June 2th, 1895 — The Bottom of the Valenduris' Garden

From the time she had been small Morgan had always felt left out, alone, and separate from the special bond that her sisters shared. A bond so strong it often felt as if they had their own language, that they intuitively knew things without having to talk or give any outward sign. It was an exclusive club that nobody else was part of - not even Morgan who had born within the same twelve months.

They called it being an Irish twin but that held no candle to the bond real twins shared.

And she’d hated it. Despised it even. She’d hated feeling as if she just wasn't enough. She often felt overlooked, that she was older, more responsible - told to look after them because she was the big sister and they were just that much more volatile. Or at least one of them was.

It had started then, in the early days, when she’d started to be desperate for attention from others. When she’d started being so desperate to have people like her and when she’d try to jump over backwards for to entertain any visitor, latch onto any who showed her just the modicum of friendship. She’d wanted to be liked, loved, and wanted to feel as if she was more than just the afterthought; the older sister to the twins.

Archimedes liking her most had helped, and then so had choosing to follow her parents passions - with every congratulations and look of pride they shared she began to hunger for more.

Her little garden grotto had been the next thing to come - a private place just of her own that she could escape to at the bottom of the garden, next to the wall. The others knew not to bother her when she was there - and they mostly obeyed.

It was therefore a surprise to her when she came down that morning to find somebody standing in the middle of it - somebody who really didnt belong, probably even in Wellingtonshire let alone her grotto. Her hand clasped reflexively into fits - as if to grab a wand or do something far more useless - make a fist - and she put on her most imperious upper-class expression - she’s seen Serpentine Malfoy, one of her dorm mates, make it enough that it was near second nature.

It was her space - hers - and she’d filled it with all her little plant babies, and knickknackss, potions she’d pretended when she was far younger - or actually - made. This person - this girl? Or boy? They surely werent grown whomever they were- had no business being here. She guessed the intruder had climbed the wall to get in - her grotto was afterall next to said wall and the vine that covered the wall in beautiful greenery and delicate flowers could probably support support a persons weight - especially somebody as scrawny as the intruder.

“You should know better than to be in the Potion Masters garden.” She said in her best Serpentine Malfoy voice.

“If you leave now I'm sure no harm will come to you.” She was rather proud of herself for that one. It sounded ominous and could actually be true. She didnt think her father would cause harm to anybody but that didn't stop his reputation being useful.

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   Charley Goode

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Set made by the wonderful Athena

Electives: Earth Magic, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Art
Clubs:  Garden, Potions, French, Art and Leisure Sports.

Child of Professor Valenduris and Irish Twin to the "Creepy Twins" who disrupted their (and her) Sorting Feast, and eventually one left the school after a professor died.

Climbing the fence had been the easy part. Folk around these parts tended not to use locks or wards so much. Even in the parts where they did, they tended not to take much notice to anyone trying to get past them. Charley had heard stories of those who got caught in the act, of course. Usually, their fate in the stories wasn't so pretty, not with all the nasty sort of things the wealthy might think up for thieves and ne'er-do-wells.

Charley had heard a lot of stories in her day, and those, she was sure, were just stories. They might be good stories, the juicy sort that left an unrattleable thought in a head, but just not all that convincing. For one, most folk thought themselves a fair bit scarier than they really were, and that saying words in a spooky tone would make them a scary sort as well. As far as the other went, the urchin felt pretty safe behind the truth today.

She wasn't here to steal anything.

That didn't mean the urchin didn't turn toward the sound of the voice, still prying away the fruit from her lips. The juices ran down the sides of her mouth until she wiped them away with the back of her hand. "Think so?" Charley asked, her mouth still full of the plucked fruit. It wasn't stealing, not really. Not a thing that grew right here in the garden, and not if she wasn't planning on going anywhere until it was finished. "Reckon I'll be jes fine if its you doin' the harmin'."

It sounded like a challenge in her ears, too, and the urchin was pretty alright with that. Her slim shoulders gave a shrug, and she almost felt as casual as they did. Almost. The warning about the garden being the Potion Masters', whose classes Charley still recalled being a smokey, frustrating affair, did give her a little pause. Enough of one for her to hold the rest of the fruit out to the girl trying to defend the whole garden by her lonesome.

The girl was taller, but Charley still thought she could take her if it came down to it.

"Wanna bite? They're real in season 'bout now."

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Writer Notes: Charley is a street urchin in both appearance and behavior, unless written otherwise here.
Interactions may reflect Victorian-era morals rather than modern sensibilities; this is allowed and acceptable to this writer.