Kassandra Rose
Elder Member
I probably should start a collective thread, since this is now my second one. However, I'm not particularly looking for a general role play, but rather specifics.
I'm currently looking for a literate writing partner willing to write as Murdock, or Danny if not.
I have two writing samples on this thread, for my shorter posts
Yet, I do thoroughly enjoy writing, and my posts can extend this long:
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife - or so that was what Estella's friend, Marie Pendlehaven, had told her, as she twisted and weaved the silky white strands of Ella's hair into something fashionably chic.
And yet, the young Artois wasn't sure how much of a 'truth' that this actually was. George Warleggan, from what she could gather, didn't particularly want a wife, but instead the fortune, the connections and the subsequent heir that commonly followed such a union. No, if anything was a universal truth, at least to the nobility of Cornwall, it was that that money could undeniably buy happiness. For, it could purchase whatever it was that the heart desired: friends, connections, balls and feasts.
Such was true to the Peneven heiress, who had accumulated the great, the good and, in George's case, the dirty rich, all together in celebration of her marriage to Doctor Dwight Enys.
"I do believe that the young Gentleman over there is looking at you, Ella," her companion poked her in the side of her corset. Struggling to breathe already, Estella wriggled uncomfortably beneath the woman's touch, as small as it may be, and attempted to tilt her porcelain face in a manner that would not adhere attention.
"By no means," she shook her head, though she knew it to be the truth. "I believe him to be quite enticed by your natural beauty". The corners of her rouged lips tugged up ever so slightly. "Or, if not, he is at least admiring your handiwork, little else". Marie had spent hours fawning over them wretched, unruly curls of her new companion.
"Do you truly think so?" The brunette began to fan her face with the soft, baby blue lace. Her usual olive complexion had flushed to that of a ripe Spaniard tomato. "Pray, forgive me! He is quite the sight for sore eyes, if I must allow my tongue to speak freely. Oh, 'tis the greatest shame that I know no one whom is a mutual friend. To be introduced to him would be the greatest aspiration that one could hope for at the gathering!"
It took everything Estella had not to snort aloud at her friend. It was not her fault that she was indoctrinated so. "I do believe you are quite acquainted with Lady Falmouth?" She reminded her friend, with a gentle nod of her head in the direction of the elderly woman, sat within the window seat of the room alone. "If I am right, which I'm almost certain that I shall be, that is her nephew. Although I can't remember his name for the life of me, I do recall that it was he whom Captain Poldark rescued from the bloodshed of the ruthless French. Do you not remember hearing of the occasion? Lucinda told me that she heard during a ball at Tverathen house that Falmouth plans on placing Poldark in Parliament with thanks to the matter. Could you believe such a thing?"
"Mere gossip," George scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No one would dare make a man as reckless as to break into, not just one but, two prisons. And, the prisoners are lucky to be alive too. From what I heard, of Bodmin Moor, him and that Doctor friend of his murdered a poor child - hacking off his arm like some kind of wild animals".
It was Estella's turn to roll her eyes. "Mr. Warleggan, I must bid you to hold your tongue. You're here solely because that self same doctor has invited you, on his wedding day and all. Seriously, George? Must you believe all that such rumours have to say? For, I daresay... some of the most outrageous things I have heard about you".
She left it at that, for the cruel man to panic in haste of what had been said of him behind his back - whilst her eyes scanned, so softly, the face of Marie's dream husband. Her friend was not wrong. He was, without a doubt, most certainly a sight for sore eyes - or for any eyes really. His skin was flawless, as if a babe sent straight from the clouds of heaven, and it upheld such sweet, olive warmth. Below each of his high cheekbones, the Angels had kissed him, blessing him with two very beautiful dimples. His jaw was soft, but not without manly edge, and his hair fell in loose waves that reminded one of the hush sounds of the Cornish sea against the ribbed sand.
"Oh, I am afeared, Ella. Would you hate me so if I approached her so, just now?" The young lady nibbled gently on her lower lip. "You are welcome to join me".
"By all means, Marie, you have spent far too much of your time on myself already," the young lady smiled, brushing down her dress. "Go! Quickly, before somebody else gets to it first. I shall remain, dutifully, by the side of Mr. Warleggan, who shall no doubt keep me entertained". The English market for a new husband was a killer, or so her step mother was always writing to tell her so:
"If you are not quick, Estelle, you shall soon be an old maid, or married to the dregs which no thorough lady would ever dream of touching with an ungloved hand".
Gloves, ungloved... it made no difference to her. Estella had no desires to go near any man. Submit her freedom, and for what cost? To fawn over him, to slave over him and his... spawns? No, thank you. She'd much rather be 'an old maid'. It was a shame then that her father planned to cart her off to the highest bidder as if she were some old mule. To George Warleggan and all! Why, she wouldn't even dream of selling old Betsy to a man like him, who had no such thing as a beating heart to express the care and devotion necessary to life.
