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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

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Queen Victoria was known for putting jackets and dresses on her pups, causing clothing for dogs to become so popular that fashion houses for just dog clothes started popping up all over Paris. — Fox
It would be easy to assume that Evangeline came to the Lady Morgana only to pick fights. That wasn't true at all. They also had very good biscuits.
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mischief not managed;;
#1
October 31th, 1892 — Jekyll & Hyde Halloween Masque, somewhere in the British Countryside
Poppy Dashwood was having a splendid evening. So far, this was the most colorful All Hallows Eve she’d spent in a long time. Aside from the funny little welcome potion she’d consumed earlier and the preciously spooky interior decor of the locale, she’d quite enjoyed the buzzing feel of being in the society spotlight. This event was being touted as one of the events of the season and to be seen was a must. Thusly, she’d selected her attire extraordinarily carefully.

Her costume this evening was a daemon of sorts, accented by funny little fangs she’d charmed into her teeth to give it a slightly more vampiric look. The Dark Arts had always been Juniper’s stronghold, but a passing interest had always held Poppy’s own - vampires in particular. She’d never encountered one, - and frankly thought it would be the most exciting! - but for this evening, pretense would be good enough. Her gown was black, strikingly so, with lace accents. In the small of her back, just above the bustle, Ida had helped her transfigure a lace bow into a pair of little daemon wings, leathery to the touch. The whole of the attire was enchanted such that the two little daemon wings fluttered every now and again and the lace pattern seemed to slither along, always changing formation. Her lips were painted a bright red, unusual for so airy and light a debutant as Poppy was, but she hoped the stain might mimic blood in its way and highlight her best feature all in one. She had little black pearls and rubies tucked into her curls to finish off the look, one ringlet hanging - as always - by the brunette’s face.

At this stage in the evening, with tired feet and an inclination to get up to more than just dancing Poppy scanned the ever thinning crowd. It was quite late and all of her friends seemed to have disappeared in the last waltz. Even Atticus was out of sight, likely with Suki, which gave Poppy the opportunity to do a little exploring of her own. Touching a featherlight finger to the bat masque across her nose, the brunette pulled it loose and pivoted to make her way outside. A spot of fresh, cool air sounded pleasant right about now and she’d noticed there wasn’t much in terms of lighting by the gardens so instead, she meandered out into the drive.

There weren’t many about at this late hour. Aside from the house elf still offering potions by the door, the entry circle was empty even of carriages. It was odd in its way, eerie perhaps. Poppy wondered if that might be part of the aesthetic their mysterious host was offering. A few floating Jack-o-lanterns still flickered, lining a path from the door out into the deserted country road. Poppy admired them vaguely, knowing full-well she had no reason to wander off alone and that it was likely dangerous. All Hallows Eve was great fun when one was accompanied by family and friends but it was also the evening most creatures seemed to revel. Out here there could be any number of rouge villains just waiting in the darkness.

Turning back towards the house as she approached the end of the drive, Poppy almost startled out of her wits and nearly walked straight into someone. A small shriek escaped her vocals before she could help it, one small hand coming up to cover her mouth. “I beg your apologies,” the brunette quickly rambled, taking a step back. She'd dropped her mask in the confusion of the moment. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to appear so suddenly.”

Ishmael / Kristoffer Lestrange  / Endymion Dempsey
(the ultimate MJ open! TAKE YOUR PICK XD WHOMEVER FITS BEST~ I can try again for Ishmael if he's like lolno)





© Fox
#2
There was a metallic glint to his dark suit and mask and a ridge of studs down the back of his jacket, but that was as much effort as Kristoffer had made with the theme. (He didn’t know enough about dragons to have discerned what type he was.)

What was preoccupying him tonight was what the potions at the door had done. He had been in a – very odd mood since. Causing trouble was the last thing on his mind – and for someone who usually liked to make the most of a masquerade to make a mess or two, Kristoffer was nonplussed at his lack of drive tonight. Instead, he felt – lonely, and a bit lost, and like he didn’t like parties at all. He ought to find his friends, but he didn’t even feel inclined to deal with Bingham’s haughtiness or Blackwood’s harsh humour tonight. That was strange. What did he want, then?

