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 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
In the two days following Christmas, Icarus had already broken the toy that Morgan had given him that year. A less indulgent uncle might not have minded, because he had technically fulfilled his requirements by getting all of his family members presents neatly wrapped and stashed under the tree before Christmas morning, but he'd seemed so put out when it broke that Morgan had immediately offered to buy him another one. Actually, he'd said he'd buy Icarus a better one, because what sort of toy broke after only two days, no matter how hard the child was playing with it? He'd bought the first one at Denbright's but had decided to give the Hogsmeade street market a try this afternoon, to see if he could find something similar with hopefully a higher quality. He didn't frequent the street market, though, so he wasn't sure where to start looking for things like children's toys. He wandered for a few minutes, eyes scanning the various tables of food and treats. He considered buying a hot coffee to warm his hands and his insides, and combat the frost that clung to the rooftops and chilled the air, but when he slowed his pace by the stand and caught of a whiff of the wares he changed his mind. They might call it coffee, but it was clearly little more than burnt hot water. He didn't need to waste his time or his money on that.
Up ahead was a stand that looked colorful, though there were too many people in his way for Morgan to see what they were actually selling. Maybe it would be something for children, or maybe something for young women. It seemed to be mostly women browsing the wares, but that didn't mean much — women were the ones mostly shopping for children, so this could still be toys. Morgan edged his way up to the table. A large wicker basket was sitting right in front of him on the stall, and he reached down to sort through what was inside — unaware that this basket was someone's shopping basket, not the wares for sale at this particular place.
Clarissa Cosgrove and then open to passersby / constables / whomever
Hogsmeade Market was always a good option for a young debutante to get all the ribbons, needlework supplies and fabric that she could desire. Though today had mostly been an outing for her friend to make eyes at some farmer she had taken a liking to. He was handsome enough but it wasn't like her friend could marry him but there was nothing wrong with a bit of innocent flirting, Clarissa always felt.
She had filled her basket with her usual purchases and set it aside momentarily so that she could dig more into a crate of beautiful pieces of lace. Her shut parasol hung off her arm by its handle and she had just come up with a beautiful Slytherin green ribbon when a man started rooting their her basket when she turned back to it.
Filled with fight or flight at this unexpected event, Clarissa very clearly went into fight mode as she rapped his knuckles with her parasol as she brought it down like it was her sword of justice. "What are you? Some sort of thief?" She asked accusingly. "Get your hands out of there, that is my basket." He didn't look like a thief but in this day and age but one never knew.
"Ow! Merlin," Morgan said, pulling his hand back sharply. He wasn't normally the type to swear in a crowd of young ladies, but he also wasn't used to getting struck by parasols out of the blue. One wouldn't think that a parasol could hurt much, but this one must have had quite an intense frame beneath the fabric and lace. His hand was throbbing already and he noted as he glanced at his fingers that they were red. He shook his hand out, as though that would help with the throbbing, but it didn't make much tangible difference.
"What did you do that for?" he asked, irritated. Of course, she'd already said why, but it took him a second to make sense of the words and even then he was disinclined to accept that as a reasonable explanation for assaulting him on the street. Besides, it was crowded by this stall; even if he had been trying to steal from her basket, swinging a parasol around like that could have hurt someone else, too. "I didn't know that was your basket," he added defensively.
This man was not impressing her any further by swearing in her presence. Though she supposed she would swear too if she was punished with a parasol. Evan had also swore that time she had whacked him about with it for being too forward with her so she supposed the thing had its uses beyond keeping her porcelain skin from tanning.
"You must have realized that it was someones basket, if not mine," she said a little disbelievingly as she picked it up as if she expected him to decide to run off with it. He really did not look like a thief. But thieves were perfectly capable of stealing clothing so that was not really an indicator. "Unless you had a particularly urgent need for a ribbon." She did not know his life, maybe he was a man who really liked ribbons. That she would not judge but she did not condone theft.
"I did not," he retorted. This was in response to her first comment about knowing the basket belonged to someone, though it applied just as well to her second. He had never been in urgent need of ribbons of any sort and didn't anticipate that changing any time in the foreseeable future. "You left it on the table with all the other things for sale," he pointed out (hopefully correctly; he hadn't gotten enough of a look at the table to know whether they actually were selling anything, and realized he was going to look very silly if this was actually just a place for young women to mill about and drink cocoa, or something). "How was I supposed to know it belonged to anybody?"
Though, in fairness, if it was mostly ribbons he probably shouldn't have been pawing through it anyway. Maybe next time he ought to look a little closer before he touched, no matter where people put their things down. But also in fairness, if she was going to go leaving her basket in the middle of a table full of goods for sale she shouldn't be pulling a parasol out as a weapon the first time someone touched it.