Lost in her thoughts, the young lady failed to take notice of her escort, who was consistently pestering her in regards to her prior comments. "Estella! I said, Estella!" George hissed, before grasping at her. "Will you listen to me?"
"Hm?" She turned her attention back to the Gentleman, wrapping her petite hand around his lower arm. "Yes, George?"
"Whatever have such lunatics been saying about me?"
"You know," she stole another glance to the direction of the former prisoner of France. "...I can't quite recall," she said, before casting her eyes back towards her would be Fiancé. "It can't have been much of good significance, or I ought to remember. Perhaps, Mr Warleggan, it would do you good to follow suit of Ross Poldark".
Ross Poldark. What was it that they say? Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Unfortunately for George, it appeared that this was such the case for his archenemy, who had passed nearby with his cousin, Verity Poldark, having danced with the beautiful Elizabeth Chynoweth.
His cousin, Verity, had bid him to come, in spite of him repeatedly telling her that he felt up to no such occasion. She did, however, he accepted, need an escort, and her childbearing days were promptly lessening. It would be unfair to deny her such happiness while it were still to be offered. All the same, he could not bring himself to enjoy such a wonder. For, despite all of the beauty that surrounded him, not one of them even came a mile close of that heavenly creature that had been Amelia Carminow.
There it began, once more, images of the ghostly presence. Her, all her. Amelia running through the meadows. Ross chasing her. Him catching her, within the embrace of his arms, and lifting her in the air, before she would turn, and they would share a loving, true kiss. It was a love he had only known once and, since hearing the news of her marriage, one that he would never go again.
"You are in good health, Captain Poldark?" A small voice called out to him, not one that he was too familiar with. Turning upon the heel of his boot, Ross came to face the lady with a false but necessary, polite smile. His dark eyes fell shadow to her light face.
"Miss Artois," he nodded duly. Yet, the corners of his lips tugged downwards at her company, and could not be herewith withdrawn from such. "I am, thank you for your regards. How is your father keeping? From what I last heard, he was over the moon and his wife with twins".
"Ah, yes," she bowed sweetly. "Henrietta and Little Louisa, would you believe that they are but five years of age this year? How time flies by so quickly when one is not ensuring watch".
"How indeed," was his response, short but all too aware of it to be the truth. It felt like only yesterday that Amelia and him had shared their most melancholy farewell, that only yesterday she had placed her small ring in the palm of his gigantic hand and kissed it softly shut. 'Forget me not,' she had said, and he had followed obediently, like a sailor helpless to the voice of his siren, and yet she had been so quick to cast him aside in her heart.
"Will you be furthermore joining the dancing, Captain? I'm sure that my father would wish to see another of his daughters besotted on a gentleman, of age or not," it was no secret that Estella was not fond of her new parents. Although, she did possess a love for her father that could not be revoked. Ross had been the same, when the old man was alive at least. His mother had once said that the two were simply too alike in so many ways, that they clashed. Unlike him, his mother had been the water to his father's fire. His equal and yet opposite in every manner, and in some ways so had she been his.
"I'm inclined to say not," he shook his unkempt mane. "I was hoping to catch a breath of fresh air". Pausing, he cast a look from Ella to her arm jewellery, Warleggan. "You'd be more than welcome to join me, if your partner could spare you for but a moment".
"By no means-"
"But of course," she spoke, simultaneously to George's refusal, before casting him a stern look, a Carminow glare if he ever did see one on another lass. "George, I have such a horrid thirst. Would you please be as kind as to grab me a glass of brandy wine?"
Ross smirked devilishly, awaiting till his enemy was out of earshot to smile at the woman once more. "You look beautiful tonight, Estella," he offered out his arm, allowing her dainty hand to slip under and wrap around. "Don't tell your father I said so. I'm not, in truth, the marrying kind".
At this, the girl snorted. "Truly, I shall not. Content you, sir. However, I thank ye for your praise, whether it's justification be wholly or not. As for marrying kind, do my ears deceive me?" His eyebrows furrowed, as his head tilted to get a better look at her bemused expression. "Do you forget so quickly that it is I who introduced you to my sweetest friend, Amelia?"
His front teeth pressed down slightly on his parted lower lip. "For that I am eternally bound to you, Miss," he shook his head once more. "Although, I think we know that chapter- no, that story was firmly concluded with the marriage to her husband. In many ways, I must be thankful. We were too dissimilar to ever work properly. The match was impractical".
Only a sigh escaped the girl's lips, as the two walked in silence. Both of them had retreated to their own pensive minds. "Do you not think that opposites work well? Following our travels to Asia, I discovered the most beautiful story of perpetuatance even in the most disarray. Have you heard of the Chinese story Yin and Yang?" He shook his head again, feeling like quite the dunce tonight. "Yin and Yang were born from chaos when the universe was first created. The Chinese believed that they exist in harmony at the centre of the Earth. During the creation, their achievement of balance in the cosmic egg allowed for the birth of Pangu, the first human. In truth, I think it all to be metaphorical, but to me it makes some sense".
