Welcome to Charming
Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1894. 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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Did You Know?
Queen Victoria was known for putting jackets and dresses on her pups, causing clothing for dogs to become so popular that fashion houses for just dog clothes started popping up all over Paris. — Fox
It would be easy to assume that Evangeline came to the Lady Morgana only to pick fights. That wasn't true at all. They also had very good biscuits.
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all the salt in the world couldn't melt that ice
Evening, 27th February, 1894 — Blott residence, Bartonburg
“Argh,” he muttered to himself, when it became clear all hope was lost. He had been leaning over the fireplace for the last five minutes, stubbornly sprinkling Floo Powder onto the flames and praying for the faintest wisp of green to appear. No such luck. She had probably broken his fireplace’s bloody connection on her way in.

So much for her going home. (Of course she didn’t know anything about planets; she didn’t even know how to use the Floo network.) Nick would have booted her out the front door by now, if the storm hadn’t kept raging – all he could see through the darkened windows now were gusts of swirling snow.

“Don’t touch anything,” he shot out as he glanced back and swore he saw her moving. There were books on most surfaces, and clutter practically everywhere, so there were far too many (precious, personal, or potentially incriminating) things in her reach. And the gall she had to be here, in his space!
Ivy Sandow

Of all the floo malfunctions in the world, why did she have to fall victim to this one?

Blott could not get the floo restarted. Ivy had been looking rather miserably at him with her arms folded, hoping more than anything that she would be able to escape. But the floo wouldn't start, and the storm raged outside. She couldn't wander away from here.

Ivy took her coat off and held it in her hands. "Oh, I've no interest in touching anything," she said, craning her neck to look around at Blott's stuff.

Then, dismissive: "Do you own a coat rack?"

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set by MJ
“Yes, I own a coat rack,” Nick parroted, already vexed. “It’s in the hall,” he said, gesturing passive aggressively to the nearest door. Said coat rack maybe also had a variety of things that were not hats and coats hanging from it, because space was space – and he didn’t often have visitors, anyway, so what did it matter if there was room for their coat? He certainly didn’t – shouldn’t – care what she thought.

“Make yourself at home,” he added snidely. He had no choice but to be snide, here: if he wasn’t, there would only be encroaching despair.

Ivy made a disdainful face at him, and took off her coat. "I thought I wasn't allowed to touch anything," she replied, equally snide — she opened the door he'd indicated and looked skeptically at the coat rack.

"Do you know what a coat is?" Ivy asked, tucking her coat onto the hanger.

[Image: bARRl0u.png]
set by MJ
She had him there; his nose wrinkled. But the coat rack and the door handle were forgivable – more in question was what he was supposed to do with her now, given their last (and first) interaction had ended with her pouring champagne on his shoes.

“Do you know what manners are?” he returned, aware that he had not shown any either. And he didn’t especially want her near his coats, but he was more worried about his most valuable editions of books he’d taken with him from Flourish & Blott’s, and his in-progress translations, empty bottles and snuff boxes used as paperweights, and a mass of drunken letters he had scrawled to Marion (a woman who had married someone else fifteen years ago) variously scattered about the place. There was a maid-of-all-work who came around most days, but she had well learned to tidy the rooms he didn’t care about but leave Mr. Blott’s personal affects in their exacting mess.

He cleared his throat, looking forlornly out at the blizzard and then at his unwanted stray, at an utter loss of what was to be done with her. “So... what do you propose we do?”

Ivy shrugged at him. She was not supposed to have manners; she was poor. And never mind that the working class obviously did have manners, even if some conventions were different — she was not going to point that out, as she also did not like him.

But they were going to have to spend the rest of the night together. Ivy swallowed. She wanted to kick her boots against his floor, but that seemed too rude. "Do you have cards?" she asked, "And wine?"

She could not spend time with Blott sober.

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