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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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when the ghosts came out to play
#1
16th April, 1891 — Padmore Park
Barnaby glared at the dog yapping at his ghostly heels as he floated through the gates of the park, but soon veered away off the path, letting the breeze help waft him over the lawns towards the spot he’d heard whispers of a commotion with another of the local Hogsmeade ghosts. Whoever it had been, he knew it had called out one of the knaves from the Ministry, and was wondering which one of them it was.

Oh. The hopeless one; Barnaby smirked slightly to himself, because it was his very hopelessness that might lend well to his request. Nevertheless, he floated through a tree and materialised again right behind Robins, more in the interest of theatrics than anything. “Boo,” Barnaby said - sarcastically, although if it were to work as a practical measure in scaring anybody, no doubt it would be George Robins the cowardly ghost-whisperer.

Still, no time for (un)pleasantries, if he wanted to ambush him with the demand: Barnaby had a case to make, and it was Robins’ professional duty to see to it, never mind that he had not even been summoned here for his nonsense today. He cleared his throat. “I have a grave petition to put to thee.”
George Robins/Roberto Devine

The following 2 users Like Barnaby Wye's post:
   Fortitude Greengrass, George Robins

#2
George was usually one of those regularly dispatched for Hogsmeade ghosts. Today was thankfully one of those things he could handle, especially after Fords help just a couple days ago. This spirit did not like the location of some shrubbery and he had managed to convince her to let bygones be bygones.

George looked over his notepad to see where he was meant to visit next. Thus, he was startled at the sudden sound of a voice. "You gave me a bit of a fright," he chuckled, so quietly only the keenest of ears would have heard. It wasn't so much ghosts he was afraid of but people coming up to him from behind. It could have been a murderer. Instead it was a ghost asking for something. He didn't know which was more frightening.

"Oh? W-w-what is it?" And what made it grave?

#3
Barnaby scoffed at that sorry admission. “And p’rhaps the next one will scare thee all the way to death,” he said, heavy with irony. No, better not tempt fate; Robins would likely be too afraid of death to move on, and then he would have to put up with him being truly useless. (Except maybe as his very own floating, talking, punching-bag. Barnaby could unlive with that.)

In spite of that, Barnaby affixed a wide cherubic smile to his face, trying for lamb-like innocence just in case today was the day that Robins of the Spirit Division told a spirit no. “I have decided that I do desire an animal companion. A spirit familiar, if you will. It has been far too long since I last had one -” (he had been possessed of a stolen ghost-horse, at one time, some year before the fine locomotives came to be). He lifted his chin, his tone lofty. “Thus I require your services to source a fine specimen for me.”


The following 2 users Like Barnaby Wye's post:
   Fortitude Greengrass, George Robins

#4
"Well, I'd hope not," George murmured. He had his bedridden mother to look after and Gus was enjoying a swell Quidditch career. It would be awful inconvenient for them if he were to die.

George eyed the ghost with some suspicion. Innocent did not fit well into his image of Barnaby Wye. Not one bit. He actually perked up at the mention of an animal companion. Ghost animals tended to follow him about though none had today. "I believe I can do that. Which sort do you want? A nice cat maybe? An owl?" That cat spirit was still around his house and he knew there was an owl one that tended to perch among the living owls in the post office. He was fairly certain it didn't know it was dead.



The following 1 user Likes George Robins's post:
   Barnaby Wye
#5
Aha! He had him now. How simple that had been: Robins had agreed instantaneously, caught himself all up like a rabbit in a snare, and - if he had any honour as a man - he had close enough to given his word, and damnably sure ought to keep it.

“Nay, what do you take me for?” Barnaby scoffed, still smiling far too widely for anyone’s comfort. “I’ll not settle for a common kitten.” Did he look like some easy-to-please country bumpkin, without an excellent reputation for culture and refinement and exotic taste? Why, in his breathing days he’d been the first wizard in the county able to flaunt his pair of pet guinea-pigs from the Americas!

“I want a bear.” He had seen bears in London in his time, so with any luck they had not died out while he had been indisposed haunting the mirror, though he was not certain bear-baiting was still the fashion it once had been. But perhaps a few of those old beasts had become ghosts, and would come trussed up in all sorts of theatrical clanking chains for effect, “- and all the better if it has been trained to dance,” Barnaby mused aloud, paying no attention to Robins at all. And if not a bear, what creature might be easier to retrieve? Hm. “Else I would mayhaps accept a windfucker.”


The following 1 user Likes Barnaby Wye's post:
   George Robins

#6
George did not trust the ghosts smile. His own faltered a little as he scoffed. Of course Barnaby Wye would not be content with some lovely cat. Shame really, he came across a lot of those. What made a cat not cross over anyway?

A bear! George could not fathom approaching a bear, even a ghost one. Never mind that it wouldn't actually be able to do anything to him like its living counterparts but still. And how was he to find one of those? Especially one trained to dance?