Well, firstly, to find out what this potion had done to him, besides upset his stomach for enjoying himself. He’d gone back out to question the house elves, who’d been as evasive as upon his entrance earlier. Kristoffer might have pushed for an answer, but tonight he found himself very certain that he didn’t want to be rude, so he nodded politely and wandered outside.

There was a female figure up ahead, and he felt a pang of concern for them, and whatever they were doing out here in the darkness, so far from the party. A lady oughtn’t be unchaperoned; maybe she was hurt, or had gotten lost down the drive. Kristoffer strode over, struck by the very sincere urge to be of help.

So when she screamed and turned to face him, he was surprised by the way his concern melted instantly into honest pleasure – she wasn’t wearing her mask, but in spite of the darkness and her uncharacteristic attire (and his bad track record at recognising people he ought to know), Kristoffer was certain he’d have known it was Poppy Dashwood the moment she opened her mouth.

“Well, I hope I’m not just anyone,” Kristoffer said, still with a glimmer of teasing but less of the ordinary sneering tone. Fearing that she wouldn’t recognise him, he pulled off his own mask and presented his identity to her almost hopefully. “Are you alright? What are you doing out here?”


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   Poppy Dashwood

#3
As the familiar voice of Kristoffer Lestrange floated into the din, Poppy’s face broke into an eager smile. Even moreso when he revealed his face fully, she was sure her delight at seeing him was more than a little telling. “Kristoffer!” She exclaimed, brazenly. Though she was technically allowed to call him by his given name now in private, Poppy wouldn’t have dared to be so forward if not for the potion sitting eagerly in her bloodstream making short work of disarming the brunette’s usual faculties. It had been a long time since Poppy had been on a hellious tear, likely not since… yes, since New Years Eve when Atticus had found her and Ida drunk and wandering about unchaperoned. She’d received the chiding of a century that evening; something about being an almost debuted young lady and time for her shenanigans to end? Frankly, with this potion stirring in her belly, it was hard to remember the rousing speech that had forced her to straighten up.

Instead, the girl cooed a little bit and leaned into the blonde’s space. “You could never be just anyone to me,” she said softly, honestly, running a hand down his lapel. It felt odd to admit as much, but Poppy couldn’t quite be sorry for it. She offered him a sweet little smile then and nodded, regaining her personal space. “I’m quite alright now,” she chirped. “You gave me a fright, but luckily it was nothing.” Her face heated a touch and she made a vague gesture with her hand.

The potion sitting in the girl’s gut was stirring mischief and desires Poppy had long since bottled up. There was always the undercurrent of… desire for more in her transactions, especially when it came to her future. The desire to be more, see more, maybe even experience more than she was fated. Poppy knew it was dangerous to flirt with her hellion, especially in the presence of Mr. Kristoffer Lestrange, but - somehow - she just couldn’t bring herself to mind. Handsy, if only out of a jittery necessity to act, the brunette reached gently for her companion’s hand. “Shall we go on an adventure?” She asked, eyes glimmering with mischief. “We can explore the end of the lane or even better yet, take one of your fabulous portkeys somewhere interesting!” At the very thought Poppy’s face lit up. What a splendid thought!


Kristoffer Lestrange - POPPY'S 200TH POST! & muse song



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   Kristoffer Lestrange


© Fox
#4
He wished he hadn’t taken off the mask so fast, because at her answer he felt a warmth come over his cheeks, and he was horribly convinced the smudge of pinkness was visible in the darkness, the lighting from the house’s windows distant and softened here. You could never be just anyone to me. Could she really, possibly mean that? It was so far from anything Kristoffer had ever heard in his life that he hardly knew how to receive it. Not just anyone, like – in a good way?

Any hopeful, fluttery pleasure at the prospect she might be sincere was swiftly overtaken by surprise and confusion and a sinking feeling that she was actually, probably, just very drunk. There were a lot of sensations to contend with all at once: her hand on his lapel – her hand taking up his – the way she had leaned into his space.

