Guest Posted September 30, 2016 Share Posted September 30, 2016 The House of the Countess Hawthorne Set behind lightly trimmed hedges, and a rambling garden, the Hawthorn House's white granite sits in stark contrast. The house sprawls our over the property rather than attaining the three story height of many of it's neighbours - and abounds in alcoves and secrets alike. The front door is painted a deep green, a woven bell pull hangs along side which might summon forth a servant from the bowels of the house. Naturally, John showed up dressed as the Sultan, an outfit put together by giggling servants and family members. It was totally inauthentic but played to the oriental stereotypes, with a turban (solidly secured against his head twitch), a vest, and a flowing robe with a few last minute ribbons tied on. His cane's handle had been extended into a crescent and he had horse tails hanging in random places. John was accompanied by a servant in similar garb, his valet who would understand the strange combination of French, Latin, Greek, and Old English John intended to claim was Turkish. It was silly, perhaps, but John found it hilarious. And he'd never really expected to be taken seriously, especially not by someone who so casually spoke of lovers. Besides, a bit of silliness would soothe him. And if they were to mock him, at least he was taking it no more seriously than they. The servant knocked of course. He imagined the Sultan of Turkland was above knocking on doors. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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