March 30th, 1891 — Minister's Avenue, Wellingtonshire, Hogsmeade
He was feeling elated, bolder than he'd ever felt, prepared to take on the entire world. He checked his watch knowing he'd find it to be well before Miss Lestrange was due to arrive but he was drowning in impatience. This was the day, the day he set in stone the series of events that would lead to Miss Lestrange becoming Mrs. Macmillan and in time the mother of his sons. The sun was shining, the house was immaculate, and Miss Lestrange had somehow grown even more beautiful since he'd last set eyes upon her.
This is the way Charles wished I was starting this thread, but alas, Charles is a jackass and doesn't deserve to be rewarded for starting illegal duels and being too pigheaded to insist on using a weapon he's actually comfortable with. However not all of it was inaccurate. The house was indeed immaculate - he'd planned on having it presentable by the 27th - and the sun was most definitely shining although it was more of a discomfort than anything else in the state he was in. He wasn't supposed to be standing up at all but he'd demanded to be given whatever it took to get him through at least the afternoon functioning as close to normal as possible. He'd refused the most effective potions for pain relief because he was told the side effects would likely impair his mental faculties to some degree. As it was the pain relieving potion he'd taken was very affective, he barely noticed the pain unless he moved too much. He'd also taken something to improve his appearance - make him look less sallow and strung out but there was only so much magic could do about it when he'd already felt exhausted upon waking that morning and he was suffering from a gunshot wound. He looked normal enough but noticeably peaky, but no more so than he might if he'd been working overtime for several days which was precisely what he planned to say if Miss Lestrange asked. Fortunately Macnair hadn't shot him anywhere too noticeable, he could totally get away with this.
Technically he'd lost the duel and shouldn't be anywhere near Miss Lestrange but he hadn't counted on losing at all and damn it he was certain Macnair had cheated! If Macnair couldn't win honorably then Charles wouldn't lose honorably.
"Good day, Miss Lestrange." Charles' voice sounded a hint strained perhaps but otherwise gave no indication that he'd been shot in the stomach earlier. He usually felt a plethora of emotions when he saw her for the first time - desire, admiration, a certain smugness, possessiveness, satisfaction. Right now his chief emotion was relief, followed by diluted quantities of the aforementioned. He raised his arm delicately from his side to extend out for her to take. They were stood on the pavement right in front of his new house, the house he'd bought with her in mind as its mistress. Although he'd been taken in by the street name, the house itself was perfectly large and as smart as any Wellingtonshire home, although it could be a little further away from Bartonburg.
This is the way Charles wished I was starting this thread, but alas, Charles is a jackass and doesn't deserve to be rewarded for starting illegal duels and being too pigheaded to insist on using a weapon he's actually comfortable with. However not all of it was inaccurate. The house was indeed immaculate - he'd planned on having it presentable by the 27th - and the sun was most definitely shining although it was more of a discomfort than anything else in the state he was in. He wasn't supposed to be standing up at all but he'd demanded to be given whatever it took to get him through at least the afternoon functioning as close to normal as possible. He'd refused the most effective potions for pain relief because he was told the side effects would likely impair his mental faculties to some degree. As it was the pain relieving potion he'd taken was very affective, he barely noticed the pain unless he moved too much. He'd also taken something to improve his appearance - make him look less sallow and strung out but there was only so much magic could do about it when he'd already felt exhausted upon waking that morning and he was suffering from a gunshot wound. He looked normal enough but noticeably peaky, but no more so than he might if he'd been working overtime for several days which was precisely what he planned to say if Miss Lestrange asked. Fortunately Macnair hadn't shot him anywhere too noticeable, he could totally get away with this.
Technically he'd lost the duel and shouldn't be anywhere near Miss Lestrange but he hadn't counted on losing at all and damn it he was certain Macnair had cheated! If Macnair couldn't win honorably then Charles wouldn't lose honorably.
"Good day, Miss Lestrange." Charles' voice sounded a hint strained perhaps but otherwise gave no indication that he'd been shot in the stomach earlier. He usually felt a plethora of emotions when he saw her for the first time - desire, admiration, a certain smugness, possessiveness, satisfaction. Right now his chief emotion was relief, followed by diluted quantities of the aforementioned. He raised his arm delicately from his side to extend out for her to take. They were stood on the pavement right in front of his new house, the house he'd bought with her in mind as its mistress. Although he'd been taken in by the street name, the house itself was perfectly large and as smart as any Wellingtonshire home, although it could be a little further away from Bartonburg.
@"Tatiana Lestrange"