She certainly seemed alright, so his worry ought to have dissipated, but Kris still drew in an uneasy breath at her next suggestion. “Poppy,” he intoned, clasping her hand back with a touch of gentle objection that was so far from the self-gratified smirking he ought to be showing right about now – she wanted to go on a portkey adventure; she must be tipsy, and over-courageous; if ever there was an opportunity to lead her astray, it was right now – Kristoffer was almost shocked that he hadn’t leapt at it.

“I don’t think we should do that,” he explained, hardly keen to dampen her enjoyment or make her like him less – he desperately wanted her to like him, truly – but also trying not to get anyone in trouble. “I’m not sure we should even be alone out here,” he added, uncertainly. Alone together anywhere.


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   Poppy Dashwood

#5
Poppy couldn’t help the endlessly satisfying little flutter in her stomach as Kristoffer called her by her given name. It was a sound she could get used to and the pleased smile that resulted lit up her face. She had a great many expectations of what the former Slytherin might say next, but none of them she found even remotely touched upon the soft pressure with which he gently denied her. The shock that reverberated was jarring.

Perhaps Poppy had misjudged Mr. Lestrange all this time. She better than anyone should know that one’s reputation could be outgrown, and that one incident months prior did not a habit make. But… she’d seen Kristoffer since then, they’d even shared a secret little dance some months ago. Surely she couldn’t have miscalculated him so terribly? Not one to doubt her instincts, Poppy grew immediately suspicious. She had experienced a strange interaction or two tonight. Perhaps there was something in the beverages that had found its way into his system? (Everything was suspicious to her now, especially after that cherry debacle from August! Poppy nearly shivered at the thought.)

“Nonsense!” She dismissed. “Chaperones are for ladies who have no decorum and need a watchful eye to keep from behaving scandalously.” Here the brunette leveled her companion with another mischievous look. “You and I have an understanding,” she hummed, leaning closer again. “We are friends, and as such, we have every right to discuss confidences without being overheard."

Then, realizing it was a bold statement even given the circumstances, Poppy backed off a touch. “But I shan’t press you to go anywhere you wouldn’t like,” she acquiesced. “Just… let us find a quiet little corner to sit? I find myself in need of fresh air,” she admitted, growing sheepish. She didn’t want to admit to him that the haze inside had made her feel somewhat faint. She hadn’t eaten anything since earlier that day, an empty stomach mixing with port likely the cause, but the thought of food frankly made her more nauseated. Deciding to give his hand an encouraging little squeeze, Poppy turned an imploring look onto Kristoffer. “Please?” 





© Fox
#6
Her line about chaperones should almost have been his line – and if they had any sort of understanding that blurred any of the usual rules, Kristoffer would never have complained about it before. Still, he might have been comforted that there was no danger of scandal here if she had said all she had sincerely, but Kris thought he knew Poppy well enough to read that spark of mischief in her eye.

Had he once thought she wasn’t dangerous? He’d been wrong. Poppy Dashwood was a danger, head to toe.

Especially when she leaned in close like that under the guise of sharing confidences. Was he ill, or was there a strange rise of longing in his gut? But not the usual kind... almost more like a yearning, because as far as Kristoffer could remember, he had never had anyone he could confide it, freely and without fear of being sincere. Sincerity had no place in his family or his friendships: intimacy was a myth. Every interaction was an obligation, somehow contractual... so when she relented and proposed just a quiet little corner to sit, Kristoffer breathed out in deeper relief than he could have imagined.

“That sounds... nice,” he admitted, mouth twitching up back, though into more shy a smile than felt natural on his face. He squeezed her hand back, a little indulgent. She was in need of fresh air, she said; he was in a strange mood to rein her in, but he wouldn’t feel right leaving her out here alone either. “Here, come this way,” he guided her, stepping off the lane of the drive and heading out into the house’s grounds that were more garden than forest. (Who knew where Poppy would have gone tonight if left to her own devices.) As they wandered towards a section of garden with low-trimmed hedges and flowerbeds and a little stone bench in the corner, his gaze drifted sideways once or twice, finding her a more interesting subject than any of the scenery.

She had probably caught him looking. “I’m glad I found you, anyway,” he admitted, anyway.


