Lizzy was sitting in the Ravenclaw Common Room, absently reading a book. She was dressed as she normally was, in an Empire- waisted gown.
Despite the fact that she had been reading for a good quarter of an hour, she hadn't read more than several pages. Her thoughts were occupied with pleasanter thoughts (mainly of Simkin) and more confused musings
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A sudden feeling of dizziness swept through her, and she set the paintbrush she was holding down and took a few steps back. It was definitely time to find something else to do for a while.
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He was Simkin, he cared not a jot. Honestly.
He stared around the room, and snorted in disgust. This colour scheme was terrible. So, in the blink of an eye, it changed to a dark, smoky redwood, highlighting the darker wood of the furniture.
Better. Much better.
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She wasn't feeling entirely forward enough to wander up the stairs to try and find Simkin's room (the thought made her blush) so she sat down on the steps, with a sudden headache. The thought was forward and could rival Lydia's most inane babbling in silliness, but not dizzying, so why did her head start hurting?
Lizzy closed her eyes and shook her head to clear it, and, rather suddenly, found herself standing in front of an easel.
She blinked, in the hopes that she was just seeing things. Sadly, she wasn't.
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"What the hell?" she asked in a distinctly British accent. Then she looked down at the clothes she was wearing. They weren't hers. They were too old-fashioned and hard to move in to be hers at all.
Jilly wasn't normally a shrieker, but as the saying went, there was a first time for everything, so Jilly indeed shrieked in alarm.
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"Elizabeth!" He cried as he reached the bottom, his eyes wild as he forgot his manners in his haste. "What is wrong, my dear? Was it Darcy again?"
He's looking very concerned, and there's almost a glimmer of anger there. He's actually worried. Aww.
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Tyrion was still drinking his coffee and considering what to do next. There was a commotion on the stairs, but he ignored it for the moment, as shrieking females weren't really to his taste.
Then the common room door swung open and... Seven hells! Was that Sansa? Swishing her hips seductively?
Oh, hells. It was someone else in Sansa's body, he was fairly certain.
Still... He ought to go rescue her before she wound up doing something the real Sansa would have regretted.
'Damn, I'm chivalrous of a sudden,' he thought as he sauntered over to her.
"Well, hello there. You seem remarkably cheerful this morning."
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He was intrigued enough to move closer to her, his gaze lingering on her cleavage for a moment.
"The same seems to have happened to me, sweetling," he murmured. "I think you have the right of it."
He was very close to her now, and he reached down to tangle his fingers in her hair and then bent--gods help him, this was a novel experience--so he could kiss her.
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