Charming is a Victorian Era Harry Potter roleplay set primarily in the village of Hogsmeade, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the non-canon village of Irvingly. Characters of all classes, both magical and muggle — and even non-human! — are welcome.

With a member driven story line, monthly games and events, and a friendly and drama-free community focused on quality over quantity, the only thing you can be sure of is fun!
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    Every Time You Go Somewhere, You Leave Somewhere Behind
    #1
    Read Only Thread 
    25 August, 1887. Halifax, Canada.

    By the time the ship arrived in Canada, Ben actually was eager to be in port, but that had very little to do with the country he was arriving in and everything to do with the fact that he'd been on a boat for the past ten days. The ticket may have been first class, but no matter how nice the sheets were on the little bed and no matter how many serving men smiled obligingly at him in the dining room, it was still a boat, and there was still nothing to do. He'd met, gotten acquainted with, and then grown tired of all the other passengers in first class. He'd played cards and gambled away half of his money, then won it all back again plus a small surplus--it wasn't as though there was anywhere for the money to go, on a ship, so gambling had really just become a waiting game of waiting until it all cycled back to him again and knowing when to quit while he was ahead. He didn't want the first thing Aldous heard about him from whoever he'd put in place to spy on him while he was here to be that he'd lost all his money on cards within the first two days of his forced holiday.

    He'd gone through the second- and third-class cabins, looking for something to amuse himself, and at first the parties held away from the fancy dining room did hold his interest. After two days of that, however, he'd found himself with a flirtatious blond sitting a bit too close and giggling into her beer, and Ben knew how that ended. Not that he was at all opposed to flirtatious blonds, but the terms of his exile were still rather fresh in his mind--Aldous would send him money, so long as he didn't 'turn into some sort of rake.'

    No flirtatious blonds for him, then. He didn't know who was going to be spying on him for Aldous, but he knew there had to be someone, because he didn't dare believe that Aldous trusted him enough to send him abroad unsupervised after his little stunt with Miss Pendergast. He couldn't risk having Aldous catch wind of him doing the very same sort of thing that his brother had labeled a perversion, and he couldn't have anyone see him sitting next to a flirtatious woman and thinking that was happening, even if it wasn't. That had been the end of his adventures in the lower class areas of the ship, and the beginning of several days of having precisely nothing to do.

    During his downtime, Reuben had reflected that he really didn't know what to do with his time even when he got to Canada, because there wasn't anything he enjoyed that Aldous would approve of. He was going to do his best not to fuck anything else up for himself over the next six months, but if he stopped doing everything he liked to do... well, what was left? Who was he, when he couldn't be Ben Crouch, the family fuck up? He supposed he'd have six months to figure that out. Was this part of the plan, to have him go away for six months and come back rehabilitated, or would it just be a pleasant side effect for Aldous if, when he got back to Britain, he was only a shadow of the person he'd once been?

    He wasn't used to traveling first class, and he felt oddly, inappropriately light as he walked off the ship's gangway, without having to carry any of his own bags. They'd deliver them to the hotel where he'd taken a room--a long distance and last minute arrangement, funded, of course, by his older brother and therefore, in Ben's opinion, almost certainly trapped. It would have to do for tonight at least, though, and probably a bit longer until he either found someplace else to stay or gave up on trying to avoid the watchful eye of Aldous Crouch.

    At the front desk they gave him a key to his room, and a small stack of mail that had apparently beaten him across the Atlantic. Ben took it without looking at it, assuming that it would all be from his brothers--probably from Roman, asking a million questions about whether he'd gotten the coat and the rest of the clothes in the package he'd sent. He should probably write and tell him he'd gotten them, to stave off any further inquiries, even if he didn't particularly feel like starting up a trans Atlantic pen pal exchange--especially with anyone with the last name Crouch.

    The handwriting was what caught his eye, when he threw the stack down on the desk in his room and shrugged off his coat. It was feminine handwriting, and he thought it must have been from Nova. She was certainly his favorite sibling at the moment, and though he wasn't sure he felt up to writing her back right away, he ought to at least read whatever she'd said. Except it wasn't from November at all, he realized as he picked it up and opened the envelope. It was from Ellory Pendergast.

    Ben hesitated. What would be in here? Not a howler, at least, because that wouldn't have kept so long at the front desk, but maybe something just as angry and vengeful. Or worse, maybe she wanted to make amends? Maybe the letter he'd devised, dramatic enough to launch him across an ocean, hadn't been enough to get her to finally move on?

    He sat down on the bed and started reading it, though he frowned rather heavily at the first sentence. No one had asked her to respond to his letter--in fact, Ben quite specifically remembered ending it with you shouldn't write me again. Not only was she apparently ignoring that, but she'd shown that letter to everyone that she possibly could, just to ensure that he was well and truly ruined. From her perspective he supposed maybe he deserved to be ruined, but what else could she possibly have to say to him, after all of that? If she thought him despicable, fine. If she wanted him ruined, that was bullshit, but it was at least comprehensible. Why would she try to ruin him and then write to him about it, though? Just pouring salt into the wound?

    Ben only got as far as the end of the first paragraph; when he read you don't want me to catch any peace, do you? he crumbled the letter in his fist. "Oh, shove off," he grumbled. He wanted to throw the letter away, but he didn't know where the waste basket was in this new room, so settled for throwing the crumbled ball generally towards the side opposite his bed, then collapsed backwards on the mattress.

    He hated Canada.



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