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Charming has a number of lonely plots looking for love. Why not take a gander and see what hijinks your character can get up to? — Kayte ( Submit your own)
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Wallace Bixby for Sloane Bixby.
...tfw your little sister makes the house team before you do.
He has touched my ankle and seen me with my hair down (not intentionally, of course!), so I'm pretty sure I already know what it feels like to be married.Helga Scamander in Helga's Boy Book
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Complete seven threads where your character displays each of the Seven Deadly Sins — Pride, Lust, Sloth, Envy, Wrath, Gluttony, and Greed!

Nothing Personal
1st October, 1890 — The Painted Lady
The smell of the tea today was making her queasy. The Hogsmeade teashop always had strong floral scents wafting about, but they didn’t usually manufacture such a headache in her, or this undercurrent of nausea. Calliope had not even ordered hers, for her friend had not yet arrived.

She had tried to sit serenely and at least wait for her friend to appear, but eventually she couldn’t fake it any more, and hurried through to the teashop’s toilets. She had been feeling a little nauseous even before breakfast, so there wasn’t much to come up, but as she let herself out of the toilet and moved towards the washbasins in the little antechamber of the powder room, her face paler than usual in the mirror and her whole body feeling physically, abnormally dreadful, Calliope almost smiled. This confirmed her suspicions, then. Finally.

Absorbed in a haze of self-congratulation and persistent nausea, she splashed her face without wasting a glance for the other occupant of the room, not sure she could get down any tea now she knew the reason for the sickness. She covered her mouth for a moment, hoping there would not be a second round, and then moved towards the powder-room door.

It was stuck. Calliope pushed at it a little harder, and then pulled, to no effect, rattled the handle. As far as she could see it looked unlocked. What was this, a sticking charm?

“It won’t open,” she declared - with a hint of accusation - as she turned towards the other woman who she suspected had come in later than her and thus must be to blame. Her eyes narrowed, but that was for an entirely different reason. Look who it was.

Having become rather blotchy and red from laughing with her friend Marcy, Ama had nipped into the restroom to powder her nose. But she was swift about it, partly because she didn't want to leave Marcy sitting there solo (especially with Ama's slice of lemon cake tempting her so beautifully), but also because she didn't care much about her appearance. At least not in any conventional way. Her dress today was a lovely, flowing thing, slightly unsuited to a lady of her age, sporting several shades of yellow. Ama cared about that more than she cared about blotches.

So she briefly checked said dress in the mirror, patting down a slight crease, before she turned to leave... only to find the restroom's other occupant standing by the closed door and looking round at her.

Ama remembered that face from the wedding notice in the Prophet. She recalled looking away as quickly as possible and reading no more than a few words, but it was too late; those features were seared into her memory. She'd recognise the new Mrs Zabini anywhere.

"Mrs Zabini", Ama greeted her courteously, her tone a far cry from the merry trill it had been not ten minutes ago. On auto-pilot, the witch — adept in wandless magic — raised her hand at the apparently locked door. "Alohomora".

It budged not.

[Image: ama-sig.jpg]
She hoped this woman’s presence was not a bad omen. The very sight of her was like staring The Grim in the face. If a horribly garish one.

Calliope opened her mouth as if to return the greeting - it would be clipped and disdainful, as much as the woman deserved - but the echo of her own name, Mrs. Zabini, would be like handing something over to her that she no longer merited, and she refused to do it. She could not recall the woman’s maiden name, either, so there was nothing to say.

About that, at least.

There was plenty she had said about Cosmo’s first wife in the presence of her friends, but none of those sentiments were any more flattering to the woman than that godawful sunshine-yellow dress.

“A wand might be a useful start,” Calliope said instead, the words thankfully under her breath, although her look was derisive enough by itself. The ex-wife must be quite deficient, for the door had done nothing with her spell, so Calliope repeated it emphatically, tapping her own wand to the door handle and testing it vigorously. Again, nothing.

“Ugh,” she huffed, as if the former Mrs. Zabini and the door were co-conspirators against her. If she had not wanted to get out of here and bask in her good news already, the presence of her in close proximity had certainly made opening the door a priority.

Ama ignored the quiet muttering and the look of disdain — she'd received worse from better. She'd always attempted to uphold a dignified indifference towards the girl, but it was difficult to know she'd taken up the mantle that Ama had cherished, and the arm of the man who'd always cherished her. Additionally, Calliope Zabini appeared huffy and vain, seeming to try her hardest to not be likeable. And Bellona didn't like her at all, which banished any remaining possibility that Ama could ever respect the tall young newcomer.

Now focussed on ending this unpleasant meeting as swiftly as possible, Ama crossed the room to the high windows by the sinks. One of the windows was ajar, adding a crisp Autumn breeze to the floral scents of the restroom, and Ama fancied she might be able to catch the attention of someone out there. But these windows didn't point towards the street, she was quite sure, making it unlikely that there'd be any passers-by any time soon. Regardless, she'd rather linger here than turn and face her again — besides which, she was quite sure she could hear a child's muffled giggle coming from somewhere outside...

[Image: ama-sig.jpg]

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