16 December, 1893 — Swallowbury, Irvingly

The gift that kept on giving, as it turned out, was jealousy. One too many remarks about how wildly successful everyone had been, what a positively glowing year they'd all had — one too many moments where you had nothing to say in response — and then there it was: the lie. The engagement. Of course everyone was shocked, but tentatively excited to meet them. Which created a world of problems in and of itself, because they did not exist.

But problems are made to be solved, so sometime in the next ten minutes, you will, by hook or by crook, find yourself a fiance. Even if they expire after the end of the holiday season.

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Part of a Holiday Meet-Cute Plot! See post for details. The premise of this thread is:

In a fit of jealousy over all their siblings' accomplishments for the year, Muse A told someone in their family that they are engaged. Now their family is expecting to meet their fiancee at an upcoming family dinner / holiday party, and Muse B reluctantly agrees to play the part with the intention to "break up" after the holidays. [Your characters don't need to live in / have family in Irvingly for this to work, you just have to be in Irvingly to start the scene :) ]

Open to two adult characters. State which role you are claiming when you join.

  

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Are your characters stuck in the smalltalk loop?
Does your imagination feel like it just can't perform as it used to?
Mid-thread crisis getting you down?
Unable to get that post up?
Is your relationship suffering because of your inability to satisfy your partner?
SUFFER NO MORE!
With a little intervention from The Suggestionizer your RP life could be back on track in no time!

--> Click here for more details <--

Known side-effects include: chronic ridiculousness, immense satisfaction, itching, uncontrollable laughter, burning, deep regret, despair, shock, horror, incidental dismemberment, joy, and death. Use at your own risk!

She had asked herself it often enough before, but here it was again, that age old question: why on earth did I do that?

Well, on some level she knew why: she had been jealous. Jemima couldn’t remember all the details of the conversation now, but she had just stepped back out into the streets of Swallowbury, on her way back to Salem Square, and it had all crashed down on her, what she’d said. Oh, she remembered it had been terrible, sitting through tea with her aunt and having to answer questions about how Jacob and Delilah and everyone was, and then when it came to her, well... what had there been to say?

Nothing good. Nothing good at all. And perhaps it had been a pitying look that had thrown her, or just a momentary fit of delusion, but of course Jemima could have sworn she just went and said something like oh, but I suppose you haven’t yet met my fiancé?

Now that she was outside, she could have beaten her head against the brick wall. Because she hadn’t even met her fiancé yet, and now she was expected to introduce him over the holidays?! She had done stupid things before, but this seemed impressive, even for her. So – she needed a fiancé, and fast. She supposed they could be temporary. Even a called-off courtship would be better than she had been doing (that thought made her wince). So... Jemima paced up and down the street, desperate and floundering and glancing around as if the answer to her problems – or, you know, a suitable pretend-temporary-suitor – might spontaneously drop into being.

“Help,” she said aloud, to the air.

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muse A!

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Elliot was trying to get through the rest of the year without any magical incidents, given that he'd started 1893 on a rather embarrassing note. He was also trying to get through the rest of the year without forgetting anyone's Christmas presents. Today, he'd been visiting a friend from Hogwarts — and now he was walking to the casino to take the floo network back to Wales. Tragically, he had not run into Miss Reid.

He'd almost escaped Irvingly when he heard a feminine voice say help. Elliot turned and found to his surprise that he recognized the person in question.

Frankly Elliot had avoided Miss Farley since her Hogwarts diary was published and she'd written about how attractive he was. He had every intention of continuing to do so now, but something about her situation — speaking to the air, was particularly pathetic.

"You need help?" he asked, stopping short.

muse b

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   Jemima Greengrass

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avs by Bee!

She had been so lost within her own little whirlwind of despair that when someone turned and answered her, Jemima almost jumped out of her skin. And Mr. Carmichael might as well have been the walking death omen people sometimes muttered that he was, for all the sinking feeling that came from seeing him.

(She had never been more pleased about graduating Hogwarts than when it meant getting away from everyone she had ever embarrassed herself in front of.)

Still, maybe it was that he had once been a professor, her professor, that lent him some vague air of repository of sage advice, whatever she had once thought or said about his clear blue orbs and gothic curls... Jemima winced even as she broke down and confessed it. “Yes, but I – I don’t really know how you could help,” she began.

