Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Complete five threads of five posts or more where your character experiences bad luck, such as stepping in a chamberpot, losing the rings for a wedding, etc...
Did You Know?
One of the cheapest homeless shelters in Victorian London charged four pennies to sleep in a coffin. Which was... still better than sleeping upright against a rope? — Jordan / Lynn
If he was being completely honest, the situation didn't look good, but Sylvano was not in the habit of being completely honest about anything. No reason to start now.
— Sylvano Capobiancoinyou & me & the war of the endtimes
Written on a scrap of parchment inside a small, nice-looking envelope
27 July, ' 94
Jimmy,
Where are you? Hogwart's out for the summer, what about you? Haven't seen you in the usual haunts. Thought I'd have heard about your sort of foolishness around town by now.
Did you grow real wings and fly away or something? Show your face. Promise I won't scratch it this time.
Charley
P.S. The postwitch is making me pay for this envelope. Don't say I never do anything nice.
Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.
I think you must be missing me something terrible. I bet you can’t sleep for missing me. I bet you’re having the most boring summer of your life without me.
I’ve been around. Just busy. Your sort wouldn’t know what that’s like.
Written on another scrap of parchment flying free, partly ripped
29 July, '94
Jimmy,
I don't miss you. Not ever. All I wanted was to make sure you weren't dead or
And I took time from my Actual Real Job to write you. Big mistake. I won't do
Charley
P.S. You owe me for postage now.
Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.
Course I’m not dead. My great-gran is, though. So.
Not even an envelope from you this time, huh? Guess your Actual Real Job isn’t real enough to pay you well.
Jimmy
30th July
To: Montague House of Flowers
I would like to order a bouquet of fanged geraniums for delivery tomorrow to: [a Pennyworth address that is definitely not his]. The delivery person should say they are from your greatest admirer when presented to the recipient.
![[Image: UNpj1yr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/bwXcVqtF/UNpj1yr.png)
