonight that was not the case, but he could use a bit of a respite from the festivities.

"And have you been enjoying your evening, Miss MacFusty?" He turned to her with flushed cheeks and a bit of a playful grin. They of course, had not been able to spend the entire evening in one another's company, but enough to keep him looking for more. Eugene leaned against the railing casually, looking out over the water as what appeared to be some storm clouds rolled in. Perhaps the evening wouldn't be quite as dry as they would have hoped. Still it looked a ways out, hopefully they would be alright.

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Though she hardly ever participated in the Season unless there was some miraculous break in her work schedule, Tilda had specifically planned to attend the Season Close at the Sanditon. She'd seen Mr. Scamander far more often than she thought she would have in the weeks following her nearly leveling him with the oak door, and she was entirely pleased about it. For the first time in her life, she had genuinely sought out her mother's advice on clothes; they'd even made a shopping trip to purchase her a fine, pale blue number that was sure to set off her coloring nicely.

The night had set off wonderfully; Tilda swore she hadn't had this much fun at the Coming Out Ball either, though the fact that she'd danced quite a lot with Mr. Scamander likely had something to do with it. The perks of being at the Season's Close meant that there were plenty of public terraces connecting to the ballroom, which allowed them to retire briefly. Breathless, Tilda gripped the railing, raising her forehead to the breeze that was blowing softly against them. She turned to Mr. Scamander and smiled, rotating slightly to face him. "Quite," she breathed, casting her gaze to the horizon where there seemed to be dark clouds congregating. "I don't think I've been to a ball this lively in quite a long time."

She turned back to him, smiling. "Are you sure your foot is alright, Mr. Scamander? I'm afraid I may have gotten a bit too clumsy in that third dance!"

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Eugene took a moment to study Miss MacFusty as she too seemed to be enjoying the fresh ocean breeze off the water. She was quite breathtaking, Eugene admitted (he clearly had a thing for redheads) and it had been a long while since anyone had stirred up such strong feelings in his gut. What he planned to do about it, was anything but easy however.

Her voice brought him out of his reverie and he smiled at her slowly. "Just fine, I assure you," Though Miss MacFusty had done a number on him several times across their time knowing one another, she was still far more harmless than his job. "Well enough for a walk on the beach, if you're amenable? If we can pry a chaperone from the party?" He was less enthusiastic about that, he would rather have this conversation candidly, but he would keep it proper for her sake.

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Despite his reassurances, Tilda's cheeks flushed, and she was tempted to temporarily hide her face from him while the flush subsided. It was obvious from her profession why she was no debutante of society. It rarely bothered her, but seeing as the encounters she and Mr. Scamander had had in the past resulted in injury to his person, Tilda was surprised she hadn't scared him off yet.

Her stomach jumped at the thought of a walk along the beach. Their encounters thus far had really only been amongst the hospital ward or at various society balls, and the idea of a walk, just the two of them (plus chaperone) was something she found herself quite enthused about. "I'd be happy to, Mr. Scamander." She replied, with a glance at the shore whose view rested just above his shoulder. "I shouldn't be more than a minute."

It was easy to goad a chaperone away from the festivities. Tilda only had to search for the one that looked uncommonly sallow at the prospect of having to watch ladies dance the night away whilst they rested at the sides, unable to do so. The idea of a walk along the shore only having to stay a distance behind them and within eyesight suited the chaperone quite well. In fact, the chaperone semed to be more enthusiastic about a walk along the beach than they did! Tilda hastened back to Mr. Scamander, chaperone in tow, with a smile on her face. "Shall we?"

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Pleased that Miss MacFusty seemed eager to join him, Eugene waited on the balcony, nearest the steps leading down to the beach while she procured a chaperone for the jaunt. He was pretty impressed she seemed to find one so keen to get away for a little while, but he would never pretend to know what was going on in any woman's head. He had four sisters and still was none-the-wiser, not really.

Thank Merlin he'd been blessed with a son.

Which was one of the things that he intended to bring up on this walk, as he was pondering his more serious intentions for Miss MacFusty, she deserved full clarity of the situation he found himself in. Upon her return, he offered her his arm and a nod to the chaperone before taking the lead down the stairs. "It's much cooler out here, refreshing really." Though the wind was really whipping up, he wondered if they were in for a little summer squall. That would certainly put a damper on his plans.