"Is that so?" Ross couldn't refrain from laughing. "And how is that?" He couldn't fathom anything of reality from such a bizzare tale.
"Well, it is science, of course. I know many who consider it to be but philosophy, but look at the work of our dear Dr. Enys. Is he not a proclaimed miracle worker? I believe the story to be a somewhat complicated reference to simpler things. Water keeps check of fire, to prevent seismic catastrophic events. The earth keeps us bound to the ground, so that we do not disappear within the clouds of the sky".
"Well, by all means, you and George be willfully happy then. For, he lacks all the airs and graces which seemingly come so natural to you," Ross attempted to joke, a little unnerved that she appeared to know his mind, or even his very soul and heart's desire. "Is that how you convince yourself that you may love him?"
It was the lady's turn to laugh, like the sound of sweet honey bees in summer. "In truth, I'm not sure I do believe there is such a thing. Love? Tish. My father says that 'tis something that beggars use to comfort their losses. Nobody truly gets to marry for love. You-" she paused, licking her lips swiftly. "Forgive me. I mean not to intrude".
Ross winced, but assured her of no such offence to warrant apologies. "I understand it to be true, yes, Miss Artois - and, I cannot blame your pessimism, being engaged to such..." he glanced over, to where George was trying to insert himself into a Gentleman's conversation. "I don't blame you, anyway. Yet, just because we cannot follow our hearts, does not mean that they don't beat soundly, nor that they have no hopes of their own. I cannot decline the accusation that I have fell victim once upon a time to love. I proclaim that it does exist, and I know you think me to be a practical man, so you may take my very word for it. The only problem is that you cannot possess it. It is a force to truly be reckoned with, a bit like the American's in the late war of independence".
Silence had fallen once more, like a blanket over the wounds of the past. "Well then," Ella spoke feebly. "I hope it may spare me from its wrath. May I never love, or be forever inclined to misery".
"Unless, you love George? Though I can see how you feel it quite so impossible," Ross tugged down upon his hat, altering it so that it could cascade the faint glimmer of sadness in the depths of his eyes. From then, the silence remained, though not the least bit unappreciated, and all the more comforting things were because of it. Yet, their conversation lingered in their minds, or at least he knew it did in his, alongside the ghost of the only woman that mattered. Then it came: the welcome distraction!
"Hugh!" Ross clapped him on the back with his free arm, "it is good to see you looking so entirely well. You have been making the most of your liberty then?" His liberty and John's had been the only light shining through the prison of Ross's torments, and his responsibility for the death of one of his closest companions. "I'd hoped to see you here, knowing all too well that John wouldn't be able to resist the charms of your friendship. I fear that the bride may be green with jealousy when she sees his second wife is here..." he halted his jokes, forgetting the presence of the lady upon his arm. Such topics were truly not for the ears of a delicate woman. "Forgive me. May I introduce my companion: The Honourable Miss Estella De Artois".
And yet, the young Artois wasn't sure how much of a 'truth' that this actually was. George Warleggan, from what she could gather, didn't particularly want a wife, but instead the fortune, the connections and the subsequent heir that commonly followed such a union. No, if anything was a universal truth, at least to the nobility of Cornwall, it was that that money could undeniably buy happiness. For, it could purchase whatever it was that the heart desired: friends, connections, balls and feasts.
Such was true to the Peneven heiress, who had accumulated the great, the good and, in George's case, the dirty rich, all together in celebration of her marriage to Doctor Dwight Enys.
"I do believe that the young Gentleman over there is looking at you, Ella," her companion poked her in the side of her corset. Struggling to breathe already, Estella wriggled uncomfortably beneath the woman's touch, as small as it may be, and attempted to tilt her porcelain face in a manner that would not adhere attention.
"By no means," she shook her head, though she knew it to be the truth. "I believe him to be quite enticed by your natural beauty". The corners of her rouged lips tugged up ever so slightly. "Or, if not, he is at least admiring your handiwork, little else". Marie had spent hours fawning over them wretched, unruly curls of her new companion.
"Do you truly think so?" The brunette began to fan her face with the soft, baby blue lace. Her usual olive complexion had flushed to that of a ripe Spaniard tomato. "Pray, forgive me! He is quite the sight for sore eyes, if I must allow my tongue to speak freely. Oh, 'tis the greatest shame that I know no one whom is a mutual friend. To be introduced to him would be the greatest aspiration that one could hope for at the gathering!"
It took everything Estella had not to snort aloud at her friend. It was not her fault that she was indoctrinated so. "I do believe you are quite acquainted with Lady Falmouth?" She reminded her friend, with a gentle nod of her head in the direction of the elderly woman, sat within the window seat of the room alone. "If I am right, which I'm almost certain that I shall be, that is her nephew. Although I can't remember his name for the life of me, I do recall that it was he whom Captain Poldark rescued from the bloodshed of the ruthless French. Do you not remember hearing of the occasion? Lucinda told me that she heard during a ball at Tverathen house that Falmouth plans on placing Poldark in Parliament with thanks to the matter. Could you believe such a thing?"
