June Activity Check

[Jane Austen]

Hello everyone! Thank you for making our month an incredible success--and here's to many more!

Let's have a little fun with these monthly activity checks. For this one, have your character tell us a brief account of fond memory, anywhere from childhood to most recent past.

Please post here with one account, listing all your played characters (rather than with each character's account). There is a small code you may copy and paste to aid you.

Have a lovely June!

[b]Your Name:[/b]
[b]Character:[/b]
[b]Memory:[/b]

[Miss Elizabeth Bennet]

Your Name: Sadie
Character: Elizabeth Bennet
Memory: The memory that Lizzie holds most dear, is of the first time her father allowed her into his study to read from his library. Growing up, Lizzie was just as clumsy as any child raised without a governess, getting into scrapes, tearing through new dresses, dropping Mama's favorite teacup on the stairs--but all she longed to do was to read the books in Papa's study, to run her muddy little fingers across their spines, to peruse thin pages, to feel their steady weight. Her father was hardly seen without a book in hand, be it novel or play or essay. He was a well-read man, and regaled Lizzie with all sorts of stories and facts during afternoons where she would just not sit still.

But she was never allowed to read the books herself, the paper was too fragile for clumsy fingers, the binding too weak for carrying into trees. Lizzie was only to be read to from them, never to read them until she grew up a little. But when Lizzie tripped through the garden and fell on her wrist and broke it, her father brought her into the study--once the bone had been set and her tears wiped away--and let her pick whichever book she liked. She selected a slim volume of poetry she did not understand at so young an age, and spent the rest of her recovery carefully deciphering the flowery text.

[Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy]

Your Name: Spook
Character: Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy
Memory: fine eyes

He wasn't quite sure what to do, to be honest.

And that was a first, because even at the ripe old age of four and twenty was it rare for Fitzwilliam Darcy to not know exactly what he was meant to do. He supposed he might avoid the perpetrator of his disconcertment. Find another place to sit during lessons, during study, during dinner, during his free time. Frighten the lad off, somehow, perhaps? He was younger, for one. A son born from a father in trade. Not like himself. If one wanted to really pull it off on the sort of technicality the more invasive and prudish of the Ton would use, his company was not the sort Darcy should keep. What would his father say? Did he really feel like dealing with the comments of the more prudish and invasive of their social circle? He was sure if he tried hard enough--

Charles Bingley's blue eyes were hopeful, but his youthful smile was so friendly joyous -- who on earth had such a smile on their face when one had to study for calculus? -- so endearing and infectious that the reticent Darcy found, not for the first time, his mouth twitching in response.

Damn what the Ton thought. Trade was fast becoming the new way of life, and if he was honest with himself, it fascinated the Whig in him. There was such a thing as progression, and thus, the fresh faced young man before him was -- might prove -- to be as good as his complete equal. Besides, he rather felt like he'd be kicking a puppy if he kept avoiding such determined attempts at friendship.

Darcy sighed and smiling ruefully, he kicked the chair across from him back with a long leg. A silent invitation, but a willing one.

After dealing with George lately, it might be nice to have such a friend.

Your Name: Spook
Character: Miss Rebecca Levitt
Memory:

"Miss Beccy! Be careful! How could I face your mother if you were swept out to sea!"

The thought of that was enough to sober the little girl, though only enough so that she would be slightly more careful. For though she did not go out any deeper, she was immediately on the move again after a moment of serious contemplation. The salt water splashed up past her knees, soaking her skirts in a way she knew would get her a scolding later on, but at the present, she could not find it in her to care. The air was absolutely invigorating, just as the stories said, and the usually sensible girl giggled gleefully at the way in which her bare toes sunk into the sand underfoot, the manner in which the waves crested with white foam -- oh, the games that could be played with them! The stories she might tell when she went home to Meryton! She was sure Miss Lizzie would be thoroughly envious!

The seaside was indeed everything it was cracked up to be.

"Rebecca! Darling, come in for supper. The sea will be there tomorrow."