"There was something I wished to speak with you about, Miss MacFusty," He began once they were down on the sand and near the swelling waves. That was when the first crack of lightning tore across the sky. Still far in the distance, but he hesitated in his step.

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As they fell into step, their chaperone drifted back, content to keep them within eyeshot but give them more privacy. Indeed, Tilda marveled at their luck, and she resisted the temptation to lean in and rest her head on his shoulder as they walked. The wind billowed at her skirts, fluttering them to conveniently give her room to walk as they began their stroll along the shore. Mr. Scamander was right - the cool breeze hit her hot skin, a welcome balm to the stuffiness that had been the Sanditon Inn ballroom, and she felt the flush in her cheeks quickly subside.

That effect did not last long, however. At his next words, her stomach did another (joyus) leap and she quickly glanced up at him. She'd wondered if there was going to be a moment he would ask to court her. With all their chance encounters, Tilda had scarcely bothered to tell any of her family about Mr. Scamander. Indeed, she'd scarcely bothered to do much looking into Mr. Scamander himself, given that it wasn't until recently that she'd truly thought herself interested in him. Truth be told, she would be lying if she only had been interested recently; perhaps it was that she'd only begun to realize what this feeling was.

His presence around her had always been one of a coincidental matter. This society ball or that with her occasionally injuring him along the way. But she'd sensed something recently, and had wondered how one even broached the topic of courtship or interest with someone. Especially given her "fairer" sex - did they even do that? Certainly, if she knew that they could, she would have done so by now!

She adjusted her hold on his hand, stepping over a large rock when the distant crack of thunder drew her attention to the ocean. The clouds that had gathered had completely obscured the horizon and now blended in with the sea in an inky, black mass. Not one to question bad weather — she'd worked with many a dragonling in worse conditions than this! — Tilda continued down the path with him. "Yes, Mr. Scamander?" she asked, a smile tugging at her lips, wondering if she was correct at his next words.

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Eugene kept a wary eye on the horizon, something about the storm had him a little on edge, but he couldn't split his attention very well and so since Miss MacFusty didn't seem bothered, he continued down the sand. They had already walked a fair distance, the noise of the party was a quiet hum against the waves breaking on the sand by now and the lights flickered merrily in the darkening sky.

They approached a crop of rocks and he helped her over, looking back at the chaperone briefly, but she seemed quite capable. "I would like to think that perhaps I have been fairly transparent in my attentions this summer..." He trailed off, not for a loss of words, but because the wind picked up rapidly and the water nearby boiled and swirled, the waves receding drastically; lightning and thunder growing more ferocious and closer. Eugene could see the rain rolling in across the ocean and that gut feeling he'd been hhaving was impossible to ignore now.

Looking over his shoulder, Eugene knew there was no chance they would make it back to the party and something about the speed and intensity of the having storm thought it would be wiser to seek shelter closer to where they were. A small collection of tiny cottages sat up on a hill before them and Eugene made the split-second decision to push on. "We need to find shelter, now." He urged her on as he looked for the chaperone to assist her, only to find she had turned tail to run for the resort.

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Her expression wavered as she looked at him; saw him look to the horizon as she had done just moments ago. His expression changed to one of urgency, and before she knew it, there was a great rumble and Tilda could suddenly smell the scent of oncoming rain mixed in with the saltiness of the sea air. She turned to face what Mr. Scamander had been looking at, and her eyes widened. Merlin, that storm cloud had practically jumped miles in the span of a few moments! "Oh my," she gasped, wondering if they even remotely had time to get back to the resort.

It was then that she felt his hands push her forward. There wasn't time after all. She saw what he was motioning toward and started towards it, stumbling as her foot caught another rock. She glanced back to make sure he had followed her when movement caught her eye and she looked beyond him. Their chaperone had made a run for it, dashing down the beach as fast as she could back to the resort. Tilda's heart dropped in her stomach - there was no way she would make it back in time.

