24th December, 1887, getting later by the minute — Padmore Park
Porphyria had intended to be home hours ago. She'd nearly even tried apparating, only it felt a lot like her feet would have to be left behind in the process, and splinched was certainly not how she wanted to spend her Christmas.
Not that this was, either.
It had long since grown dark around them, from their fixed spot beneath a tree off one of the side paths in the park. One of the floating balls of light bobbed past them from time to time, but by this late hour on Christmas Eve the place was deserted, the only other signs of movement the branches shifting above, sending clumps of snow down onto their heads.
If the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been out, they'd clearly missed them and gone home by now. Porphyria had tried plenty of tactics already, but apparently no one was out to see the sparks she'd shot up, and all her earlier shouting had been drowned out by the carol-singers from distant streets and cosy drawing rooms. And then she'd dropped her wand, and all the crouching and scrabbling she could manage hadn't let her reach it.
And now it was dark, and it was cold, and her feet were numb in her boots and still resolutely stuck to the patch of ground, the mistletoe looming above her and... this gentleman.
Well, bugger everything, he'd started talking again! Porphyria had been doing her best to ignore him and preoccupy herself with anything but for the past couple of hours, but she shot him a tired glare through the darkness. "Ughhh," she groaned, trying to tune him out with all she had, her patience fraying too fast to be particularly civil. "I'd prefer it if you kept your mouth closed."
Enoch Rosier
Not that this was, either.
It had long since grown dark around them, from their fixed spot beneath a tree off one of the side paths in the park. One of the floating balls of light bobbed past them from time to time, but by this late hour on Christmas Eve the place was deserted, the only other signs of movement the branches shifting above, sending clumps of snow down onto their heads.
If the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes had been out, they'd clearly missed them and gone home by now. Porphyria had tried plenty of tactics already, but apparently no one was out to see the sparks she'd shot up, and all her earlier shouting had been drowned out by the carol-singers from distant streets and cosy drawing rooms. And then she'd dropped her wand, and all the crouching and scrabbling she could manage hadn't let her reach it.
And now it was dark, and it was cold, and her feet were numb in her boots and still resolutely stuck to the patch of ground, the mistletoe looming above her and... this gentleman.
Well, bugger everything, he'd started talking again! Porphyria had been doing her best to ignore him and preoccupy herself with anything but for the past couple of hours, but she shot him a tired glare through the darkness. "Ughhh," she groaned, trying to tune him out with all she had, her patience fraying too fast to be particularly civil. "I'd prefer it if you kept your mouth closed."
a sublime set by Lady! <3