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?

Featured Stamp

Add it to your collection...

Did You Know?
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

In The Moode For A Melodie
19th December, 1891 — The Three Broomsticks
Barnaby had overcome his hatred of all such taverns as this – well, he was still loath to go anywhere near the Hog’s Head, filthy pigsty that it was – because the holidays were come and the pub was bursting with good cheer, and Barnaby might not be able to feel the cold of the snowy out-of-doors, but he could suffer the distinct sting of that old foe, the Feare Of Myssinge Oute.

And ‘twas nearly Christmas, so he was feeling generous and charitable and some remnant of his former self, given to good cheer and abandoned revelry – so Barnaby had produced himself as a particular carol-singer one evening, for those very fortunate patrons of the Three Broomsticks tonight. (He did not know what the owner of the place made of it, but he had not paused to take no for an answer – and they could not exactly slam the door in his face.)

Ghostly lute in hand, Barnaby drifted to and fro up by the rafters of the inn, regaling the revellers with a long medley of Christmas carols (some which had fallen a few centuries out of style, mayhaps, but the sentiment remained). As the peasants of the place had drunk a little more, Barnaby felt as though their patience might be waning – so he took a strategic pause, letting the silence swell and instead drifting down towards a table where someone was tucking into an evening meal. Barnaby, now half-immersed in the table, stared longingly down at the food for a protracted moment. “How is the fare here?” He quizzed, of the meal-eater. “Much to your liking?”

Morgana was settled in the Thee Broomsticks while her husband was off doing Marvolo Gaunt things. Christmas was coming up soon and she honestly didn't have a whole lot of Christmas spirit to spare. After a while of being home alone, she felt that she needed to go somewhere warm because their hut sure as hell wasn't doing the job. So she had come to the pub and being around mostly cheery folk was grating on her nerves.

A ghost of all things was singing to them all which was the most interesting thing she had seen this holiday. But after a while even that lost its luster and was just irritating.

"Better than the swill at the Hogs Head. I once saw a rats tail in my bowl there," she said bluntly when the ghost seemed to see fit to ask about her food.
That was not the answer – nor the tone – for which Barnaby had been hoping. She sounded as though she had already reached the end of her tether. Unfortunately for her, Barnaby had yet to meet the beginning of his.

He gave a ghostly shudder at the mention of that Hog’s Head fare. He would never have set foot there, alive or dead, and that review was quite enough to confirm his good reason for it. “What infernal stuff,” Barnaby said, shaking his head as if terribly offended on her behalf. “But this – this, then, is better?” He peered at her meaningfully, to say a little description of the taste, if you please.

He was not quite so desperate as to entertain imagining the taste of rat tails, but even this homely looking food would be enough to make his mouth water now, if Barnaby could still have eaten. (But the next best thing, naturally, was to watch this young lady eat and live vicariously through her.)

View a Printable Version

Users browsing this thread: 1 Guest(s)
Forum Jump: