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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. 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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“Got the morbs” was Victorian slang for a temporary melancholia — Dante
Maybe a choice shade of grey - the closest thing she had to mourning clothes - as a symbolic marker that her relationship with Victor was dead.
dining is pageantry


Private
Into The Fire
#1
23rd May, 1892 — Private Room, Augurey Beak Cafe
Miss Reid could not resent him for there being any unexpected guests this evening, because his mother certainly didn’t know anything of his plans. And it had not been particularly difficult for Savino to rent out a small private upstairs room for an hour or two this evening, just as dingy as the rest of the pub, with fewer tables and chairs but a large crackling fireplace at one end. Fortunately, the owners had seemed too disinterested to think anything odd of it, even with the strange assortment of divination tools he had brought with him. (Though in truth, Savino had mostly picked this place in passing for the irony of its name. Hopefully Mr. Carmichael would see the humour in it.)

Miss Reid probably would still resent him for the heavy divination focus on this meeting of his so-called ‘Seers club’, but Savino was looking forward to it. Both of them having the Sight would help with any readings they tried, probably – but it never hurt to have a skeptic around, besides.

“How are you both? Have you had any visions recently?” Savino asked mildly, as he rifled through the pages of the books he’d been studying lately to pass them the most interesting parts. Maybe the others knew more of it, had taught or studied it before: personally, he had never used pyromancy very regularly in his practices. But in certain places diviners studied the shape of the flames, or the smoke that formed; burnt bones or threw salt in the fire; even melted wax into bowls of water and saw what signs were left behind, not unlike reading tea leaves. So there had to be a spark of something worthwhile in some of these techniques. And if there wasn’t, well; he wouldn’t know until he’d tried.

(And if it was a waste of time otherwise, at least there was wine.)
@Temerita Reid/@Jack Dorset
@Elliot Carmichael/@Cassius Lestrange

#2
Meri couldn't help the occasional glance around the room that tended to end on the closed door.  Mr. Zabini had done as promised... it was just them, which is exactly what had the little propriety voice gnawing at her conscience.  She should not be here alone, it chanted at her.  She didn't pay much mind to it, she was well past any expectation of chaperones and irrefutable reputation but that didn't mean she forgot all the rules she grew up with. 

She winced lightly at the casual question but it was quickly followed by a pang of jealousy.  She wished she was at ease with the topic as he was.  She kind of wished she was as at ease as he was in general.  "It doesn't really work like that for me."  she said reflexively and instantly regretted it.  It sounded silly without expanding on it but that was a whole conversation Mr. Zabini and Mr. Carmichael hadn't exactly signed up for. 

"The incident I wrote you about - the one that I suspect was some sort of pyromancy?  That was at New Years."  It was an effort to speak openly and comfortably as he did but she was pleased to find it wasn't all that bad.  Maybe it would even get easier with practice.
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#3
This was not a place that Elliot would have picked himself, but he sort of liked it — it felt real, like the sort of place where people would have secret meetings. And he was excited by the prospect of talking to Miss Reid and Mr. Zabini without anyone there — no debutantes, no meddling mothers, no one else listening in.

"I've been having — snippets," Elliot said, "Someone falling from the sky, I think. A vampire in London. And there's someone in Hogsmeade grappling with themselves, they want to hurt someone — but they keep changing their mind. The vision shifts."

He took a sip of wine. "Sorry," Elliot said, with a wry smile, "Morbid."


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#4
Each answer apiece was not surprising: Miss Reid, immediate and instinctive, like she was allergic to the question; and Mr. Carmichael with a practised calm, projecting a little more ease even if the topic was as assuredly gloomy as he had warned it would be. Savino listened thoughtfully to the vision-snippets, brow furrowed, wondering if there was any detail in it that might align with his own divining, if there might be anything else to those incidents that they could possibly draw out tonight – but first he offered an understanding shrug to the apology.

“It’s not as though you can help it,” he assured, returning a small smile. The benefit of this privacy, with only the interruption of a waitress from time to time to check the state of their glasses, was that they could be entirely candid. They were all Seers: so they knew what it was like, that it was not, unfortunately, always sunshine and roses.

Although he wasn’t exactly sure what Miss Reid meant by it doesn’t really work like that for me, because surely she had visions just like the rest of them, whether she liked it or not? Savino contemplated this for a moment, itching to ask her... but, letting it rest for the moment, he raised his eyebrows at her other comment, supposing she might be more open to sharing that experience than being interrogated about anything else. “So what happened at New Year’s?” A vision, he assumed, for she must have seen something somehow – it was not very probable that she would have been giving someone an intentional reading.