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   Poppy Dashwood

#7
Kristoffer’s response to her little quip settled something in Poppy’s gut that had knotted itself into an anxious lump. She didn’t like the idea of upsetting him, and the sweet smile that graced his features made something thrill in the girl’s abdomen. Something was definitely different, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what. Poppy supposed in the end it didn’t matter. He looked happy, healthy, sane. Whatever was making the guests flutter had certainly seemed to have no ill-averse effects on Mr. Lestrange, a blessing she was infinitely pleased (and relieved) to realize. Grinning at him as he gave her hand a little return squeeze, Poppy followed easily as he led the way.

They hedged off the lane around to a garden and, though disappointed they weren’t going somewhere more interesting, she was glad to be in the gentleman’s company. At his sidelong glance, Poppy couldn’t help but feel the urge to stand a little bit taller. “I’m always glad when you find me, too,” she hummed in response, an honest expression flitting across her face. He was her favorite companion to engage with at these events, be it a dance or simply conversation. In a way, Poppy felt like they were becoming closer even if she didn’t know too terribly much about the gentleman.

Tugging him forward towards a shallow little pond in the center of the garden, Poppy peered down at the koi fish. Their movements were relaxing and she fixed Kristoffer with an appraising look as a thought suddenly flickered forward in her mind. (Still holding the gentleman by the hand, Poppy had no intention of letting go.) “Do you like all these events?” she asked quietly then, thinking back to a comment he’d made once before. Tiresome gentlemen and portkey escapes. “Do you… enjoy society? Or do you find it all a bit circus-like as most gentleman seem to?”





© Fox
#8
They wandered over to the pond, and Poppy had asked him a question. It should not feel earth-shattering, on the face of it. It might’ve been the most mundane thing that had ever happened to him. And yet.

There was a lump in his throat and Kristoffer had no idea why. Maybe it was because she sounded so sincere? He believed her, that was all; believed that she was interested in his opinion, and believed she wouldn’t judge him or dismiss him either way. People didn’t ask him questions very often – at least not like that.

He felt dangerously – unguarded, here. Conversations had always been a competition, a battle of wits or condescension or outright cruelty. He felt at home enough in that – if he had any talents in life, an armoured outlook and an inclination for sarcasm might be among them.

So this was new. “It is a circus,” he admitted, peering at her sidelong and wondering what she would think was the right answer here – what she thought of society, herself. “So, I suppose – the circus is fun for a night, you know. Or to point and laugh at clowns and misfits.” He plucked a leaf from the nearest shrub and dangled it over the pond, dropping it towards the water absently. “But when the circus is apparently all there is in life...” Who wanted to be trapped in a circus, right? He gave her a wry grimace, trailed off with a dissatisfied shrug.



#9
Poppy was intent on the gentleman’s answer beside her as he spoke. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, really. Kristoffer was an enigma still, someone she felt so many positive sentiments towards, but that she really hardly knew at all. It seemed a shame then, to play this charade of being ‘friends’ when at the end of the day she couldn’t even claim to know his favorite color or what he liked to do on his birthday.

The response that followed was true, however, and Poppy nodded along gravely as he spoke. She could certainly agree with that. “Yes,” the brunette chirped gently, gaze drawn to the leaf he’d dropped in the pond. It floated along for a moment, adrift in the small pool. “I can certainly see how you might feel that way.”

For a moment, Poppy considered giving him her own, honest opinion of society in return. But, seeing as it was unsolicited, and likely would damage his view of her altogether, the girl refrained. Instead, she settled herself on the ground and tugged him down beside her. The grass was dry and cold underfoot, and the brunette smoothed her skirts out of the way gently as she considered her next statement. “I have to admit, you’ve become something of a relief for me during this first season.” It felt bold to say aloud, but she held fast. “I can’t imagine the pressures you face from your own family but… I hope at least that our friendship has served some small respite from the circus for you in the interim as well.”

Poppy tugged at a blade of grass on the other side of her skirts, furthest away from Kristoffer. She was endlessly curious about him and had so many questions and things she wanted to ask. It seemed fitting to thank him for being her friend first though, and to hedge the topic of familiarity before merely diving in head first. Appraising the gentleman in their relative darkness, Poppy wondered how much she might be able to ask before he grew cross.