Just as that thought crossed her mind, a wave came crashing into the beach, ferocious and frothing, swallowing the chaperone all in one. "No!" Tilda cried, her voice lost to the howling wind. Her feet carried her down the beach before she even thought of what she was doing. She was only focused on the woman she saw struggling amongst the inky black waves getting pulled further and further out. Soon enough, she was at the waters edge and the rain that she'd smelled just seconds ago hit her like a wall. The air became thick and nearly impossible to see through, but she still managed to see the chaperone just meters in front of her.

Picking up her skirts, Tilda dashed into the water. Immediately the waves pooled around her, turning her skirts to lead and the water to molasses as she tried to get to the chaperone. The cold shocked her lungs and she involuntarily gasped, automatically inhaling cold salty water. "No!" She heard herself scream again, pushing further into the water in a desperate attempt to reach her.

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   Eugene Scamander

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Before he knew it Miss MacFusty was sprinting in the opposite direction towards the chaperone, just as the woman was overcome by a giant swell and swept or into the cold tides.

"Miss MacFusty don't!" Panic flooded his voice as he took off after her, long legs eating to the sand quickly, but she too was caught up in the water causing Eugene to curse loudly and he went in after her. Rain came down in sheets now, making it hard to see much of anything— he was only able to catch a brief flash of red hair as he fought through the waves toward her.

Lighting his wand, Eugene finally saw her close enough to reach finally and wrapped his arms around her waist, propriety forgotten. Fortunately he could still stand and he hauled them back towards the shore. Damning the additional weight of her skirts, Eugene mustered up every bit of strength he could and finally collapsed on the sand once more. "We cannot help her, He said miserably. "We must seek shelter. He urged as he tried to scramble up, pulling her with him.

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"No!" She shouted again as she felt his arms tighten around her waist, strong as cords of iron. Tilda was tempted to employ what her father had taught her of self-defense and elbow him in the side to get him to let go of her. A quick anguished glance back behind them pushed that impulse from her mind as she saw the danger she'd just put them all in. Their chaperone may have been lost to the waves, but they were about to get hurled further out to sea in an even more agonizing death unless they got to one of the cottages. The ballroom and the resort itself looked like it was about to be torn to shreds. Tilda felt a weight in her chest as she realized her parents were still there and she stopped struggling against him, now determined to get back ashore.

The weight her skirts had absorbed was absolute dead weight and she drew heavy breaths, half of them sobs, as they collapsed onto the sand. Every instinct told her they needed to get to safety. But all Tilda wanted to do was follow in the first steps of their chaperone and get back to the ballroom. Back to her loved ones to make sure they were okay. But what they'd just witnessed told her she couldn't - that they needed to get to shelter now. Her parents would likely be worried sick about her. They knew she'd have gone to the beach and likely thought she was now lost. The best thing she could do was survive until after this was over.

Mr. Scamander's words reached her again and she nodded, stumbling into place alongside him as she picked up her skirts and ran to one of the cottages up on the hill. If she hadn't realized she made a mistake by going into the sea, she certainly did so now. Her skirts were ten times heavier than they were and a stitch in her side quickly made itself known as she clambered up the rocks.

But they kept going, and soon enough were within earshot (so to speak) of the cottage, which had surprisingly stayed resolute throughout the current storm. But Tilda realized that most of the storm had concentrated over the resort, and had gotten milder as they drew further away from the epicenter. Perhaps they would make it through this storm after all. But now it was down to her parents' survival in all of this.

A tear caught her attention, drawing her out of her thoughts, and Tilda was immediately yanked backward. A nearby (rather thorny) had caught onto the hem of her dress and bitten into it, refusing to let go. She let out a cry of surprise, reaching down and struggling to release herself from the bush. One quick look up, and Tilda saw the storm cloud over the resort get larger, looming closer to them the longer it stayed hovering over the resort. She looked desperately to Mr. Scamander.

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Eugene hadn't any idea where this storm had come from but the intensity was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Sure weather could move fast across the ocean, but there was something magical about this particular gale and it was unsettling to say the least. It finally seemed like had convinced Miss MacFusty to retreat away from the swirling waves and revisited his original plan to seek shelter in the nearby cottages. The lights of the resort seemed impossibly far away and dim in the rain, but he couldn't think about that now. He had sisters and friends up there, but all he could do was focus on getting Miss MacFusty to safety. His ministry emergency training was at the forefront of his mind and he was thankful for the clarity at the moment.

