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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1895. 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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Did you know? Jewelry of jet was the haute jewelry of the Victorian era. — Fallin
What she got was the opposite of what she wanted, also known as the subtitle to her marriage.
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To their own devices
#1
August 12th, 1894 — Frey Manor, Norfolk
Frey Manor was a large and splendid estate in Norfolk. Its sprawling gardens were tended by many a house-elf and the house was modern, if a tad ostentatious. With a loud bang, Victor Frey and Charley Goode appeared out of thin air right before the gate that led towards the house.

They were a very unequal pair. Victor was a well-dressed man of leisure, although disheveled and sickly looking, and Miss Goode was a sprightly and ragged street urchin.
"Oh, Merlin," Victor moaned and bent over and threw up into the flower bed. He was terribly hungover.
"Right," he said when he was done. "We were going to London."

Mr. Frey turned to the urchin and gave her a critical look. "You are not quite in the state for a visit to the ton."
He fiddled with his pockets and produced a small silver bell. Upon ringing it, a house-elf dressed in a white apron appeared in front of them.
"Oooh, Lord Victor," the house-elf bowed so deep that the tips of his giant ears touched the grass. "And a visitor?" He had a raspy, quiet voice that only partly hid his suspicion.
"Runcible, bathe the girl, we are visiting the ton," Victor directed. "I've got to find my valet. We meet again in an hour at the fireplace in the small upstairs tearoom."

With that, Victor strode towards the manor and left the urchin and the house-elf to figure it out.
Charley Goode



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#2
Charley lost her balance the minute she could wrest herself free of the man holding her hand tightly, hardly noticing the change in scenery at first. Her ears rang with the crack, the last sound she'd heard before everything went black and awful. It was worse than traveling by fireplace, this apparating. The urchin picked herself up, her freckles ganging up to spell revulsion on her face, and turned it to the man.

She quickly wished she hadn't, and had to turn away lest her stomach upset itself all over her shoes.

Her knees sure were taking a beating today, and the once-nice dress was starting to match the rest of her clothes. With hands that weren't all that clean, the urchin tried brushing the dirt and dust away. The results made even her frown, glad for once to be out of Hogsmeade. Only the man was in sight, and be-argered men did not make for perceptive companions. This one was barely thoughtful.

"An' I thought this was yer house." The grounds were large and sprawling, as big as a zoo without any of the animals. Just one, thought, avoiding the man with her eyes for now. She only had them for the giant mansion set a little way's off, with more windows and roofs than she could count. Only Hogwarts had been bigger, and this was near enough for the urchin. She swore under her breath, "Cor, that's fit for a giant."

"You are not quite in the state for a visit to the ton. "

So much for the undiscerning drunk. Charley caught him in her glare at last, her eyes narrowing at the little bell in his hand when it caught the light. Silver, she thought, taking note of the pocket he tucked it back into. There was another, softer crack when the little creature appeared out of nowhere, and she glared at that one too. Only the very rich had house elves, not drunkards in dusty cabins.

"Bathe?! Jes what are ya on?" Her head whipped back, launching herself into step behind the man. Charley didn't take orders from his sort, there was no way she was going to simply curtsy and follow along. Not without a good reason, she was owed that much. An explanation, at worst. And if he didn't have one, she'd take that little bell and ring herself a broom or something better.

The urchin hadn't gotten more than two steps before the wrinkly claws wrapped around her wrist with an iron grip. She gasped and lurched to a stop, whirling about with a shoe aimed at the little creature. He was too quick to be caught by her foot, though he didn't seem to be paying much attention to her otherwise. Just muttering something that Charley had to lean close —not that she had much choice in the matter— to hear.

"Master Victor knows best. Master Victor must have a plan with this."

"Victor? Well, Master Victor is bleedin' drunk," Charley put in, not that the elf took notice. She thought about trying to kick him again, if she could get her feet under her in the first place. The little creature was fast, setting a quick pace toward the house and in through a side entrance she hadn't spied before. There was no give to his grip, no matter how much she pulled or twisted her arm. The urchin had to try another way. "Say, Runcible was it? That's yer name? Runcible, stop a minute. What's the rush?"

