❧firmiis
"My husband, don't you know that it
doesn't do to leave such a fine novel out."
Mirth layered strong voice as a serving platter was balanced on one hand while the other brushed against the fine, worn pages of a book left to bask in the warm sunlight. Yellowed pages were fine and all——but near unforgivable on such fine craftsmanship. Still, tea was set upon the desk as her hips swayed, the joint where leg met torso pressed against the unyielding wood as the Mistress of Pemberley poured that whom possessed her heart a cup.
( And if she had intercepted a maid and insisted upon bringing the man his afternoon tea——well, propriety aside, the woman was bored, god forbid she do something kind for her dearest. )
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( precious dame ):
❛ Lizzy !! ❜
adrenaline rushes through her veins
at the g l i m p s e of a most
FAMILIAR face. such sweet
remembrance of lovely times
shared.
it has only been but two weeks,
& yet it feels like an INFINITY more
warm arms wrap the other in a
tumultuous e m b r a c e. a light
squeal of excitement passing her
lips.
Joyous laughter spilled forth from softly
parted lips and the embrace is returned
with nary a moment of hesitation. To see
someone so precious to her never failed
to bring upon her face a smile to rival the
sun itself.
And Musichetta? As cherished as
her sisters; or at least thereabouts.
They were kindred spirits, after
all; such could not be doubted.
( it was r a r e that she held
someone in such esteem. )
"Oh, 'Chetta, how have you been? Finals
weren't too cruel to you, were they?"
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( precious dame ):
exaltatiio M Y LOV E !!
"Oh, my darling 'Chetta,
it's been far too long."
( never mind it's been all of two weeks,
maximum; it had felt like months, though )
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"Listen—————the sky is
trying to tell us something."
Soft pitter patter of rain against the ceiling
is heard, and whimsy coated mirthful tone
as dark crowned head is tilted back, eyes
closing in bliss.
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( jane; precious sister ):
She takes interest in her sewing,
centering her attention on the movements
of her fingers rather than the insistence in her sister’s face.
❝ Eliza, do not talk so. Mr. Bingley is a sensible man;
he is aware and well-mannered. Station has little bearing
on how he carries himself. I hold him in high regard as should you. ❞
Sewing is all good and fine, a true lady's pastime, but
there were more pressing matters at hand; still, she
allowed her sister to divert her gaze, though hers remained.
"Mr. Bingley is certainly well-mannered, there is no
doubt of that, but aware is something I am not too sure
of. Leaving so suddenly———it is unforgivable, Jane."
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IF YOU WANNA BE MY LOVER
YOU GOTTA tell me really explicitely because I can’t tell when people are actually flirting with me
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( jane; precious sister ):
She is the embodiment of patience.
Not even the softest of sighs dare pass her lips.
❝ I mistook an amiable nature for affection.
I have only myself to blame, Eliza. ❞
And, oh, how she loved her sister so, for being
the true and utter personification of patience.
"Oh hush Jane, this is hardly your fault;
t'is the fault of the man who surely lacks in sense."
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"You cannot be serious."
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( jane; precious sister ):
❝ He is gone. There is nothing to discuss.❞
"Oh, very well then. What shall we discuss?
Mother's newest ideas or perhaps the logic
behind a man abruptly leaving a woman he
was so obviously and brazenly in love with."
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quietude. Strolls in here--trIPS AND FALLS ON FACE
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quietude. for tonight you can find me over here!
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( unknown; helpful sort ):
❝This is the Lost Woods, miss.❞
The name is perfectly suitable; Kokiri Forest large and dense, pathways winding like a befuddled road, twisting and turning and vanishing without need. Had he not been raised within the very lands they stood perhaps he may have been in a position very much like hers; but comfort seeps from his very frame, long-eared youth notably relaxed yet no less attentive. Grass soft and familiar against covered knees, the curious quirk of his lips speaks more than the mere words cradled upon his tongue.
❝I suppose you’re exactly that— lost.❞
Even if there had been an attempt to stifle her smile, to shut out the laughter that threatened to——and indeed did——spill past her shut lips, it would have been to no avail. Perhaps being lost was not the kind of thing one should laugh over under any circumstances, yet she did no feel sorrow over such a thing. Being lost simply meant that she would have to find her way out, and among such a glorious wood she felt no true fear, only anticipation, awaiting what would happen next. And, perchance, this young man would help her, though she could not be sure, yet looking upon him and his very nearly relaxed frame she could not quite help the assumption.
"Why—yes, it does appear that I am lost.
Do you run into lost people often, here?"
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