"Mere gossip," George scoffed, rolling his eyes. "No one would dare make a man as reckless as to break into, not just one but, two prisons. And, the prisoners are lucky to be alive too. From what I heard, of Bodmin Moor, him and that Doctor friend of his murdered a poor child - hacking off his arm like some kind of wild animals".
It was Estella's turn to roll her eyes. "Mr. Warleggan, I must bid you to hold your tongue. You're here solely because that self same doctor has invited you, on his wedding day and all. Seriously, George? Must you believe all that such rumours have to say? For, I daresay... some of the most outrageous things I have heard about you".
She left it at that, for the cruel man to panic in haste of what had been said of him behind his back - whilst her eyes scanned, so softly, the face of Marie's dream husband. Her friend was not wrong. He was, without a doubt, most certainly a sight for sore eyes - or for any eyes really. His skin was flawless, as if a babe sent straight from the clouds of heaven, and it upheld such sweet, olive warmth. Below each of his high cheekbones, the Angels had kissed him, blessing him with two very beautiful dimples. His jaw was soft, but not without manly edge, and his hair fell in loose waves that reminded one of the hush sounds of the Cornish sea against the ribbed sand.
"Oh, I am afeared, Ella. Would you hate me so if I approached her so, just now?" The young lady nibbled gently on her lower lip. "You are welcome to join me".
"By all means, Marie, you have spent far too much of your time on myself already," the young lady smiled, brushing down her dress. "Go! Quickly, before somebody else gets to it first. I shall remain, dutifully, by the side of Mr. Warleggan, who shall no doubt keep me entertained". The English market for a new husband was a killer, or so her step mother was always writing to tell her so:
"If you are not quick, Estelle, you shall soon be an old maid, or married to the dregs which no thorough lady would ever dream of touching with an ungloved hand".
Gloves, ungloved... it made no difference to her. Estella had no desires to go near any man. Submit her freedom, and for what cost? To fawn over him, to slave over him and his... spawns? No, thank you. She'd much rather be 'an old maid'. It was a shame then that her father planned to cart her off to the highest bidder as if she were some old mule. To George Warleggan and all! Why, she wouldn't even dream of selling old Betsy to a man like him, who had no such thing as a beating heart to express the care and devotion necessary to life.
Lost in her thoughts, the young lady failed to take notice of her escort, who was consistently pestering her in regards to her prior comments. "Estella! I said, Estella!" George hissed, before grasping at her. "Will you listen to me?"
"Hm?" She turned her attention back to the Gentleman, wrapping her petite hand around his lower arm. "Yes, George?"
"Whatever have such lunatics been saying about me?"
"You know," she stole another glance to the direction of the former prisoner of France. "...I can't quite recall," she said, before casting her eyes back towards her would be Fiancé. "It can't have been much of good significance, or I ought to remember. Perhaps, Mr Warleggan, it would do you good to follow suit of Ross Poldark".
Ross Poldark. What was it that they say? Speak of the Devil and he shall appear. Unfortunately for George, it appeared that this was such the case for his archenemy, who had passed nearby with his cousin, Verity Poldark, having danced with the beautiful Elizabeth Chynoweth.
His cousin, Verity, had bid him to come, in spite of him repeatedly telling her that he felt up to no such occasion. She did, however, he accepted, need an escort, and her childbearing days were promptly lessening. It would be unfair to deny her such happiness while it were still to be offered. All the same, he could not bring himself to enjoy such a wonder. For, despite all of the beauty that surrounded him, not one of them even came a mile close of that heavenly creature that had been Amelia Carminow.
There it began, once more, images of the ghostly presence. Her, all her. Amelia running through the meadows. Ross chasing her. Him catching her, within the embrace of his arms, and lifting her in the air, before she would turn, and they would share a loving, true kiss. It was a love he had only known once and, since hearing the news of her marriage, one that he would never go again.
"You are in good health, Captain Poldark?" A small voice called out to him, not one that he was too familiar with. Turning upon the heel of his boot, Ross came to face the lady with a false but necessary, polite smile. His dark eyes fell shadow to her light face.
"Miss Artois," he nodded duly. Yet, the corners of his lips tugged downwards at her company, and could not be herewith withdrawn from such. "I am, thank you for your regards. How is your father keeping? From what I last heard, he was over the moon and his wife with twins".
"Ah, yes," she bowed sweetly. "Henrietta and Little Louisa, would you believe that they are but five years of age this year? How time flies by so quickly when one is not ensuring watch".