They had a climb ahead of them and he was impressed with the Miss MacFusty's progress in wet skirts and strong winds. They scrambled up the rocks, Eugene careful to keep just behind her lest she need help, but it wasn't until they were to the top that they encountered another hurdle. He had just passed her to help her up over the last of the rocks when he heard her cry out and his breath caught in his throat as his first reaction was that she was falling. He reached out to steady her and found her skirts caught on a bramble bush. He cursed women's clothing for what felt like the umpteenth time this evening and used his wand to free the fabric of the catch, though it tore at the force. He winced, but he couldn't be too worried about it now.

Pulling her the last few yards to their destination, Eugene found the door before him locked. They must not have been in use this week, or for a while, judging by the lack of anything else on the cottage door or windows. Blast. Lacking patience and with adrenaline rushing through his veins, Eugene cast a quick unlocking spell on the door and roughly used his shoulder to force it open. Relieved when it swung open, Eugene pulled Miss MacFusty in and slammed it closed behind him, leaning against it, the sudden quiet of the small living room a stark contrast to the raging hurricane outside.

It took him a brief moment to catch his breath before he hauled a chair to replace his position against the door. Then he turned his attention toward Miss MacFusty. "Are you injured?" He asked uncertainly, holding out a hand toward her, water dripping from his fingertips as he looked her up and down to see if he could find anything amiss.

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As soon as she saw the fabric tear, Tilda gripped his hand, needing no encouragement to get to the door fast enough, though her skirts seemed to have no trouble slowing her down. The stitch in her side had grown, and she nearly doubled over at the door. She heard him mutter a spell under his breath before looking up to see him shoulder the door open, wheeling around to grab her already outstretched hand and pull her in. Her legs had nearly turned to jelly by this point, and she clumsily stumbled through the doorway, only breathing a sigh of relief when she heard the cottage door slam.

Though they were safe from the elements outside, Tilda immediately noticed how damp and cold it was inside. Though there must not have been anyone using the cottage for quite some time, it still was minimally furnished. A scrape on the floor told her he had put something in front of the door to keep it from busting in. Still taking deep breaths of fresh air, Tilda looked up to him. He was rather soaked through, but she was certain she looked like a drowned kneezle at this point. Better looking like a drowned kneezle than being one.

At his inquiry, Tilda nodded, still moving forward to take his hand. "Ah!" for the umpteenth time that evening, she stumbled forward, catching herself on his outstretched hand before realizing there was a burning sensation on her calf. She looked down at her skirts. There was a clean rip where he'd severed the fabric from the branch, leaving her calf exposed, her stocking half torn down it. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a trickle of bright red blood running where the spell must have caught it in their haste to get out of the storm.

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   Eugene Scamander

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At first she seemed unharmed, to his immense relief, but it didn't last as she cried or again and stumbled forward into his outstretched arms. Eugene steadied her easily enough, his gaze following hers down to the gash on her leg.

Shit, that was his fault.

Without thinking, Eugene immediately and rather effortlessly scooped her up and set her in a nearby armchair. There was a layer of dust to the unoccupied cabin, but that was the least of his concerns. They had several of more important things to worry about; that injury, wet clothes and some kind of heat, now that they were out of the thickest part of the storm. Hopefully it would go as quickly as it had come.

Kneeling down, Eugene lit his wand once again in the dim light of the room, to get a closer look at the injury. "My most sincere apologies, Miss MacFusty, I should have been more careful." Fortunately, she was a healer, hopefully she could take care of it as it did not seem too deep.

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She'd expected him to say something first but instead she found herself swept in his arms, startled and now clinging to him as he easily carried her over to the armchair that sat in front of the extinguished fireplace. As he stooped to put her down on the chair, Tilda - still breathless from their trek up to the cottage among...other things - realized that the delicious sea-salt, leather scent she was smelling was him, and her cheeks bloomed with mortification. Luckily, he was too focused on her calf to examine her face; not a thought she even remotely suspected she'd be having at a time like this. Given the impropriety of the action, she knew she should be more upset about displaying her partially naked leg to him instead of being grateful that he wasn't focused on her cheeks.