© Fox
#10
He had made an odd sort of confidant to her, once. (Kris was sure she had been quite sincere about her dreams, that first time they’d met out in society on New Year’s Eve. She always had a dash of sincerity to her, somehow. Maybe that was why her moments of sass and cheek stung so well.)

He hadn’t meant to be. He’d prodded at her the way he did everything – like at a lion or a bear through the bars of a cage. But this time she had asked him, and he’d answered soberly, and she had said nothing back – and this time, because he didn’t quite know how to ask without making her think it a jibe, he chose to stay quiet.

Well, she hadn’t said nothing, but the first thing she did took him so aback his breath hitched in his throat. Strangely against his nature, Kris let himself be steered down, and as he flopped down beside her onto the unforgiving ground, in the cold and the dark and the quiet of the gardens, the party feeling half a world away, he also felt strangely at ease.

Or that was because he was too flustered, suddenly, to care about anything else. He was a relief for her. He hadn’t meant to be. It struck him, too – like a slap to the face – that Poppy Dashwood’s company was, as a matter of fact, something of a relief to him.

Kristoffer scratched the back of his neck, hoping it was dark enough that she couldn’t see the flush of embarrassment on his face. Because he was glad he had cast off everyone else’s company for her tonight. He suspected he would do it again, maybe for as often and as long as she let him. (One day she would be married, presumably, and less of a relief.)

He dropped his hand to the ground beside him, tracing his fingers hesitantly over the closest fold of her skirt, just at the very edge, as if he hadn’t even noticed what he was fidgeting with in the dark. He cast her a smile, as if she’d see it; then he let out a slow laugh. “I’m not under pressure, not really,” he said, with a shake of his head – because they were not alike in that. She was under far more pressure than him, probably because she was precious to her family. “Yours have hopes for you,” he pointed out, almost wry. “Mine don’t – mine aren’t –” His parents were dead, was the thing, and he had been his father’s heir. Any importance in who he was was dangling by a few thin threads, his connection to the Lestrange name and his proximity to Lucius. In where he lived, physically; Kris didn’t pretend he had any other advantages there. His younger sisters had once needed him, maybe, but no more: they had Priam and Nephele, and didn’t live in awe or fear of him as they had once done. He was cast out of everything, really. Insignificant. “They don’t notice me, I guess. I’m not important to them.” Just more fuel for the circus.

He bit down on his tongue, shocked. Like he hadn’t really known that until he’d said it.


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   Poppy Dashwood

#11
They settled into the dirt beside the small pool and Poppy felt a breath of relief escape her. Sitting beside Kristoffer like this was a comfort, one she admitted openly before prying into his own circumstances. She wasn’t sure in the end if she was looking for confirmation of the same, confirmation that she mattered to him, or if she was just being earnest in thanking him for… for being there. Because if she was honest, she did care greatly for the former Slytherin and it was becoming harder and harder to obscure. Their friendship was something Poppy found herself thinking about often and her curiosity about him was bubbling up into this particular moment, unrestrained.

Fidgeting by the side of her skirts caught the brunette’s attention and Poppy studied Kristoffer as best she could in their dark little corner. He still seemed slightly subdued compared to what she’d learned to expect but it wasn’t a sad, or desperate somberness. It seemed more honest, more unguarded, than she’d ever experienced from him, and for now that was enough to keep her concern at bay. As he began to respond, she keyed into his sentiments, alert like a hawk.

At first, Poppy wasn’t sure what to make of the response. How could it be that Kristoffer’s family didn’t have hopes for him, too? While she understood gentlemen were allotted a certain distinct freedom in their earlier years, surely that didn’t translate to complete and utter disregard in his case. He had so much to offer the world; anyone could see that. A small frown creased her brow as he continued. They don’t notice me, I guess. I’m not important to them. Surely that couldn’t be true!

