(no subject)
Septimus would come. Thomasina had come to the conclusion on the way to her room, and as she passed through her own doorway she was quite determined that she was correct. He could deny all he liked, but she had found the equation, had she not? The moon, a waltz, a kiss... he must come, if the universe was to continue in its orderly manner. And if, after five years of tutelage, she had not taught him that much, then his problems were more than Thomasina could hope to solve on her own.
The issue now, of course, was that Thomasina had not been taught the proper way to receive a gentleman in one's quarters at this late hour. It was not a thing that fell within the realm of Septimus's knowledge, she was sure, but somehow her mother had failed to address the issue as well. It was curious, she thought, that a pasttime which occupied so much of the time and attention of the women in their household should have no rules - or, at the very least, no means of making those rules plain.
She deliberated over her dress - a shift alone would not do, she supposed. It would give the wrong impression entirely, and Septimus's constitution was not so strong to tolerate it, she feared. Her morning dress must suffice, and so she left her clothes be, not bothering to dig her slippers out from beneath the bed. That done, all that was left to do was wait for her tutor to arrive.
Thomasina's mind wandered as she reclined and waited; the swirls of jam in her porridge this morning turned around, and around, revolving and thinning and expanding until they became the distant, glittering tracks of the Milky Way, hovering high overhead, dimming and cooling with every moment as everything eventually must... except for the curious fact that that the room was growing warmer. And brighter. Slowly, slowly, her eyelids fluttered open....
And all she could see were the flames.
[Thomasina has arrived on the island in the middle of the orchard, in bed, with the top of her nightstand on fire from a tipped-over candle. The flames won't be hard to extinguish, but she could certainly use a hand; or if you prefer, find her anywhere in the compound after she's had the situation explained.]
The issue now, of course, was that Thomasina had not been taught the proper way to receive a gentleman in one's quarters at this late hour. It was not a thing that fell within the realm of Septimus's knowledge, she was sure, but somehow her mother had failed to address the issue as well. It was curious, she thought, that a pasttime which occupied so much of the time and attention of the women in their household should have no rules - or, at the very least, no means of making those rules plain.
She deliberated over her dress - a shift alone would not do, she supposed. It would give the wrong impression entirely, and Septimus's constitution was not so strong to tolerate it, she feared. Her morning dress must suffice, and so she left her clothes be, not bothering to dig her slippers out from beneath the bed. That done, all that was left to do was wait for her tutor to arrive.
Thomasina's mind wandered as she reclined and waited; the swirls of jam in her porridge this morning turned around, and around, revolving and thinning and expanding until they became the distant, glittering tracks of the Milky Way, hovering high overhead, dimming and cooling with every moment as everything eventually must... except for the curious fact that that the room was growing warmer. And brighter. Slowly, slowly, her eyelids fluttered open....
And all she could see were the flames.
[Thomasina has arrived on the island in the middle of the orchard, in bed, with the top of her nightstand on fire from a tipped-over candle. The flames won't be hard to extinguish, but she could certainly use a hand; or if you prefer, find her anywhere in the compound after she's had the situation explained.]