"How indeed," was his response, short but all too aware of it to be the truth. It felt like only yesterday that Amelia and him had shared their most melancholy farewell, that only yesterday she had placed her small ring in the palm of his gigantic hand and kissed it softly shut. 'Forget me not,' she had said, and he had followed obediently, like a sailor helpless to the voice of his siren, and yet she had been so quick to cast him aside in her heart.
"Will you be furthermore joining the dancing, Captain? I'm sure that my father would wish to see another of his daughters besotted on a gentleman, of age or not," it was no secret that Estella was not fond of her new parents. Although, she did possess a love for her father that could not be revoked. Ross had been the same, when the old man was alive at least. His mother had once said that the two were simply too alike in so many ways, that they clashed. Unlike him, his mother had been the water to his father's fire. His equal and yet opposite in every manner, and in some ways so had she been his.
"I'm inclined to say not," he shook his unkempt mane. "I was hoping to catch a breath of fresh air". Pausing, he cast a look from Ella to her arm jewellery, Warleggan. "You'd be more than welcome to join me, if your partner could spare you for but a moment".
"By no means-"
"But of course," she spoke, simultaneously to George's refusal, before casting him a stern look, a Carminow glare if he ever did see one on another lass. "George, I have such a horrid thirst. Would you please be as kind as to grab me a glass of brandy wine?"
Ross smirked devilishly, awaiting till his enemy was out of earshot to smile at the woman once more. "You look beautiful tonight, Estella," he offered out his arm, allowing her dainty hand to slip under and wrap around. "Don't tell your father I said so. I'm not, in truth, the marrying kind".
At this, the girl snorted. "Truly, I shall not. Content you, sir. However, I thank ye for your praise, whether it's justification be wholly or not. As for marrying kind, do my ears deceive me?" His eyebrows furrowed, as his head tilted to get a better look at her bemused expression. "Do you forget so quickly that it is I who introduced you to my sweetest friend, Amelia?"
His front teeth pressed down slightly on his parted lower lip. "For that I am eternally bound to you, Miss," he shook his head once more. "Although, I think we know that chapter- no, that story was firmly concluded with the marriage to her husband. In many ways, I must be thankful. We were too dissimilar to ever work properly. The match was impractical".
Only a sigh escaped the girl's lips, as the two walked in silence. Both of them had retreated to their own pensive minds. "Do you not think that opposites work well? Following our travels to Asia, I discovered the most beautiful story of perpetuatance even in the most disarray. Have you heard of the Chinese story Yin and Yang?" He shook his head again, feeling like quite the dunce tonight. "Yin and Yang were born from chaos when the universe was first created. The Chinese believed that they exist in harmony at the centre of the Earth. During the creation, their achievement of balance in the cosmic egg allowed for the birth of Pangu, the first human. In truth, I think it all to be metaphorical, but to me it makes some sense".
"Is that so?" Ross couldn't refrain from laughing. "And how is that?" He couldn't fathom anything of reality from such a bizzare tale.
"Well, it is science, of course. I know many who consider it to be but philosophy, but look at the work of our dear Dr. Enys. Is he not a proclaimed miracle worker? I believe the story to be a somewhat complicated reference to simpler things. Water keeps check of fire, to prevent seismic catastrophic events. The earth keeps us bound to the ground, so that we do not disappear within the clouds of the sky".
"Well, by all means, you and George be willfully happy then. For, he lacks all the airs and graces which seemingly come so natural to you," Ross attempted to joke, a little unnerved that she appeared to know his mind, or even his very soul and heart's desire. "Is that how you convince yourself that you may love him?"
It was the lady's turn to laugh, like the sound of sweet honey bees in summer. "In truth, I'm not sure I do believe there is such a thing. Love? Tish. My father says that 'tis something that beggars use to comfort their losses. Nobody truly gets to marry for love. You-" she paused, licking her lips swiftly. "Forgive me. I mean not to intrude".
Ross winced, but assured her of no such offence to warrant apologies. "I understand it to be true, yes, Miss Artois - and, I cannot blame your pessimism, being engaged to such..." he glanced over, to where George was trying to insert himself into a Gentleman's conversation. "I don't blame you, anyway. Yet, just because we cannot follow our hearts, does not mean that they don't beat soundly, nor that they have no hopes of their own. I cannot decline the accusation that I have fell victim once upon a time to love. I proclaim that it does exist, and I know you think me to be a practical man, so you may take my very word for it. The only problem is that you cannot possess it. It is a force to truly be reckoned with, a bit like the American's in the late war of independence".
Silence had fallen once more, like a blanket over the wounds of the past. "Well then," Ella spoke feebly. "I hope it may spare me from its wrath. May I never love, or be forever inclined to misery".
"Unless, you love George? Though I can see how you feel it quite so impossible," Ross tugged down upon his hat, altering it so that it could cascade the faint glimmer of sadness in the depths of his eyes. From then, the silence remained, though not the least bit unappreciated, and all the more comforting things were because of it. Yet, their conversation lingered in their minds, or at least he knew it did in his, alongside the ghost of the only woman that mattered. Then it came: the welcome distraction!