Giving the blonde’s hand a small squeeze, Poppy pulled it into her lap and pressed both her hands over top gently, reassuringly. She couldn’t claim to know much about the Lestrange family. Mama had never been particularly forthcoming about them other than to note the name as a pure bloodline in ‘relatively good standing’. Whatever that meant. Poppy herself had never paid it much mind enough to pry either, always interested in something else rather than families and lineages and future prospects. She’d always assumed that because the Lestrange family was not in their immediate circle that she really didn’t need to mind them at all. Now she wished she’d asked a few more questions. What she knew of her own experiences this season in hearing the name mentioned was… fine. A little cold, perhaps. But she’d met Nephele the summer before and the lady had seemed perfectly affable. Perhaps Kristoffer was being dramatic? Though Poppy couldn’t imagine why. Something deep in her gut clenched in warning to believe him too, despite her reservations. He had no reason to confide anything to her at all, much less be theatrical about it. So, scooting a smidge closer to him, the brunette let out a soft breath.

Well you’re certainly important to me,” she responded quietly, as if it was the most normal thing to say in the world. “And even if your family doesn’t have extraordinarily asphyxiating expectations of your future prospects, I know you’ll make them proud with whatever path you chose to pursue.” Poppy smiled in the darkness, her small tease hanging in the cool air between them. It felt important just then to reassure him, though she couldn’t have said why. “You’re extraordinary in so many ways, Kristoffer,” she continued. “You already work at the ministry and have wonderful opportunities to travel! You’re lucky in that. I wish I had the same freedoms.” She gave his hand another small squeeze.

But even if you never amount to anything more than what you’ve already accomplished, even if you quit the ministry and decide to become… a… a hermit in the side of the mountain,” she laughed lightly. “You’ll still have graduated Hogwarts, and made something of yourself. So all in all, you’re doing better than most by far.” She paused to grin at him, even though he wasn’t likely to see her. “Besides, with me by your side you’ll always have someone to bolster that monstrous ego of yours, if you ever need it.” A teasing lilt touched her tone. “Not that I expect you to.” If there was one thing Poppy was sure of, it was that Kristoffer Lestrange had enough bluster to get through most storms. But everyone needed support some time, and so her tone softened again.

And just know, I’m always here if you ever do need someone to talk to.” Or not talk to, as the case went in her own experience. That’s what friends were for, anyway, wasn’t it?



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© Fox
#12
Extraordinary in so many ways. Important to me. All Kris could do was let the words wash over him. There were things he had told himself over and over and over in his life. The Lestrange name, the pure blood, his father’s reputation, their social standing did its necessary work on the way other people saw him, but – still, the core tenets of his belief system were self-made. He was worth something, because he knew it and didn’t care if anyone could see it.

Or maybe – he swallowed – maybe he did care, a little, that someone could see it. Because Poppy saying it had lifted an immense weight from him, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. He glanced at his faint, moonlit reflection in the pond before where they were sitting, trying to see what she saw in him. She had seen him better than he was. That, he thought, was all Poppy. Her talent for making the most of people. Part of her charm.

But he was grateful for it, and her hands enclosing his, beyond words. Eventually, at her talk of becoming a mountainside hermit, Kris broke out of his sober mood enough to let out a laugh – and when she mentioned his monstrous ego – with fondness, he was sure – he almost felt like himself again.

“You, I think, are delusional,” he answered finally, at all the nonsense she was talking; but his grin made clear what the words hadn’t, that he was indebted to her beyond measure, that she had told him something he had truly needed to hear. “But,” he said, shifting a little nearer to sit closer beside her, head inclining at her pensively, “that’s how you feel about it all?” Society life. Some of it had, after all, been her words to start, and he was intrigued that she might say she was not in her utter element, because she always seemed that way. “That it’s a circus? Asphyxiating?” She wished for his freedoms, which made it sound like she was trapped. His forehead had creased a little in consternation.



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   Poppy Dashwood

#13
His soft laugh cut into her rambling and Poppy felt a tremendous relief at the sound of it. She’d never imagined before that she could care so much for the imagined pain Kristoffer Lestrange felt. Whether it was real and there or a result of whatever ridiculous things they’d been drinking tonight, Poppy was glad to see a flicker of it abate at her words. And, even though he was gently rebuking her, the relieved smile that broke through was telling of her own reassurances.

