- Invitation Status
- Look for groups
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- Multiple posts per day
- 1-3 posts per day
- One post per day
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- My times are pretty erratic, but I try to avoid being on EST 11pm-9am.
- Writing Levels
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Advanced
- Adaptable
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Genres
- Fantasy, Modern, Historical Romance.
The dawn of the new year was heralded by the lightest sprinkling of snow that did nothing to deter the crowd of people, both on foot and by carriage, arriving at the townhome of the Duke of Westclere. The doors were opened wide, and despite the cold of the night air, heat and light spilled from them. A grand chandelier lit the large central hall that would serve as a ballroom tonight, the effect magnified by torches against the wall, mirrors behind them to cast their light wide. A large fireplace was situated a room over, in a smaller sitting room where card tables were laid out, but most of the warmth seemed to come from the crush of bodies bustling about the ground floor, nearly suffocating in the dining room further in the house, where food was laid out freely. An extravagant staircase led to the second floor, and not far from its base was a band whose music could only be heard in strains over the sound of human voices. The host of the night, his Grace Thomas Caldwell himself, was not far from the entrance, greeting those of his guests he could while others swarmed him, demanding his attention both as friends and for business.