The house-elf seemed heedless but he didn't argue either, so she pressed on. "Victor's jes a mite confused, see? He's only tryin' ta help me get to London. Said something 'bout a fireplace, ya know where that is? For the Floo? Jes take me there, no need for nothing else..."

The hallways passed by with the urchin pleading all the way, soft carpeting giving way to echoing hardwoods under her shoes. She tried to keep track of the turns and staircases, feeling much like she was in the slums of Hogsmeade again. A much prettier, nicer sort of Slums anyway. All the gilding couldn't escape the fact that Charley was a captive of this house-elf, who opened a final door at last and ushered her first into a tiled room, complete with a mirror and a large bathtub.

"Oi, listen here, Runt," she shouted, settling back on her heels. "I en't steppin' near no tub, got it?" Charley let out a sound and grabbed her captured wrist with her other hand, leaning back to keep Runcible from pulling her into the bathroom. "Scrubbed up earlier, see? Don't need a second go, do I?" She had to shift her feet to keep her grip, and inch by inch they trod upon tile instead of wood. "Mind yerself, ya deaf git, lemme go!"

She screamed when the door shut behind her, close enough to feel the draft on the back of her head. Charley put up the fight of her life, swearing and clawing at the deviant little house-elf, who stayed magically unscathed amidst it all. It wasn't fair, she wasn't Victor's child nor his hireling, she wasn't his to order around. Not that the runty creature cared for the distinction, or her shrieks of modesty. He wouldn't even turn around until she was deep in the bathwater, soap in hand, and then it was only to gather up her mess of clothes left over from their battle.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears..."

Charley stuck her tongue out at the little creature a second before he vanished with a dull crack again, leaving her alone to her soapy fate.


The following 1 user Likes Charley Goode's post:
   Victor Frey

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#3
Victor had managed to locate his valet, who had dressed him in a fresh suit and administered a hangover potion that tasted of old socks but did the trick. He found himself in considerably better spirits as he made his way to the upstairs tearoom. His shirt was restored to the crispest of whites. A faint flowery scent now clung to the young gentleman, who checked his dark hair in a nearby mirror and examined the lilac hues under his eyes. It could not be said that he was entirely restored, but as far as he was concerned he was in running order.

The foyer, however, was empty. No house-elf and no urchin. Victor waited around for five minutes, then he strode towards the guest chambers. It took him some minutes to get there. Frey Manor was an unnecessarily big house.
"Runcible!" he called out as he entered. "How goes the—"
He stopped short. The house-elf stood before him. He wrung his hands in distress. Behind him stood what appeared to be a very clean, very angry street urchin wearing what he recognized as one of Hester's old dresses. It was a bit short on her but she looked downright prim compared to the ghastly creature that had frightened him so in the hunting lodge.
"Master Victor," Runcible rasped, his ears drooping. "The girl was most uncooperative. Most uncooperative indeed. Runcible had to use magic three times to keep her in the bath."
Victor looked between them. The urchin's hair was still dripping on the oriental carpet, which seemed to cause Runcible physical pain every time a drop fell.
"She refused the ribbon for her hair," the house-elf added in a wounded whisper. "Called it a 'poncy bit of frippery' and tried to feed it to the cat."

"Looks like you've done splendidly to me," Victor said. The corners of his mouth twitched. "You look very pretty. Like a real little lady," he said to the girl. He could see now that the dress had a small tear in one sleeve that hadn't been there when Hester wore it. "Though perhaps we ought to hurry to London before Runcible's head explodes?"
Runcible made a sound like a teakettle.
"Young Miss Hester's dress," he wheezed. "The hem..."

Victor thought that it was time to go.
"Come," he said to the girl. "We take the floo from the Foyer. This one works, I'll have you know."


The following 1 user Likes Victor Frey's post:
   Charley Goode

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