"Hugh!" Ross clapped him on the back with his free arm, "it is good to see you looking so entirely well. You have been making the most of your liberty then?" His liberty and John's had been the only light shining through the prison of Ross's torments, and his responsibility for the death of one of his closest companions. "I'd hoped to see you here, knowing all too well that John wouldn't be able to resist the charms of your friendship. I fear that the bride may be green with jealousy when she sees his second wife is here..." he halted his jokes, forgetting the presence of the lady upon his arm. Such topics were truly not for the ears of a delicate woman. "Forgive me. May I introduce my companion: The Honourable Miss Estella De Artois".
"Li-cense," Lucia mimicked beneath her breath, simultaneously as he spoke, slowly bringing her eyes up to meet his own. Newt had always told her that her eyes rather scared him. Unlike the common shades of blue, green, and brown, they were a peculiar shade of Amber resin, and he claimed they had a mischievous spark within them that quite reminded him of a Phoenix. In this moment, mischief was prospering, for she truly thought herself quite the imitator. Though, she had never really been able to grasp the life-sucking desperation to please within Theseus's voice that Newt had always captured just perfectly.
"A license?" She mocked, accompanied with a sharp gasp. She attempted to refrain from laughing, but found it dreadfully difficult. The corners of her lips simply itched upwards, in an internal confliction for some kind of self composure. "Why, what on earth is one of those? Please, do enlighten me, oh wise one". That was it, she couldn't refrain herself much further. Laughter splurted between her slightly parted lips, a sweet hum like the sound of a honey bee buzzing against a mid-summer's breeze. "Do smile, Theseus. You've got such a pretty face, but you always look quite so miserable. You'd be far more attractive if you just-"
Piercing screams, a raging blue fire, and undeniable "BANG!" was just enough to finally rage some sense into the young witch, whose hand had immediately itched to her wand, tucked tightly in the pocket of her robes. "Oh for Merlin's sake, I did warn Romana that she ought not to leave that cauldron on boil," she mumbled, rather forgetting the auror that had been sent with a warrant for her arrest. She jostled through the wave of crazed citizens, attempting to flee the crime scene as swiftly and promptly as their little legs could carry them. A few cast a bizzare look her way, as if they couldn't quite understand just why she was running towards the direction of danger, rather than away.
A nervous gulp found itself caught in her upper throat, as she paused at the empty shell of a shop building. Somedthing told her - her worst fears whispered to her - that this had not simply been a typical temperamental cauldron. As if having obtained some kind of death wish, she approached the building with great unease, stepping over the front door, and dodging through the arctic blue flames. "Romana!" she called out, her eyes frantically searching for clues. The girl was still here. She could feel it, but where?
As Lucia stepped through the arch of where a door had once stood, the second floor burst down upon her in a shower of debris. Struggling for breath, beneath the dust, she flung herself to the floor, acquiring a few cuts and scrapes, but little too fatal. From her spot upon the ground was where she saw the gyspsy girl, lying vulnerably beneath the heavy weight of a fallen stone wall. Instantly, Lovegood began to scramble towards her, using her hands to help pull her knees forwards.
"Hushhh, hush, it's okay," her left arm reached out beneath the girl. Her right arm stroking her tattered brown nest of hair. "We can fix this. It's okay. It's okay," she repeated, though something told her that she was saying this for her own comfort, rather than that of her companion. "I told you-" she attempted to withhold her emotions. "I told you to turn off that bloody cauldron. Didn't I? What- what happened, Romana?" Her dainty hand rested upon the girl's dirty, blood stained cheek.
The girl upon the ground let out a small wheeze, as a small and trembling finger pointed towards where the old glass window had stood, into the direction of the sky. Lucia could feel it, feel it all. Suspicion, at first. A peculiar lady in a rather fine Emerald dress had entered. She was looking for something. Romana had been rather curious; this woman was not of her usual clientele. Then, surprise, fear, shock, as the woman had done something. Confusion also, said she couldn't quite understand how it had all unfolded. Pain, very strong pain, and such misery. Exhaustion. She wanted to let go.
"No, just wait, I'll find you help. I'll-" the auror. "Theseus!" she screamed, trying to scramble her feet. Never in her life had she wanted to see this face more. "Theseus!" Lucia hadn't realised that she was crying until her voice trembled. Tripping over a fallen beam, Lovegood brought her knees towards her body, and cradled them in her arms. It was dark here. So very dark. All she could feel was pain, emptiness, grief. Trying to block out all of the emotions, Lucia looked out of the window, towards the sky that was usually so light, blue, and carefree. That was when she saw it, what Romana was trying to point to, a symbol, like the colour of electric white lightning, mustering dark grey clouds around.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
----------
"I- uhm," Newt shuffled his weight from one foot to another. A light blow of a small sigh whistled between his lips. "If you don't mind just... moving..." he gestured to her foot. "Yes, thank you, just- just a moment". He firmly closed the door, resting his forehead for a simple moment upon the thick wood, before undoing the latch and allowing the door to creak open. Holding it so she could enter without fret of it bumping against her, Schamander gestured towards the living area. "Do you- do you take tea, Miss Montayo?" He closed the door behind her, and began to lead the way, shuffling towards the kitchen. "You must forgive the mess. We don't usually have visitors. We- oh dear. Bundy!"
