It has only been the 6th day of school and I've already fallen asleep at least once a day during lectures oh gosh. Some of our lecture halls have such comfy cushion chairs that are excellent for napping so I can't help but doze off. At this rate, I'm going to end up failing.
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Poofter: Old slang for gay people.
Veracious: Speaking the truth.
Effeminate: Characterised by excessive softness, delicacy, self-indulgence
Voluptuary: Preoccupation with luxury and the secular world.
Capacious: Spacious, roomy
Mélange: An incongruous mixture
Ferment: Alternative meaning: To be in a state of agitation
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FYI: The word autism was only coined in 1938. Its symptons were noticed long before that, however people did not understand it.
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A knock came on my door. "Mr Linton?" Came a sweet but weathered voice.
Blast! I looked down at my severe lack of clothing due to my recent bath. I had taken advantage of the fact that I had the ginormous room all to myself without any sisters to berate me for strolling around nude.
"Give me a moment!" I snatched up the nearest article of clothing and wiggled into it.
"Sure, dear. Tell me when you're ready."
I buttoned up my shirt and ran to the door, to realise that I had no pants on.
"Give me another minute!"
"Of course." Some impatience had seeped into her pleasant tone. Maybe getting her to wait was a bad idea. She was, after all, old. Old people tend to have weak knees while aristocrats were irascible.
When I was finally presentable, I flung the door open.
Polite. Be polite.
Smiling, I attempted a cordial tone. "Sorry! Please enter."
I internally cringed at my forced enthusiasm.
"Thank you." She smiled. Although she sounded sincere, there was a tightness to her smile and voice. I wonder who could have caused that. And yes, I was refering to Mr Dickhead Ambrose. I was too lovable to elicit any unhappiness from her.
She gave my room a once over and I flushed. My bed looked as if a hurricane had decided to ram itself in it while the towel from my bath was flung messily on the floor in my haste to get dressed.
I closed the door softly behind us and walked to stand next to her.
"I see that you've made yourself at home."
"Erm...yeah."
"Do you mind me sitting?" She gestured to my bed.
Yes.
"No. Not at all!" I reminded myself that it was technically her bed, bought with her money.
She sat down more gracefully than I would ever be able to even if I took a thousand years of etiquette lessons. She placed her hands neatly on her lap. Taking a deep breath, she said without looking at me, "You must be wondering why I am here."
"Not really. You're probably here to talk about Mr Ambrose."
Her lips twitched. "Ah yes. Rikky."
YOU ARE READING
After the Storm
Fanfiction*After the Storm* After the perilous journey to retrieve a file of paramount importance, and a trip to the desert to hunt down bandits, Lilly Linton believed that the turmoil had come to an end. But what happens when the ghosts of Mr Rikkard Ambrose...