"It's quite alright," She heard herself say weakly, as she pressed her palms to her cheeks, feigning wiping her face of the rain yet actually hoping the cold of her hands would coax the blush away. "We were rather pressed for time, after all." As if to emphasize her point, there was a gust of wind that rattled the door, now blocked by the chair Mr. Scamander had put in front of it.

Glancing back down at her leg, she wished she had her healer's supplies. "I can tend to it, I just need a few things."It was no matter, however, seeing as she could conjure a few rags to wipe away the blood. Thank Merlin her wand had miraculously stayed in her dress' pockets this whole time. She had a horrific moment when she thought it had been lost to the sea. Her gratification at finding her wand lasted only however long it took her to raise it and conjure some supplies.

There was a massive groaning and Tilda looked up, confused. She hadn't conjured a cloth but instead had managed to summon a rather large...tree trunk. That was about to fall right on top of her.

With a shriek of surprise, she lunged the only way she could. Forward. She collided with Mr. Scamander, taking the both of them down as the tree trunk dropped with an almighty crash on top of the armchair she'd just been sitting on. Clouds of dust engulfed the both of them as rocks and pebbles from the trunk pinged every which way - off the walls, windows, and the fireplace in front of them. Coughing, Tilda kept her face down to avoid inhaling even more dust. As the dust slowly cleared, Tilda rose her head, blinking rapidly through the settling debris. "Are you alright..." Her voice died in her throat as she realized that she hadn't been burying her face in the carpet on the floor, but in Mr. Scamander's chest; now finding herself closer to him than she had ever found herself to any man.

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Instinct seemed to be the only think preserving their heads tonight as Miss MacFusty lurched forward, Eugene had started to pull her out of the way, having noticed the mishap with her spell immediately. He narrowly avoided whacking his head on the wooden floor of the cottage as Miss MacFusty crashed atop him, knocking the wind from him. Dazed, he hardly registered their compromising position until the dust settled and she was asking if he was alright.

Eugene laid his head back down against the floor. "I could ask you the same thing." He made no motions to move, his hands resting on her upper arms where they had landed to break her fall, afraid to move them. "What poor luck we're having tonight." He managed, refraining from truly laughing, considering the night's events and losses thus far. He did have to admit that their current position afforded a bit of warmth Eugene hadn't realized he'd been lacking, but they were both soaked to the bone and warming up needed to be their next order of business.

"How about you sit tight and I look around to see what we have for supplies. I'll try and start a fire with our uh... new arrival." He motioned to the fallen log with his head, but still stayed put, waiting for her to make the first move from their current position.

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"I'm alright..." she said quietly, though Merlin knew he was quite close enough to hear her. She was surprised he didn't hear how loud her heart had started to beat; whether because of their....proximity or because of almost being crushed to death by a two-ton tree trunk, Tilda honestly couldn't say. For the briefest of moments, it looked like Mr. Scamander was going to burst into laughter. Tilda wouldn't have blamed him if he did - the events of this night so far had so many twists and turns, she would have gladly taken a labyrinth instead.

"Truly poor luck," she replied, the corners of her mouth twitching as she let out a slightly breathless giggle. The absurdity, the horror of the night - she was surprised at her own humor, but there was very little that she could do to fix anything other than try and manage. And the fact that Mr. Scamander was here....somehow it made it more manageable.

It took a minute for Tilda to realize he was waiting for her to get up, for she was quite literally on top of him. "Oh!" Her cheeks flushed again, and she hastily withdrew from him, scrambling gingerly to a respectable distance and preoccupying herself with not thinking about how warm she had been on...

"Try below the cabinets in the kitchens, or if they have a linen closet." Tilda suggested abruptly, sorely tempted to give herself a slap across the face. Instead, she curled inward, her back against the stone-cold wall. Merlin, she couldn't wait to get a fire going. But at this rate, Tilda wondered how long it would even take for her clothes to dry in front of a fire.

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