The little girl pouted quite ferociously at the summons, but her obedient nature won out. Thus, she turned about and made her way back, though not even the sulkiest of thoughts could wipe away the smile on her face. A smile only exacerbated by the pretty woman whom had called her -- her Mama, even when she must ruin her fun, was always one with the most infectious of smiles, and Beccy jumped gleefully, sand and all, into her mother's embrace upon reaching her. Hugging her tightly...doing her best to ignore the ill pallor that still prevailed upon Charlotte's skin.

"Mama, I would be more than happy if we never left!"

Your Name: Spook
Character: Colonel Benjamin Devereaux
Memory:

He moved quietly down Iago's flank, humming and whispering to him, and though he fidgeted and bared his teeth, the young colt's ears swivelled from his head's downward position to listen. It had been a day and a half already, but the link between young man and young horse was tenuous -- by no means was Iago ready to bow down yet. Of that, Ben could tell, and it delighted him. He knew he'd chosen well, regardless of what the others said.

The most crucial moment of their battle was yet to come, though.

It was only the swiftest of horsemanship that let him both mount the colt's bare back and release the knot that held his head down. Iago's whole body convulsed and froze with outrage. Then he realised he was free, and like an eagle launching into flight, Iago seemed to rise straight up in the air on all four legs. He came down and rose again just as quickly, his scream of rage eclipsing all, even the cry of one of the onlookers.

He then started to buck, kicking viciously his hooves to the sky, in a series of wild lunges about the field. He slammed against the fence on one side, then on the other, then he rose back, attempting to impale his newfound rider viciously on one of the stakes. And yet Ben stuck to him like a burr, muscular legs clenched like vices, shifting only to move further up the iron grey neck when Iago once again flung himself back.

"Only a clever and war-like horse would attempt like this to kill a man. Perhaps Ben knows what he's doing after all," Jonothan murmured wryly, even as he held his terrified little sisters close to him. Evelyn stifled a scream when the colt flew into a furious gallop, and it was as if he would kill them both upon the splinters of the fence before him. Yet Ben did little to pull him up -- rather, he laughed with the exhiliration, and his cry was more a hiss of challenge as the fence loomed ever closer. "Yes, yes, my darling -- show me what you can do!"

Iago sailed over the fence without a check, and horse and rider disappeared into the slopes of the low mountains, the looking darkness of the forests that surrounded Riversmeet. An hour would pass, then two, and later on, even Jon would admit to fearing that both youth and colt had killed one another. But then, after yet another half hour, the skyline was broken by what was indeed a sorry pair. The colt's head hung and his body was rank with salt and sweat, his exhaustion evident in every step he took and eclipsed only be Ben's, who drooped like a willow tree on his back, bruised and battered.

And yet when his hands moved, his legs shifted gently against Iago's whither, the colt obeyed, and after several more moments of tense silence, a cheer went up amongst the onlookers. Ben had won.

"I feared he might break the colt's spirit," Jon would say softly to his wife later on, as they checked on his younger brother and his new horse. They were both long gone to the world, dead asleep on the straw, Iago lying spread-eagled on his side and Ben's head slumped wearily against the steel grey neck. "But perhaps they are more suited to one another than I first thought. Determined and generously dedicated in spirit--"

"Which by that you mean stubborn and pig-headed," Amelia murmured dryly, and her husband laughed softly before taking her arm to lead her out and leave horse and man for the night. And though he seemed to sleep on, Ben smiled slightly against the neck of his newfound battlemate.

[MISS JANE BENNET]

Your Name: Quinn
Character: Jane Bennet
Memory:

“ Lizzie!” Jane called eagerly, her spritely five year old frame carrying her as fast as her little legs could carry her through the meadow searching for her beloved little sister. As try as she might Jane could not find her to save her life. Glancing back she saw with a grin that Mama and Papa were following behind at a slower pace with little Mary and baby Kitty in their arms. It was Jane’s job to find Lizzie, for she was the eldest sister and eldest sisters always protected their younger ones.

Deciding to slow down she stopped to listen for a minute wondering if she could get a better idea of where she was.
Sure enough as soon as she stopped and listened she heard the strains of Lizzie’s musical giggle on the wind. She was to the right, that much Jane was certain. So she turned and ran off in that direction with a soft giggle of her own. As Jane neared the tree in the center of their meadow she could hear her sister’s laughter grow louder. Stifling giggles of her own she slowed down to a careful tip-toe certain that she would sneak up on her sister and scare her.

