(no subject)
And suddenly, there's a young man bursting through the doorway, having to lean against a wall for a moment to catch his breath, but only a moment -- while he's breathing heavily for now, he's clearly in very good shape, so it won't take long until he's breathing normally again.
When he pushes away from the wall, he can be properly assessed -- he's closer to thirty than he looks and attractive in a way that manages to combine both an enthusiastic, almost boyish charm and genuinely dashing good looks (he's tall, two inches over six feet, with clear brown eyes and neat brown hair). His dress is -- well, it was casual in 1845 (which happens to be the year he's just stepped out of), meaning it'll likely look formal to everyone else. He isn't wearing a cravat, however (the scandal!), and the top button of his shirt is undone; that coupled with his slightly disheveled hair, rumpled sleeves, and faint flush all make him look distinctly ruffled. In one hand, he has a black Pall Mall mallet, which looks rather the worse for wear (dented, scuffed, and otherwise fairly beaten up).
It'll take him a moment to divine where he is; when he realizes it's noplace he knows, he'll take it into stride, standing in order to give a proper bow to the room at large (complete with a flourish courtesy of the mallet). "And a very good day to any and all in this fine establishment," he says, giving a bright grin that's more genuinely friendly than charming (though certainly some of the latter is there). "Miles Bridgerton, at your service, and I appear to have lost my way. Can anyone tell me where I might be and where I might stash my prize?" Cue a pointed twirling of the mallet, followed by another grin, this one perhaps a little wicked.
Typist: The second child of Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton and Kate Sheffield, from The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn. Yes, yes, still more romancenovelspawn, so please forgive any inaccuracies regarding time periods the typist may make, as it isn't as if the canon itself is terribly strict about them.
When he pushes away from the wall, he can be properly assessed -- he's closer to thirty than he looks and attractive in a way that manages to combine both an enthusiastic, almost boyish charm and genuinely dashing good looks (he's tall, two inches over six feet, with clear brown eyes and neat brown hair). His dress is -- well, it was casual in 1845 (which happens to be the year he's just stepped out of), meaning it'll likely look formal to everyone else. He isn't wearing a cravat, however (the scandal!), and the top button of his shirt is undone; that coupled with his slightly disheveled hair, rumpled sleeves, and faint flush all make him look distinctly ruffled. In one hand, he has a black Pall Mall mallet, which looks rather the worse for wear (dented, scuffed, and otherwise fairly beaten up).
It'll take him a moment to divine where he is; when he realizes it's noplace he knows, he'll take it into stride, standing in order to give a proper bow to the room at large (complete with a flourish courtesy of the mallet). "And a very good day to any and all in this fine establishment," he says, giving a bright grin that's more genuinely friendly than charming (though certainly some of the latter is there). "Miles Bridgerton, at your service, and I appear to have lost my way. Can anyone tell me where I might be and where I might stash my prize?" Cue a pointed twirling of the mallet, followed by another grin, this one perhaps a little wicked.
Typist: The second child of Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton and Kate Sheffield, from The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn. Yes, yes, still more romancenovelspawn, so please forgive any inaccuracies regarding time periods the typist may make, as it isn't as if the canon itself is terribly strict about them.