#5
Her stomach clenched as Mr. Carmichael recounted the things he'd seen.  She knew in principle that his sight was 'morbid', as he put it, but she always managed to forget what that meant in practice.  She wondered again, as she listened to his causal account, how she would handle visions like his and how he managed to be so amiable in the face of it. 

"I got stuck." she said with a dismissive shake of her head when it was her turn to speak.  "It's happened before -" she added, with a quick glance at her former professor wondering if he would remember that one time they 'got stuck' together.  "This time I was staring at the bonfire in the park and - its hard to describe but it just sort of comes over me and locks me in.  Deaf and blind to the world around me but inside its all chaos and noise and visions too fast to make sense of.  I was there for a couple hours this time."  She rolled the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger, idly making it turn on spot.  "But I figure it was maybe a kind of scrying?  I sort of remember seeing things in the flames before I was lost to it."

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#6
Elliot frowned. He'd pushed Miss Reid too far once, and they'd both gotten stuck in the vision — their inner eyes getting lost in one another. It took him a second to refocus, even though he was listening intently to Miss Reid, and he took a sip of his wine before speaking.

"Do you remember anything specific?" Elliot asked. "Of course it's alright if you don't." Sometimes he didn't. Sometimes they were simply vessels, for whatever reached through time to speak.


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#7
Savino’s eyes widened at got stuck, because that sounded... strange to him, even for another Seer. He was sure it had happened to him before to some extent, getting lost in focus in some crystal-ball-gazing, or in a vision or a dream, but even then – minutes, surely. He had never been paralysed into the Sight for hours at a time; at least not during his waking consciousness, anyway.

There had been the dreams that came back the more he tried to resist them, though. And perhaps Miss Reid just had an uncanny connection to fire divination, or to scrying more generally. (She didn’t like Tarot, he’d heard – and everyone had their preferred methods.)

Contemplatively, Savino glanced at the flames in the fireplace at the far end of their table. He was interested in Carmichael’s question to her, and paused to see what she’d say – but another question leapt to his tongue, too. “But when you started staring, were you trying to see something? Or it just – caught you without warning?” He was presuming the latter, but if the bonfire had just sucked her in that deep, out of reality, for that long, well... that was impressive or worrying, he wasn’t sure.

#8
She gave a soft shake of her head, lips pursed as she tried to recall.  "It was the same as that one time - just flickers of things.  And I'm afraid to chase after them..."  She'd grown as accustomed to the spells as she thought was possible but she'd never quite shake the fear that her Sight would one day drive her mad.  Of course when she was younger she'd thought that madness would look more like the twitchy-muttering sort.

"Oh no, I'm never looking."  she answered immediately.  She didn't even have to think about that.  "Unless it was for school or if someone came to me with a very good reason... At most I was just wondering things to myself, but I don't think that should count." her tone was tinged with irritation, like her Sight was being unreasonable if she couldn't just be thinking about things.

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#9
Elliot frowned. He'd come to her with a good reason, once — and he was never going to forgive himself for it. He shook his head to clear the thought.

"Does it feel like a dream?" he asked her. "It's just — many of my visions come to me in dreams. It's the most similar feeling I've encountered."

Except for the time with her, he'd never gotten stuck in a vision like that.


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#10
He bit his lip at oh no, I’m never looking. And he truly didn’t want to make her feel even worse about what she had undergone, but getting stuck was definitely worrying, he decided. Carmichael’s experiences, he understood – dreams were an ordinary conduit for seeing things, when the mind was open to it. (Meanwhile, Miss Reid’s mind seemed... resolutely closed to the prospect of prophesying anything.)

“Right,” Savino echoed, with a hum of agreement. “And sometimes the same dreams used to come back worse, if I had been – attempting to ignore them,” he admitted, though by used to he meant it hadn’t really happened since his childhood, since before he’d come to terms with how to live through it. Since then, he’d stopped expending so much energy trying to avoid them, avoid sleep or avoid dreaming or letting his mind wander even that way – and nowadays just accepted them as a necessary side-effect of seeing anything else.

His gaze had drifted to Carmichael without meaning to, expecting that he’d be very able to guess what kind of dream visions those had been. But that wasn’t what was most concerning to him now – his brow furrowed as he looked at Miss Reid again. “But still, I’ve never been that badly stuck before.”


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