However Lizzie was much too smart for that and jumped out from around the tree and scared her instead! After recovering from the scare Jane threw her arms around her sister in reckless abandon as happy as could possibly be . Arm and arm they skipped back to their parents who had stopped to watch the scene unfold.

“ I found her Mama! I found Lizzie!” she cried happily wanting to show off how good of a big sister she could be.

“ So you did sweetling! What a good sister you are.” Mrs. Bennet cooed playfully at her daughter. Jane clapped her hands in delight pleased to be rewarded with such praise from her mother. Jane was a good big sister and she would continue to be.

[MR CHARLES BINGLEY]

Your Name: Liz
Character: Charles Bingley
Memory:

Some mornings, the young Charles slept in late, but when he knew that his father would be home, he always rose early, excited for what the day would bring. They would go for a walk and Papa would tell him about everything that he had seen and done while he was away. Sometimes, Charles got to go with him, but he was the only man in the house when his father was gone, and he was expected to take care of things. It was supposed to teach him responsibility.

Even if Charles was not quite used to caring for other people, he was going to get used to caring for something else. His father came to wake him early in the morning to find him already risen, and wrapped an arm around Charles' shoulder.

“Come with me, son. I have something to show you.”

Charles' eyebrows shot up in surprise and interest, a hesitant grin growing on his face. His father was always kind and generous to his children, now that they had more money especially. He followed his father outside to the pasture, where, in addition to the horses the family already owned, there was a black colt.

“Papa! Is he mine? Truly?”

Mr Bingley smiled down at young Master Charles Bingley, putting a hand fondly on the boy's shock of red hair. “He is.”

Charles whooped in excitement, making the horse toss its head. “Quietly, Charles,” Mr Bingley said with a faint smile of amusement.

After he nodded in obedience to show that he heard, the young teenager approached the horse with more caution, putting a gentle hand on its neck and giving it a slow, long stroke. “He is wondrous, Papa.” He grinned as the horse lowered its head to snuffle around the shoulder of his coat, giving its neck a pat. “Thank you.”

[MISS CHARLOTTE DELAFORD]

Your Name: Mdme Butterfly
Character: Miss Charlotte Delaford
Memory:

“I could not possibly eat another thing!” declared Charlotte from the flagstone floor of the kitchen, her ringlets about her head in a manner so angelic as to give rise to all manner of misrepresentation about the girl that lived beneath them. Her mouth was a ring of sugar and flour had liberally distributed itself over her day dress, almost as a blanket that stood in tribute to the winter so recently passed. Spring was here, and with it the first harvest of apples!

Every year Mrs Williams marked the occasion by baking her famous apple pies and although the end of the harvest season had the entire house wretching at the thought of any more of the fruit, it was by some miracle of nature that by the following spring, the children were hankering after it again. It was so that each year, on this very day – unless the crop was delayed by the weather – Miss Maria, Master James and Little Lotte would all but fall downstairs and present before Mrs Williams with their tongues hanging from their mouths like little urchins – and while Mrs Delaford was not one that frequently allowed them to depart from their lessons ahead of time, even she could not deny the tiny faces this special treat.

Of course she could never have been said to allow her daughters to eat off the floor! – and indeed Miss Maria had not, sitting at the table in the servants hall with her cheek rested on folded arms and a little green about her face. Charlotte had crawled down to the cold of the stones of her own accord, thinking it might help with the wave of nausea that was the bane of every overly eager little girl. She heaved a sigh of what should have been utter contentment and felt as though she might never again be able to look at another apple.

“We ought to be diligent about rousing ourselves,” the eldest spoke, “if Mama should call, she would not be happy to see you had dirtied your dress, Lotte.”

“I hope Mama does not call,” Charlotte answered with a sound of youthful dread about her, “for I am not sure I should be able to get up to answer her.”

“Well, if necessary, I should be happy to roll you back upstairs,” came the tart reply of a sibling in command. Charlotte had readied her little mouth to give proper retort, but was not hasty enough in it – as she likely never would be - to beat a rival tongue.