As if a horrified bystander to the scene, she found herself partially covering her face with her hands. “Have you ever said something you wished you could take back?” she asked miserably, the look in her eyes saying please Merlin don’t let me be the only imbecile in the world. “It was a lie, I suppose, but – I can’t undo it now, it’s even worse if I do. Not now everyone’s expecting to meet him.” Jemima had been a public object of ridicule before, so she knew precisely how it would go if people found out she had lied. Now she was going to be a laughing stock forever.

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He hadn't seen Miss Farley this embarrassed since her diary had come out. Elliot found himself grimacing sympathetically at her words. He still largely wanted to make empathetic noises and walk away, but he was still standing here, listening, as she ground out a vague tale of impending embarrassment with her face almost in her hands.

Elliot pushed a hand through his hair. "What did you tell them?" he asked, patiently. "I'm sure it's not nearly as bad as you're saying." It really could not be as bad as the diary, right? But — they, whoever they were, would have to meet someone. Merlin, what had she done?

He was usually this nosy, but not when talking to someone he associated with mutual intense embarrassment; Irvingly really must have gotten into him.

  

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avs by Bee!

She wanted to believe him, that she was merely being melodramatic – that perhaps there was a simple, entirely unmortifying way out that she was just too stupid to see – but Jemima wasn’t sure she could hope for that much.

Still. It was worth a try.

“My family think I’m engaged,” Jemima whispered. Her bottom lip wavered. (That was bad, wasn’t it?) “And now they’re expecting to meet my fiancé over the holidays – and I don’t have a fiancé – and I don’t know how I’ll possibly find one,” she said feverishly, still through her hands. Now that she had admitted the lie, she couldn’t even bear to look at him.

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Elliot could have had a hundred guesses, and he — actually probably would have landed on this one eventually, because it did seem like the sort of thing that would happen to Jemima Farley.

And maybe he was possessed, because instead of leaving her to her problem, Elliot said: "But you don't necessarily need a real fiancé. You could find someone to play a part." That was a horrible suggestion, and he immediately wanted to retract it — but his mouth would not cooperate.

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   Jemima Greengrass

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avs by Bee!

He had shocked her, with his reaction, because Professor (Mr) Carmichael had... taken her perfectly seriously? Jemima had to peel her hands from her face again to properly survey him, searching his face for a twitch of his mouth or any look in his eyes, anything that said he was fighting laughter or making ridicule of her.

If anyone deserved to, it had to be one of the once-beleaguered objects of her diary’s affections – Jemima was sure she would have forgiven him, if he had. But, no, instead – she blinked – he was thinking of how to help her.

“Yes, I had considered that,” she ventured, hesitantly, “to just – pretend – temporarily,” (pretending sounded far better than lying or deceiving, anyway), “but I don’t know anyone I could ask. Who would even agree to it?”

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"I think it's a good idea," Elliot agreed, with a nod. (His mind was screaming that he felt it was actually a terrible idea — but still, for some reason, he could not get his actions and his mind to interact in a cohesive way.)

He added quickly: "But I have no idea who you'd ask." He didn't know enough about Miss Farley's adult life to guess as to whether or not she had a male friend who might be convinced to do this.

  

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avs by Bee!

A good idea! If anything could ease the gaping doubts she felt about this little scheme, that note of positivity just might do it. Someone seemed to think it was a sensible idea. Or at least the best way forwards.

That gave Jemima a little strengthened resolve to it, and she nodded now, thinking hard. Jack was her first thought, because if she had to choose to marry anyone of course it would be him, but – she couldn’t ask such a thing of him. Firstly, because if anyone looked more closely into their acquaintance, they would discover Jemima’s... persistent bending of the rules of propriety when it came to him, and that would ruin her reputation. Secondly, because if she had to break off a fake-engagement with him, it would possibly break her heart for real.
Thirdly, because... something had propelled her towards an entirely different option, an option who had presented themselves simply by being in the right place at the right time. And, she supposed, she had already explained the situation to him. (Explaining it a second time over would be doubly mortifying.)

Still, Jemima could scarcely believe her own audacity, at the insanity suddenly issuing from her own mouth. “You’re not married... would you do it? I mean – I don’t know anyone else – and it would just be for a little while. And you could be the one to break it off, of course,” she added hastily, as if that made the proposition any more attractive.