He'd rather forgotten to inform Bundy that the ominous knocking upon the front door was indeed nothing to evoke anxiety over. "Bundy!" He called out once more. "For Dumbledore's wits, why on earth did I make this house so big". Leaving the kettle on to boil, Newt began to descend the staircase into the basement. As he did so, he found himself rather incapable of doing much more, as his jacket had been caught on some kind of- letting out a small sigh, Newt shook his head at the augurey. "Not today, Sentinel. We have a visitor. I need to find Bundy. Have you seen where she went?" The bird twitched his head, it's sharp beak releasing him and moving from left to right as if it were actually responding to what he said. "That's unfortunate. I really need to make sure that she doesn't-"
"Newt!" A breathless voice called up to him, as a plump figure plummeted towards him. "No worry, Newt. I've called for your brother. I told the Ministry I was a matter of life or death. We'll be safe from ol' Grindelwald now".
"... make sure she doesn't do that," Newt pinched the bridge of his nose, before moving his hand before his mouth. No bother. No bother. Theseus would come. He'd tell him all was fine and that would be the end of that. It didn't matter that his routine was broken just a little bit. He'd console Madeline's sister, write to Albus, send her on her way, and all would be back to normal. With a small sigh, Newt nodded in acceptance. "No worry, Bundy, just..." his mind fumbled upon what to possibly do next. "Could you possibly prepare some tea? I wasn't quite prepared for guests and-"
"Guests?"
"Yes, it wasn't actually Grindelwald at the door, you see, just some muggle who-"
"A muggle?!"
"Yes," Schamander's eyebrow's furrowed. "Just a muggle who-"
"But, what will the Ministry say about you conversing with a muggle? You know how the law works on such matters, Queenie and Jacob-"
"Look, don't worry about it, Bundy," he itched the back of his neck sheepishly. "You just make the tea. I can handle the Ministry. Oh, and if you can could you possibly bring my Quill, the Hippogriff tail one- yes, that one- and some parchment. I fear that I might have to get in touch with Dumbledore about this". His assistant gave an obedient nod, before pulling herself up the remainder of the stairs. Shortly, Newt had followed, an shaking of his Jacket, he placed it besides him as he slumped upon the settee opposing the newcomer.
"Terribly sorry, so- tea? Yes, that was where we left it," He nodded to himself, still rather avoiding her eye contact. "Bundy will be making tea. Unfortunately my brother will also be coming- oh, siblings. You had something that you needed to tell me about Madeline?"
"A license?" She mocked, accompanied with a sharp gasp. She attempted to refrain from laughing, but found it dreadfully difficult. The corners of her lips simply itched upwards, in an internal confliction for some kind of self composure. "Why, what on earth is one of those? Please, do enlighten me, oh wise one". That was it, she couldn't refrain herself much further. Laughter splurted between her slightly parted lips, a sweet hum like the sound of a honey bee buzzing against a mid-summer's breeze. "Do smile, Theseus. You've got such a pretty face, but you always look quite so miserable. You'd be far more attractive if you just-"
Piercing screams, a raging blue fire, and undeniable "BANG!" was just enough to finally rage some sense into the young witch, whose hand had immediately itched to her wand, tucked tightly in the pocket of her robes. "Oh for Merlin's sake, I did warn Romana that she ought not to leave that cauldron on boil," she mumbled, rather forgetting the auror that had been sent with a warrant for her arrest. She jostled through the wave of crazed citizens, attempting to flee the crime scene as swiftly and promptly as their little legs could carry them. A few cast a bizzare look her way, as if they couldn't quite understand just why she was running towards the direction of danger, rather than away.
A nervous gulp found itself caught in her upper throat, as she paused at the empty shell of a shop building. Somedthing told her - her worst fears whispered to her - that this had not simply been a typical temperamental cauldron. As if having obtained some kind of death wish, she approached the building with great unease, stepping over the front door, and dodging through the arctic blue flames. "Romana!" she called out, her eyes frantically searching for clues. The girl was still here. She could feel it, but where?
As Lucia stepped through the arch of where a door had once stood, the second floor burst down upon her in a shower of debris. Struggling for breath, beneath the dust, she flung herself to the floor, acquiring a few cuts and scrapes, but little too fatal. From her spot upon the ground was where she saw the gyspsy girl, lying vulnerably beneath the heavy weight of a fallen stone wall. Instantly, Lovegood began to scramble towards her, using her hands to help pull her knees forwards.
