Welcome to Charming
Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

Where will you fall?

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During the Victorian era, knitting became a staple of a well-bred woman. Queen Victoria is even reported to have been a fan of knitting herself. It was during this time that knitting wasn’t just restricted to plain yarn fabrics, but changed to involve bead and lace knitting. — Fallin
Yuri didn't know what being a steamed patron was but it sounded like it might be painful.
Anyway, Here's Wonderwall

Same Old Blood Rush With A New Touch
Dec 18th, 1891 — Saturnalia

By the time Emrys arrived, most of the guests were three sheets to the wind or more. He probably shouldn't have come. Better still, he should probably leave now. No use being sober when everyone around him wasn't, and he wasn't sure what it would take to catch up. Worse: he wasn't sure whether he wanted to. He'd sent his RSVP but had changed his mind about whether or not he'd actually attend a dozen times in the mean time. He'd been debating it right up until the moment he'd left, actually. He'd complained of a headache and gone upstairs to his bedroom and locked the door, then fretted.

Angel didn't expect him to be faithful. She'd told him he could continue on just as he'd been before, doing whatever he pleased. So he wasn't actually doing anything wrong.

She'd also implied that it would crush her.

He'd promised to try his best to make her happy, but he'd told her straight from the beginning that he didn't think he could manage it. That he wasn't capable of being the kind of husband she wanted, and they were doomed to disappoint each other.

But he probably didn't have to disappoint her so soon.

He should leave. It wasn't too late to make an escape and pretend this had never happened. Emrys turned towards the exit — and was met with a drink offered by one of the other guests.

Bree made this!
Tariq had not been too sure about attending this party but one of the suppliers of one of his habits had insisted. So there he was. He had been his a little tense at first but after a few laced cakes and drinks, he was feeling rather relaxed. He wasn't as far gone as a lot of the other guests but he was a lot more easygoing than he might otherwise have been.

"Your hands seemed bereft of one the nectar of the Gods," he joked, to go along with the Greek attire he wore and attempting to find someone a little more aware to socialize with at this thing. "You don't look to be enjoying yourself when it's a party."

Emrys surveyed the man who'd offered the drink. Definitely handsome, and not someone Emrys recognized right away, but he didn't look like he was entirely new to this scene. Emrys hadn't been out of the swing of things that long, but this didn't look like the first time the man had been under the influence of something; he was missing the edge of nerves. He looked like he was closer to Ester's edge of this crowd than Emrys', if he had to guess. At the thought of Ester Emrys wished he knew where she was, because she was sure to be somewhere. He could complain about something like this to her and she would understand (or at least, wouldn't mind). You wait until I marry to bring all these handsome men to the parties? he could say. But even if he found Ester she would likely be too far out of her mind to notice him by now, and certainly in no mood to entertain his crisis of conscious. Ester, of course, had a low opinion of the sanctity of marital vows.

He took the drink, because there really wasn't anything else to do. Refusing it would have been rude. "I showed up late," he confessed. "And it's hard to catch up to a party like this."

So the question was: was that flirtatious, or not? The words themselves could have gone either way. He'd used some variation of you don't look like you're having fun, but maybe I can help in the past himself to proposition men. He didn't know this particular man well enough to know whether his body language was meant to be suggestive or if that was just the way he was, or if it was only because he was already drunk or high. At least he wasn't so far gone that he was slurring his words.

Of course the bigger question, the real question, was: did Emrys want to flirt back, if it was flirtatious? And the answer was no. At least, he thought it was.

He took a small sip of the cup the man had handed him. "What am I drinking?" he asked, letting his eyes drift briefly over the man's exposed shoulder.

Bree made this!

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