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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1893. 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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Discovered today that spotted dick is a pudding with raisins in it. But more importantly that "dick" was the victorian word for pudding. — Fallin
His sister and her group were not yet performing, however. Instead it was a plain looking young woman that he did not recognize. She seemed to believe she was singing.
My Idea of Fun

turned my back on the world
At night, 31st December, 1892 — Forbidden Forest
Two months. It had been two months, to the day.

Years had passed faster than this. Decades, actually. If he had stayed to watch Inez-Azazel for longer after turning her, Ishmael would have bet his worthless life she would have been much worse – but even with Monty, for whom he had supposed he had infinite patience, Ishmael was now feeling long-suffering. And a little self-pitying. And bored.

A vampire who hadn’t learned to live as a vampire yet was not, apparently, much fun.

And he wasn’t supposed to have left the cavern, for that matter, because he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near people – and Monty might have lost track of the date, after the tumultuous change he’d faced, but Ishmael hadn’t – and tonight, on New Year’s, Hogsmeade was going to be full of drunken revellers until well past dawn. Monty and people did not mix just yet. Ishmael was going to have to get him a leash.

Because Ishmael had left for fifteen minutes, and he’d gone. It was the middle of the night, the forest blanketed in dark, so at least Monty wasn’t going to get burned alive... small mercies. Ishmael still rolled his eyes as he traipsed through the trees, listening closely.

“Monty?” He called, at last turning on his heel as he heard a telling sound. “Monty! Where the fuck are you going?”
@Monty Morales

It had to have been months he felt (it had been two) and Monty was not quite getting the hang of things. He was not used to having no magic. To feeling powerless without it. He'd made provisions before now to offset this part of the change but even so. It was quite a different story to now be living the reality of no longer having that magic he had born with inside of him.

Even worse was having to be in these caverns. He had a perfectly good house in London, why should he have to fester here, in a cave? Oh right, because of those two louts he had. Monty supposed there was point in not wanting to betray their loyalty by horribly devouring them or something.

Ishmael had left, he didn't know where. If he had told him, he had not paid much attention. He was 'not supposed to' leave the cavern but vampire or not, he was still Monty. No one told him where he could or could not go. He was bored, he wanted to be places, his fingers were itching to loot someones house or pockets. So he had left, wandering through the dark forest.

Then he heard his husband lover calling out his name and he groaned at having been caught out. "I'm bored!" He declared, stubbornly continuing to walk towards the distant sight of faux-light on the horizon of the forest. "You never take me anywhere anymore. Did I lose my appeal because I don't have magic anymore? Is that it?"

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magic by mj
Monty had always been stealthy when he wanted, even as a human, but there were still tell-tale signs of his vampire tread.

Or the voice floating over declaring, I’m bored! That worked, too.

Ishmael growled, impatient, and paced in that direction until he had reached the shadow of Monty stalking through the forest. “It’s less the magic,” Ishmael said acidly – although he pitied that loss, too; it might be harder for Monty but really, it felt dreadfully inconvenient to him too – “and more the fact that you’d rather be ripping people’s throats out.”

Not that Ishmael cared about the people, particularly. He cared about the hassle and the mess, and the threat of the Ministry, or the other vampires’ judgement of him; he also cared that this Monty, right now, would probably rather be ripping people’s throats out than paying him any attention whatsoever. He took another fluid step forwards and grasped Monty by the arm in an attempt to stop him. “Do you think I like having to be your parent?”

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