James, who was lying across the seating bench on his back - one foot dangling over the side – could not be seen by his youngest sister, but he could certainly be heard as he added his tuppence, “And never fear, young sister. If you should wish for more pie, I would be more than happy to roll you back down again!”

Your Name: Mdme Butterfly
Character: Mr James Delaford
Memory:

He’d shot the poor creature!

There it lay, where Chester had deposited it, life still twitching through it, but only as a memory. James was horrified by the cold strangulation in his throat at the thought. It was a pheasant, he reminded himself, but it made the matter no better. It might have been a vile monster, but the boy had still snatched breath from it and for sport no less!

It felt as though the air was slowly leaking out through a hole in his own chest and after a while, he turned to look away from it and flatly refused to join the remaining drives. At lunch he declared himself a vegetarian and, while it lasted only a week, his mother was distressed that he had been so wholly affected by the event.

“Speak to him, Henry, please,” she had instructed despite the last formality.

Thus, while James was sitting in the drawing room, engrossed in a book about knights, his father came in and sat in the armchair opposite, clearing his throat as he did with the other gentlemen that came through Hadleigh’s halls. The boy looked up over his book, blue eyes determined and uncertain at once.

“I do beg your pardon for the intrusion, sir,” Henry Delaford’s voice was rich and authoritative, but in this instance entirely at the mercy of the gentleman from whom he sought leave. James lowered his guard and placed it on the table beside his chair tentatively. “I hear there is matter of some import, which we must discuss.”

James lifted his head, feeling thirteen for the first time since his birthday, “Is there?”

“Indeed,” Mr Delaford said gravely, “for I hear a moral standpoint has been made and I am ever in the frame of mind to learn from a moral standpoint.”

James blinked, he had expected his father to tell him that every gentleman killed, that he had failed because he could not and that he should bend himself to the task. “What on earth could you learn from me?” he asked agog. His father smiled at him, reclining as though in philosophical debate with one of his closest friends.

“My dear boy, if I did not learn from you, what, pray, would be the purpose of fatherhood?”

Your Name: Mdme Butterfly
Character: Miss Caroline Bingley
Memory:

It was exhilarating, charmingly and giddily exhilarating!

After all she had worked towards and after all Mama had promised, Caroline was finally to be welcomed into the halls of Almack’s! She had ached with jealousy when Louisa had made her debut – full to exploding with all that was on offer to a young lady that was out amongst society - and now that she was of age, she could finally take her place with the esteemed ranks of the good company of the Ton. She was elegantly dressed, a far cry from the simpler items of her youth and, better yet, entirely new and entirely her own!

The young girl blossomed with glee, her practiced graces seemingly an extension of the natural vivacity within her and – she had no doubt – endearing her to every one that made her acquaintance. After all, when one has dedicated so much time to the betterment of oneself and the disciplines of womanhood, what other reaction could there be but the welcoming acceptance and deliberate celebration of the achievement? After all, was that not what such occasions were for?

She had so long lived in hopes that now, now she would be worth the second glance that was not paid to a younger sister before the elder was married, worth an extension of fine words and complimentary invitations and most certainly worth that singular thing that she had aspired to since the moment her mother had told what was not only possible, but probable for a girl of her increasing standing.

Now, she was certain, that she would shine and he – whoever he was – would notice and take her hand to make her his crowing glory.

And - by doing so - give her back herself.

[Mr Nicholas Goulding]

Your Name: Dash

Character: Nicholas Goulding
Memory:

“And where do you think you are going?”

The velvet tone his father had always employed to full benefit drifted, ghostlike, from the library and into the hall. Nicholas, more legs than body at this age, managed to pull himself up reluctantly. Another two steps and he would have been out the door, and momentarily beyond the jurisdiction of suggested irresponsibility. Being out of doors was a habit that the young man would take with him into his adult years, though it would not be until he was almost considered old himself that he would know the preference was born from a desire to avoid his father. Now, in his naivety, he backtracked to hover by the slightly ajar library door. His heart fluttered unpleasantly as he hesitated, his bright, green eyes clouded with indecision. At length, he pushed it open with just the tips of his fingers as though expecting to get burned.