"Hushhh, hush, it's okay," her left arm reached out beneath the girl. Her right arm stroking her tattered brown nest of hair. "We can fix this. It's okay. It's okay," she repeated, though something told her that she was saying this for her own comfort, rather than that of her companion. "I told you-" she attempted to withhold her emotions. "I told you to turn off that bloody cauldron. Didn't I? What- what happened, Romana?" Her dainty hand rested upon the girl's dirty, blood stained cheek.
The girl upon the ground let out a small wheeze, as a small and trembling finger pointed towards where the old glass window had stood, into the direction of the sky. Lucia could feel it, feel it all. Suspicion, at first. A peculiar lady in a rather fine Emerald dress had entered. She was looking for something. Romana had been rather curious; this woman was not of her usual clientele. Then, surprise, fear, shock, as the woman had done something. Confusion also, said she couldn't quite understand how it had all unfolded. Pain, very strong pain, and such misery. Exhaustion. She wanted to let go.
"No, just wait, I'll find you help. I'll-" the auror. "Theseus!" she screamed, trying to scramble her feet. Never in her life had she wanted to see this face more. "Theseus!" Lucia hadn't realised that she was crying until her voice trembled. Tripping over a fallen beam, Lovegood brought her knees towards her body, and cradled them in her arms. It was dark here. So very dark. All she could feel was pain, emptiness, grief. Trying to block out all of the emotions, Lucia looked out of the window, towards the sky that was usually so light, blue, and carefree. That was when she saw it, what Romana was trying to point to, a symbol, like the colour of electric white lightning, mustering dark grey clouds around.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
Something was coming.
----------
"I- uhm," Newt shuffled his weight from one foot to another. A light blow of a small sigh whistled between his lips. "If you don't mind just... moving..." he gestured to her foot. "Yes, thank you, just- just a moment". He firmly closed the door, resting his forehead for a simple moment upon the thick wood, before undoing the latch and allowing the door to creak open. Holding it so she could enter without fret of it bumping against her, Schamander gestured towards the living area. "Do you- do you take tea, Miss Montayo?" He closed the door behind her, and began to lead the way, shuffling towards the kitchen. "You must forgive the mess. We don't usually have visitors. We- oh dear. Bundy!"
He'd rather forgotten to inform Bundy that the ominous knocking upon the front door was indeed nothing to evoke anxiety over. "Bundy!" He called out once more. "For Dumbledore's wits, why on earth did I make this house so big". Leaving the kettle on to boil, Newt began to descend the staircase into the basement. As he did so, he found himself rather incapable of doing much more, as his jacket had been caught on some kind of- letting out a small sigh, Newt shook his head at the augurey. "Not today, Sentinel. We have a visitor. I need to find Bundy. Have you seen where she went?" The bird twitched his head, it's sharp beak releasing him and moving from left to right as if it were actually responding to what he said. "That's unfortunate. I really need to make sure that she doesn't-"
"Newt!" A breathless voice called up to him, as a plump figure plummeted towards him. "No worry, Newt. I've called for your brother. I told the Ministry I was a matter of life or death. We'll be safe from ol' Grindelwald now".
"... make sure she doesn't do that," Newt pinched the bridge of his nose, before moving his hand before his mouth. No bother. No bother. Theseus would come. He'd tell him all was fine and that would be the end of that. It didn't matter that his routine was broken just a little bit. He'd console Madeline's sister, write to Albus, send her on her way, and all would be back to normal. With a small sigh, Newt nodded in acceptance. "No worry, Bundy, just..." his mind fumbled upon what to possibly do next. "Could you possibly prepare some tea? I wasn't quite prepared for guests and-"
"Guests?"
"Yes, it wasn't actually Grindelwald at the door, you see, just some muggle who-"
"A muggle?!"
"Yes," Schamander's eyebrow's furrowed. "Just a muggle who-"
"But, what will the Ministry say about you conversing with a muggle? You know how the law works on such matters, Queenie and Jacob-"
"Look, don't worry about it, Bundy," he itched the back of his neck sheepishly. "You just make the tea. I can handle the Ministry. Oh, and if you can could you possibly bring my Quill, the Hippogriff tail one- yes, that one- and some parchment. I fear that I might have to get in touch with Dumbledore about this". His assistant gave an obedient nod, before pulling herself up the remainder of the stairs. Shortly, Newt had followed, an shaking of his Jacket, he placed it besides him as he slumped upon the settee opposing the newcomer.
"Terribly sorry, so- tea? Yes, that was where we left it," He nodded to himself, still rather avoiding her eye contact. "Bundy will be making tea. Unfortunately my brother will also be coming- oh, siblings. You had something that you needed to tell me about Madeline?"
I don't want to spend too long with a dreary dos and do nots of writing. I like to have fun, not suffocate people. So, put up with my flaws and I'll put up with yours! However, a general request is a literate writing partner, who can juggle two characters.
That is all from me.
Have a lovely day
If you have any questions, feel free to ask me anything.
