Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
With the same account, complete eight different threads where your character interacts with eight different usergroups. At least one must be a non-human, and one a student.
Did You Know?
Braces, or suspenders, were almost universally worn due to the high cut of men's trousers. Belts did not become common until the 1920s. — MJ
She was sitting on Dorset's porch with a basket of rolls and a little container of jam when he opened the door. Ivy had woken up early; she was having strange dreams, this week. It was as if, when she finally slept, she was let in on windows of her neighbor's lives — hopping around with them as they puttered through their home. Last night, it had been Dorset, towards the end of his patrol. She even felt his thumbs &mdash her thumbs, in the dream — strain when he handcuffed someone who was struggling against him. Eventually she was haunting someone else, but it was still strange.
So she got up early, went into town for the rolls and the fresh jam, and sat on Dorset's porch until he emerged. Sometimes their days off, or time off, were the same — she was hoping that today would be the same, because otherwise she was going to have to sit with her strange thoughts until she next saw him.
Finally the door opened. Ivy stood up with the basket in hand, an offering. "Were you up late last night?" she asked.
Jack came through the door rubbing his eyes. The subconcious guesture pulled a hiss from his lips and he slammed the door shut with his other hand as if it had somehow offended him.
He finally realized there was someone there and had the good graces to look a little sheepish. She was too familiar and he was too tired to be all the way sheepish. Holding one hand awkwardly aloft, he combed the other through his hair halfheartedly.
It was a wide open invitation for a flirty response and it pulled a grin to his face despite the recent violence against his front door. He took too long trying to think of something witty to say and so settled for a wink instead.
"Merlin, you're a saint." He said, nearly sagging from the relief of it. He glanced from the basket, to his door, and then to her. "Tea?" It was a question as much as an invitation. They hadn't gotten to why she was there.
Had he winked at her? Ivy paused to wrinkle her nose disdainfully before replying to him.
"Of course," Ivy said, "As long as you have sugar for it." Dorset didn't seem to live entirely like an animal, despite his roommate's semi-recent arrest.
Not just the nose wrinkle but the obvious pause made him chuckle. He'd expect nothing less. When it came to the sugar he had to pause himself. He looked upwards visibly trying to remember before nodding and heading back inside. He had sugar for at least one cup of tea and he knew this because he had been avoiding using it. Once it was used up then he'd be out of sugar and then the fact that he kept forgetting to get more would be much more of a problem.
Back inside he hung up the coat he'd just put on, offered to take hers if she had one, and moved toward the kitchen to pull together tea things. "Up early or working nights?" he asked conversationally as he placed cups and a mostly empty container of sugar on the table, largely single-handedly.
Ivy allowed for Dorset to take her coat and followed him into the kitchen hen. His entryway and kitchen were eerily similar to the way they had been in her dream last night, and she glanced sidelong into both corners as if to make sure they were exactly the same before mentally pushing it aside as an acceptable oddity. She sat herself at his kitchen table.
"Up early," she said, "Are you working today, or last night?"
"Last night." He set the kettle on to boil and came over to sit heavily in the seat opposite her. He immediately stood back up as if the seat it self had reminded him the rolls and jam would need plates and such. "And tonight, I think." he added absently as he rummaged in a drawer for flatware.
"I don't suppose you know how to tell if a bone is broken?" he asked with his back still to her, a tinge of his earlier frustration returning.
He had worked the previous night. Ivy eyed him. Her look could have been interpreted as suspicious, although she was far from suspicious of him. Still, this entire situation felt — strange. "Of course I know how," she said, and leaned towards him so that he could show her the offending bone. Perhaps she ought to ask him some questions to rule out her suspicions?
He carried a pair of plates and a bizarre selection of flatware to the table in one hand and set them down unceremoniously. The other he held out reluctantly for her to look at. There was noticeable swelling across his palm and bruise blooming at the base of his thumb.
His thumb, swollen as if it had twisted too far when he was putting handcuffs around someone. "How'd you do this?" Ivy asked, taking his hand very gently in her fingers. She did not poke or prod, instead eyeing the swelling. She wanted a critical eye to look for a break, but it was not quite for that — she was trying to determine how much the circumstances matched her dream.
"Detaining someone." he admitted with an eye-roll. It was a lesson he thought he'd learned ages ago when his arm had nearly been splinched off trying to detain someone. "I hoped it'd be better this morning so I wouldn't have to tell the Chief."
Well, fuck. "Move it for me," Ivy instructed. "What did they do?" Because if she was dreaming Dorset's reality, down to what the person had done — well. Perhaps she was dreaming everyone's reality, and that wouldn't do her any good.
"Took a swing at me." he said as he lifted the thumb, smirking at the memory until he curled it in toward his palm. He didn't wince, he was bracing himself against it, but his face creased with the effort of it and the rest of the story came with some strain. "He was drunk and thought someone had stolen his wand. Didn't like it much when I pointed out he was holding it." The man was slowed by the alcohol but Jack was still pretty proud of his reaction speed. "I ducked him though." he assured her with a returning grin.
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