Once committed, he could not recoil. His father hated a coward above all things, in that maddeningly ironic way that most cowards adopted. Nicholas took a breath and strode forward, as though he truly believed he had every right to be in his father’s private domain – his library. A pair of calm, watery blue eyes watched him with solidarity from a wingback by the fire as he approached; in looks Nicholas had always better represented his mother than anyone in the Goulding line. It had been one of the many reasons that Goulding Senior found it difficult to be in a room with his son.

“Well?” his father prompted.

“I am on my way to Hadleigh,” came the response, carefully weighed and measured before dumped into the mix.

A nod. “I ought to have known. Young Delaford is the only person in town who seems disposed toward liking you.”

Nicholas stood, hands clenched around the handle of his riding crop as he stood before his father. The fire popped beside them and he flinched, his eyes flickering against the sudden noise penetrating the silence of his father’s displeasure. He made no comment; he knew that his father would not say things deliberately to wound him and that he was only attempting to make his son into a better man. With his tongue pressed against the insides of his teeth, Nicholas said nothing.

“Be sure and call on the Thatchers, if you can be bothered at all about matters of business today,” his father finally grumbled, turning away from the piercing eye contact he had maintained in order to pour himself another brandy. “Their tenancy was due yesterday, and I have…” he trailed off when the brandy seemed short of a measure, and up-ended the bottle to get all that was wetting the sides of the glass. “I have investments to make.”

Glancing at the bottle and then at his father, Nicholas allowed his grip on his crop to relax. “As you wish, father.”


Character: Felicity Cadwallader
Memory:

Sleep would not come.

The end of the assembly felt as though it had arrived far before its moment, and she simply could not abide to actually leave! But Nicholas had enforced the ending of the merriment, and by the time she had spent five minutes in the carriage, even Felicity was made to own that her feet were dreadfully sore. They were not half way home before she was nodding off in the carriage, and as she had climbed into her bed she was yawning more ferociously than any tiger ever roared, in the deepest jungles of India. She made a great deal out of burrowing down under her covers and arranging her pillow just so, because she was looking forward to reliving the whole thing the very next morning at breakfast.

But try as she might, Felicity could not drift away into slumberland, no matter how she wished it! Thoughts whirled in her head, dancing one after another just as they all had danced the evening away in Meryton. Even the strange occurrences with the Bingleys and Mr Darcy was not enough to taint everything charming she had witnessed, and though her face hurt with the efforts of smiling all evening, still she smiled on. Rolling over and fluffing her pillow, Felicity giggled to think of witnessing what seemed to be some kind of disagreement between cousin Nicholas and Miss Delaford – and of her cousin’s dancing with Miss Mary Bennet! Which brought her to the very thing that was really keeping her awake, though the girl herself was not aware of it.

She had enjoyed her fair share of dancing partners that evening, and all of them seemed like amiable young men. She was glad of it, for such parties would be dreadfully dull without pleasant gentlemen to dance with! But as she thought back on her partners over the course of the evening, it was one in particular who hitched her smile a little wider. Her cheeks burned with the beginnings of a blush, and because it was shameful and she was the sort of girl who felt she ought to pay attention to those sorts of things whenever she could, Felicity turned her face and hid her smile into her pillow. One dance stood out to her from all the rest, because of the very manner in which it had been offered.

Mr Delaford had been pleased to ask her for the fourth excursion, she could tell. It made her no less happy that it was the kind of person that he was; in fact the knowledge that he was a young man so disposed towards the enjoyment of others only raised him higher in her esteem, and she was equally grateful that her cousin should have such a friend (when he seemed to have no others). A small morsel of conversational ridiculousness Mr Delaford had offered her as they had gone down the reel was now recalled, and she was obliged to her pillow for stifling her giggle – for it would never have done for Nicholas to hear her!

A few moments later, feeling rather sheepish about the giggle, Felicity rolled over again and allowed herself one more small smirk of amusement before she sternly reminded herself that she would have to get up for her walk in the morning, no matter how tired she was from dancing all evening at the assembly (and the rest of the night in her head).