His cheeks flushed at the word fucker, never mind that it was in the context of actually being 'windfucker'. Which wasn't any better since George did not personally know it was also kestrels used to be called. "Excuse me, a what?" He had only ever used that term used in... well, it was not used for an animal.



The following 1 user Likes George Robins's post:
   Barnaby Wye
#7
Hark, how his cheeks had turned the bright vermilion shade of those poisonous tomatoes everybody seemed to eat these days; Barnaby could not say why. The dancing bear? The difficulty of the task that had been presented to him? Or the name itself?

“A windfucker,” Barnaby repeated, raising his voice a little louder, in hopes that they might attract attention from other passers-by in the park and Robins would go even redder. “Come, art thou a fool? A windfucker. A fuckwind. One that is easily trained, also. Although - I used to be rather talented at that, so.”

He shrugged. He supposed he could have described the creature rather than torment him so, but Barnaby was enjoying the moment a little too much to make things simpler by explaining. “Thou wilt do it, then?” he added expectantly. “Get me one?”


The following 1 user Likes Barnaby Wye's post:
   Fortitude Greengrass

#8
George's blush reached his ears and the back of his neck as the ghost repeated the word but louder. The spirit was attracting attention which made George nervous. "I am not a fool. I have just never heard of an animal called a wind... that."

How was he supposed to get Barnaby Wye a windfucker when he only knew the term in reference to unspeakable things? Definitely not about an animal. "Is there another name for what you are asking for?"



#9
Barnaby was having a great deal of difficulty keeping a straight face - but oh, what a noble endeavour it was. I am not a fool, Robins protested, and he sounded so distressed and pathetic that Barnaby supposed he should show a little mercy.

(And show off, a little.)

With that in mind - and still half hoping to draw an audience to witness Robins’ embarrassment, Barnaby settled himself at the base of a tree (floating an inch or so off the ground, of course, and making sure not to lean back all the way into the tree) and closed his eyes a moment to think.

Surnamed for a bird, and almost as red / But has no knowledge of birds in his head - Barnaby warbled, self-satisfied. And loudly. A pity it was acapella, but it would have to serve. He grinned at the Ministry boy as he sang another slow couplet, widening his eyes meaningfully. One of the falcons, not quite a thestral / Come, a windfucker is but a...



#10
George watched as the spirit settled himself into a tree. Or well, settled as much as a floating specter could settle into a base of a tree. He waited to see what the spirit should say next though supposed he really just ought to leave since it was clear this wasn't true distress on the spirits part.

George was not without brains, he was able to surmise what the ghost was talking about thanks to the couplet. "A bird," he supplied.A type of falcon, he assumed. Where on earth was he meant to find and capture one of those? Capturing a living one was hard, a ghost one would be next to impossible.



#11
“A kestrel,” Barnaby huffed, pressing a hand to his temples in exasperation as Robins managed to bungle the rhyme. It was as though the boy liked to be purposely obtuse. Did he think that would allow him to wriggle out of the request? Not likely. He was employed for this.

(If he had been Barnaby’s manservant in life, he might have been sacked immediately. Oh, how one’s standards must drop in Death.)

“I am sure you will find a way,” Barnaby offered, changing tack and covering his irony with faux-sweetness, in case honeyed tones persuaded Robins not to flee the scene at once and forget his demand for a pet entirely, if outright bullying wasn’t working. “There must be great passion and determination lurking somewhere behind that rosy-cheeked mien of yours. And a most developed brain. Plenty of wits and creativity in there, just waiting to be used. Come, say you will do it. ‘Twill be a lonely existence without a fine-feathered friend to perch ‘pon my arm.” Barnaby pouted hopefully, as if this had been a long-held desire and not what amounted to a whim. Hopefully Robins would at least start searching for a ghost kestrel. (Else he could... start slaughtering living kestrels until one stayed on in spirit? Barnaby wasn’t actually sure he – even he, master of persuasion! – could sell that as a strategy.)



#12
Oh. Okay. He knew what a kestral was. Blimey, why couldn't the spirit have just said that in the first place?

"I can try but I don't know where I am going to find a spirit-kestral." The Forbidden Forest perhaps but that place was scary. Maybe he could drag a friend with him. He reflected that he needed to maybe make some bulkier friends that could throw down with a wild animal if need be. Because that certainly was not George "Literally Could Not Hurt A Fly" Robins.

Swayed by Wyes words, George gave him a sympathetic look. "I'll do what I can but it might take a while."



The following 1 user Likes George Robins's post:
   Barnaby Wye
#13
There, Robins had gotten there eventually, and he still sounded a little set adrift by the assignment, but it was hardly the most outlandish thing Barnaby might have asked for.

He could always go back to the dancing bear request once the kestrel was in his grasp.

“I have the utmost faith in you,” Barnaby said gallantly, floating up and pretending to rest his hand upon the – obscenely tall – fellow’s shoulders. Except that remark went a touch beyond all credulity, didn’t it? Barnaby amended the thought accordingly, at his protests of it taking some time. “...And fortunately I am not going anywhere.”




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