Poppy scoffed playfully, but didn’t respond as Kristoffer scooted closer to her. She was distracted by how little distance there was left between them and the sudden urge to practically crawl in his lap. Alarm at the thought was dulled by the flicker of excitement that shot through her spine, a thrill that her own potion had unknowingly sparked. Poppy wanted to kiss Kristoffer, she realized. Plain and simply.

He, however, kept speaking.

Blinking these thoughts clear, Poppy felt her brows pinch again at the question. Ah. Whoops. Perhaps she had said more than she needed to. A soft blush of embarrassment coloured her cheeks then as the brunette looked away from her companion. She plucked another few stray blades of grass on the outside of their little circle and wondered if she dared to be honest. She’d been bold enough once, out of necessary, and it hadn’t entirely backfired the way she’d imagined. But… Cassian seemed to have intentions with her. Who was to say Kristoffer would understand in the same way and not run screaming? Then again, they’d already in part talked about this. At her debut. The tiresome gentlemen bit.

Poppy sucked in a small breath. “Yes,” she admitted finally. “It’s… not easy always having to try and be society’s sweetheart.” She risked a glance at the blonde’s face, hoping he didn’t misinterpret that. Poppy knew by far she was not the only eligible debutant this season, and that by some standards she was undesirable due to her connections or blood status. But she’d faired well, despite all her own personal insecurities. Nobody could deny that much. “I just… sometimes it’s nice to be able to relax in the company of those you like,” she continued, leaning slightly into Kristoffer where their shoulders touched. “Around you I don’t feel the need to always be… ‘society Poppy.’ Around you, sometimes, I can just be… Poppy.” Mischievous, determined, outspoken, even hellion Poppy to a degree. But they didn’t need to get into that can of worms.



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   Kristoffer Lestrange


© Fox
#14
He had imagined it came easily to her, being one of society’s darlings. She was sweet; she was pretty, and pristine, and popular; her family were not at the summit of society, but nor was there anything glaringly wrong with them.

But he supposed she wasn’t just that – that was only the surface of her, and all the people-pleasing in the world could not, and would not, make Poppy Dashwood perfectly content. She had her own desires. Tonight Kristoffer could almost see them flickering behind her expression, like the moonlight on the pond. Tonight, Kristoffer was almost scared of Poppy Dashwood and her desires.

She felt comfortable with him, somehow. That made her dangerous. That made this dangerous. If he wasn’t careful, he would let this friendship keep flourishing in spite of himself – and friendships like this had no real place in society’s circus.

She had just admitted as much, the real Poppy here. He could have said something back – I know the feeling; because he did, fervently – but her shoulder bumping gently against his struck him so hard he had to swallow at it. Best clear the tension, and scatter the seriousness here – he had already admitted too much. “So that means you like me, huh?” he drawled, teasing and mischievous, as if she hadn’t said far more, and more earnestly. “Well, relax away,” he conceded, because tonight he felt quite sure he didn’t have the heart to break this.



#15
There was something about the way Kristoffer’s expression seemed to change from one thing to another throughout their conversation that enthralled Poppy as she watched. He was handsome, that much she’d long since admitted to herself after their first… interaction. But more than that, he was… hers just for this one, singular moment in time and space. A moment she wanted to seize ahold of and never let go.

Hazel hues rolling dramatically at the blonde’s statement, Poppy laughed. “Do you enjoy the verbal affirmations?” She teased. “Yes, darling, I adore everything about you. Especially the way you challenge and sometimes frustrate me!” The words were meant to be light, playful even, but a ring of truth clung to them in the stillness. Poppy sucked in a short breath, half wondering if she dared to quantify that further. On the one hand, the rational part of her brain was screaming to pull them back, to fluster and bluster until Kristoffer was so confused he couldn’t possibly realize what she’d just said, much less think twice about it.

On the other, Poppy wanted nothing more than to hold firm. Her gaze nearly held a hint of challenge to it as the potion from earlier ran through her veins, encouraging more reckless statements. Knowing better than to press too far however, the brunette sighed and shifted to touch the cool water with one small fingertip. She should really think about going inside soon instead. Atticus would be looking for her soon… "Anyhow," Poppy smiled, turning back to the blonde. "Thank you. For just... being here. With me."





© Fox

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