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   Elliot Carmichael

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Elliot once again wanted to say no, but his mouth and his body would not cooperate. A beat passed. And then words of insanity passed from his mouth, "How public would you want it to be?"

Obviously he could not tell his family; they'd think he'd gone mad. But her family already thought she was engaged, so would there be any harm in telling them? Yes, obviously there would be — but some interference still kept him rooted to the spot.

  

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avs by Bee!

...he hadn’t said no yet. It struck her that he had not said no.

Jemima would only be so bold as this in her nightmares, she thought, but the winter air was too cold on her burning cheeks to believe this as anything so simple as a nightmare. No, she was here, in reality, on a random Irvingly street in broad daylight, asking Mr. Carmichael if he would pretend he wanted to marry her.

“Oh, not public at all –” she said, in a rush, because she did not want to mortify him again any more than she had to. “Just – some – of my family.” The aunt she had just boasted of ‘him’ to was expecting to meet him now. Fortunately, this aunt and uncle were not terribly close to her parents, so if it got back to them Jemima fancied she could wave it away somehow, make out that her aunt had been mistaken. “They’re having a Christmas party. If you – came along just that time, then I could say you had called it off, and it would be over.” With no harm done.

She couldn’t have it too public, whatever madness was compelling her to make such a brazen plan at all, because it would look just as demeaning for her to get dumped as it would embarrassing for Mr. Carmichael to pretend to be remotely interested in her.

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   Elliot Carmichael

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Not public at all. He would just have to go to a Christmas Party — and in doing so, he may save her further embarrassment. Ever since the diary incident, Elliot had been sheepish around Miss Farley. But he had also felt dreadfully bad for her, because she had done a petty teenage thing and it had never needed to go public, and then it had. Of course, as her professor, he'd largely stayed out of it — particularly because he did not want to encourage her crush, or cause rumors that he was shopping around the student body for a wife.

But now he wasn't her professor, and it wouldn't be public, and she appeared to know quite deeply that he was not romantically interested in her. And it was just a Christmas Party. A beat passed where Elliot mulled things over, largely silent.

(He still knew this was a bad idea. But it was as if something in the air wanted him on board for it; he could not get the word no to come out of his mouth.)

"I'll do it," he said, hesitantly. "When's the Christmas party?"

  

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avs by Bee!

She flushed to the roots of her hair, because in spite of all her pitiful explaining and pleading, the strange propulsion in her mind to beg him, or the time he had already spent bothering to stand here with her, she couldn’t have predicted his answer. He had said yes?

Jemima certainly hoped she would feel less sick to her stomach when anyone proposed to her for real, because even this was – rather a lot to digest.

Strange that he had agreed and she still had the urge to hide her face behind her hands. “Oh! Oh,” she said, echoing the sound a few times in utter disbelief at the prospect of following through on this. She tried to remember today’s date, but her mind was in a tizzy. “It’s next Friday?” (Was that too far away? Would it give him time to come to his senses and back out?) “Just down the next street,” she said, pointing around the corner from whence she had come – her gaze kept pulling back to his face in continued bewilderment – “at number fifty-four.”

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Elliot nodded at the details. How was he agreeing to this? Why did he feel compelled to agree to this?

"Next Friday," Elliot echoed. "What time?" If he was going to help her, it wouldn't do to be late — and if they were ending the engagement, then he would be on time but mildly off-putting the whole time. (Actually, he was sort of excited — it was a treat to be allowed to be odd.)

He added, "Should I bring anything?"

  

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avs by Bee!

She couldn’t understand quite how this was happening – she wasn’t even certain whether to be flattered as well as mortified that he had offered his help. Perhaps he just thought her so hopeless as to be a charity case. Presumably he saw the logic of it – that anyone supposing she was enamoured of him was hardly a stretch.

(She was almost sorry he would only be doing it to break it off: it would have been nice to have someone pay court to her for a while longer, to woo her, even if it was all pretend.)

“Seven,” she answered promptly, because something in her kept pulling out the words. “And no, better not,” she said, flushing slightly, “I wouldn’t want them to like you too much.” Imagine he came in all considerate and amiable and charming until her family was all enamoured, too! She would simply never live it down. “Um, you know what I mean.”

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   Elliot Carmichael

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