"I left it on the table where customers are meant leave their personal belongings safely while they shop. Though not safe from you, apparently." Though she supposed that was more the lackluster attendants fault than it was this mans. If he wasn't a thief, anyway.
"Using your eyes would be a good start," she retorted despite the fact that she was vaguely aware that he was quite right in saying that. She wasn't about to let him know that, though.
Morgan had never considered himself overly attached to concepts like personal honor (he had derided Annie's late husband for challenging someone to a duel often enough that he probably would have said he didn't care about honor at all, if asked) but he nonetheless bristled at her response. It was the accusatory tone when she said you, probably. He should have ended the conversation with a brisk good day then, or maybe even an apology (though at this point it could hardly be a sincere one), but the words and the tone and the implication that he was somehow unsavory made him reluctant to back down. He had never been accused of anything criminal before (at least, never seriously and never anything he was in fact innocent of) and didn't care for it at all. Maybe he could have been the type to get into a duel, if the insult were grave enough.
Not that this was anywhere near serious enough to merit that. The mature thing to do would have been to disengage and walk away, but his fingers were still throbbing and he wasn't feeling particularly mature, so instead he muttered petulantly, "Or use a gauntlet, maybe, to defend my hands from the assaults of unruly shrews."
"Plan to accost other innocent young debutantes, then?" Clarissa said in response to the other mans muttered words, a faux lightness to her tone. "And I am neither unruly nor a shrew. You are simply a mannerless cur and I protected myself." She didn't know who this man was but he honestly couldn't possibly be someone she should be careful about possibly offending. Besides, he had offended her first so it was fair. She also doubted she would ever see him again after this moment.
Mannerless cur was quite the slur, given that all he'd done was touch her shopping basket! Morgan felt hot under the collar, which was his typical sign that he was getting upset. He paid attention to these signs, usually — his career wasn't one where speaking rashly in anger would do him any favors. This might not have been a courtroom, and the stakes might not have been high, but it would probably be best to reel things in before he lost his cool too badly. If he caused a scene and word got back to his mother somehow, she wouldn't be pleased to hear that he'd yelled at some young woman in front of a crowd of onlookers.
"You protected your hair ribbons," he pointed out. His tone was stiff, but level and controlled. "You were never in any danger."
"I have no way of knowing that for sure. Who knows what things you had in mind," Clarissa retorted. "Am I to let every man that wants to put his paws into my belongings?" Never mind the fact that she was starting to believe he might possibly be entirely innocent. Possibly. He had insulted her and now she had decided she didn't particularly care about easing his bruised ego.
Now this was just ridiculous. He could see how the initial misunderstanding had started (though he didn't agree with her inclination to resort to physical violence to address something so slight!) but to then make the jump to who knows what things you had on your mind was preposterous. She was either being purposefully offensive in order to get a rise out of him, or she was completely out of touch with reality. Either way, Morgan didn't have a wealth of patience for it.
"If I'd been planning to murder you, stealing your hair ribbons would hardly have been an effective way to go about it," he pointed out, voice tense.
"Do I look like I know how a murderers logic works? Though apparently you do," she said, on purpose sounding suspicious of him. Besides, she was sure there was probably some sort of spell out there that let you curse the owner of some item or something. Not that she was certain he would do so but she was getting an odd sort of enjoyment out of seeing how puffed up he would get about this.
Now she was just being petty. Morgan crossed his arms over his chest, ready to match her on it. "Well, I know how logic works, which seems to be one step beyond you," he retorted. "Parasol-wielding harridan."
Oh but he was fun. Funny, even. She just barely managed to actually smile because she felt like that would mean he 'won' somehow. Insults weren't typically supposed to charm a girl even while she was offended at the same time. Before she could match his insult, her chaperone seemed to see fit to actually do her job and intervene. Luckily, it wasn't one her brothers this time but her sister in law that was with her instead.
"I suppose this is good bye. I will be quite thankful to never have to come across you again," she said, making sure she had her basket and parasol with her as she was gently lead away. Were her hair not carefully and properly done up, she might have flipped it in his face somehow. But it was not much to her regret.
Had she just — smiled at him? Perhaps he'd imagined it. He couldn't think why she would have gone from comparing him to a murderer to smiling in such a short span. Maybe it was actually just a twitch she sometimes got when she was angry, which would make a lot more sense. In any case, it seemed she was leaving now. Morgan felt vaguely grateful to the chaperone for only talking to her while leading her away, and not trying to either apologize or further antagonize him in the process.
"My fingers feel the same," he called as she left. Once she was gone he shook his head, shook out his hand again, and went on his way, his original errand of a new toy for Icarus quite forgotten.
