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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
In a panic sort of reaction, she shut the door but neglected to make sure she was on the other side of it.
the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

if my heart was a compass, you'd be north
June 16, 1892 — Hatchitt Home, Bartonburg
Fallon had demanded three things upon being transported to St. Mungo's for injuries that appeared far worse than they were. The first being that Malou would be entirely unaware of her presence at the hospital, as the two hadn't spoken in quite awhile and Fallon was hesitant to taint any potential happy moments. The second was that Gabe would inform her of any and all updates as to Holden's location as soon as they became available. And the third, which was perhaps the most important, the staff wouldn't inform her husband.

The worst condition Jesse had ever witnessed her in was the immediate aftermath of the Arctic, and those injuries paled in comparison to her current ones. She needn't face a mirror to know how severe the bruising was on her face, nor look down at her body to see the other places she'd been struck. Her right arm was broken after being forced into inhuman angles behind her back. There were stab wounds varying from shallow to a particularly deep one on her side. Her ribs were surely broken in at least four places, one break leaving her in such intense pain that breathing was difficult. Jesse couldn't see her like this, he couldn't be provided a stronger argument against her dangerous career.

However, the worst of her injuries had healed in less than two days, which meant her deepest bruises and cuts were still visible as she quietly unlocked their front door and dropped her bag in the foyer. She had bandages wrapped around her torso and her arm was immobilized against her chest. But, she was out of mortal danger and there was nothing to be done for her in the hospital that couldn't be done at home.

"Jesse?" She called out tiredly. "Are you here?"

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Oblivious to the fact that his wife was in the hospital with severe injuries, Jess had gone out drinking with some old mates from school and gotten just a wee bit too drunk last night. If he was going to live like a single man, why shouldn't he act like it? Fallon had been gone almost what, six months? Honestly he'd lost track, how sad was that? She'd been gone longer into their marriage than she'd been home. It was pitiful. Jess wasn't even sure he should bother to ask for updates anymore and just assume no news was good news. Of course seeing Delilah around town again was throwing him for a loop as well. Learning her husband had died, reverting to just friends by default. It was weird, or weirder than it should have been, considering they had both "moved on" though Jess felt like he hadn't really.

So when Fallon arrived home, Jess was face down in their bed, half undressed and snoring. He and some old quidditch buddies had gone out to the Broomsticks and closed the place down. He wasn't even sure how much of a tab he'd wracked up, but really, what did it matter? He made good money, Fallon made good money, though he didn't dare touch it other than to what they had agreed upon for shared expenses. He had plenty leftover to do with it what he wanted, even if going out and getting drunk like a young bachelor was far from what he actually wanted. No, he was certainly not where he'd envisioned himself at this point in his life.

Her voice didn't even register; all he did was roll over and pull the covers up over his head to shield the light coming in through a crack in the curtains. He was going to regret this for more than one reason, but he wasn't awake enough to fully comprehend how or why just yet.

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Fallon released a pitiful sigh of relief when Jesse didn't appear. As much as she missed him and was looking forward to rekindling their relationship, she knew he would be furious at her injuries. That she was an auror was a fatal flaw in his mind, and one she feared caused him to regret marrying her at all. Nevermind their agreement, nevermind that it was her life's passion. It was dangerous and therefore not something his wife was to be doing. (Fallon thought it was worth noting that Jesse himself had wound up in the hospital quite a few times from his career as well, which was entirely hypocritical of him.)

She headed towards the kitchen then, determined to make herself some coffee before attempting to glamor her injuries. Selwyn had coached her well in that regard at least, so perhaps there was hopes in avoiding an argument. Perhaps if all he saw was a broken arm, he might spare her the rhetoric and just be as happy to see her as she him.

Merlin, she hoped he would be happy to have her home, for after the past few days she desperately needed a hug.

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Was that... coffee?

Jess hadn't any rational idea of what time it was, or even what day for that matter, but he wondered if the housekeeper thought him dead and was trying to raise him from the grave. Coffee was a surefire way to do it, which she knew, thank Merlin.

It took a few minutes longer for the pounding headache to set in and that's when Jess started to feel the true aftermath of his choices last night. He was never drinking firewhiskey again. Or at least for a while. Dragging himself from bed, Jess stripped out of the remaining half of his work attire and slipped into an old, worn pair of pants that he really only wore around the house. He was really too out of it still to contemplate a shirt or anything else appropriate for that matter before stumbling down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Except it was the housekeeper making coffee, it was Fallon. Or somebody that looked a hell of a lot like her, if she didn't look like she'd lost a bar fight. Still too dazed from sleep and the hangover, Jess did the only thing he could think if to snap himself out of it; he slapped himself straight across one cheek.

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While the first cup of coffee had fueled her enough to not appear bone weary, it hadn't perked her up enough to be coherent for spell casting. No sooner had she poured her second cup did she begin to hear footsteps coming (well, more like dragging) down the hallway. Fallon's first instinct had been to draw her wand and assume a defensive stance, only she quickly realized it was likely their housekeeper or whatever other staff member Jesse had employed in her absence.

Only, it wasn't a staff member at all. It was him — it was Jesse.

She winced as the sound of his slap echoed throughout the kitchen. He looked terrible, but surely her homecoming couldn't have been too shocking? It'd been three months, after all, and reconnaissance missions hardly ever lasted much longer than that. "I didn't think you were home. I called out, but no one answered." Fallon explained a bit sheepishly, as if she were an intruder in her own home. (Although, sometimes she still considered the flat shared with Malou to be her home more than this house with Jesse.) "I would have sent word ... it's been a hectic few days."

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