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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.

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Something in the Orange
#1
August 17th, 1894, Bartonburg
Daff was sporting just the tiniest of bumps now and she found her hands wandered there of their own accord more often than not these days. It was barely visible under all of the layers and she knew she was going to have to start staying home more often, but she just wasn’t used to it. Thankfully she had a very capable manager at the shop now who was more than ready to handle anything business-related in Daffy’s eventual absence. Still, it was hard to surrender her shop when she had been doing everything herself since the beginning. It would be fine though and they would make it work.

At almost halfway now, thankfully most of her early symptoms had subsided and she had far more energy lately. It was a nice change from the bone-deep exhaustion of the first couple months. Sleep was no longer an issue, in fact she found herself sleeping more soundly if nothing else, but was told that was normal by just about every woman in her family. More of her sisters had children now than not and her mother was an expert of sorts, obviously. With the birth of three nieces this summer, Daff fully expected she too was carrying a girl, but who knew. It would seem that they were all destined for at least one daughter. She had to think that at least one of them would eventually have a boy. Senna might be done, Daff knew that her last pregnancy had been hard and she was in her thirties now, but between Dahlia and herself and hopefully Zinnia, there was time yet. Her father would get his boy.

The streets between her house and her mother’s were well-worn by now, even if Daff often decided to go the longer route to avoid certain side streets. Winston trotted happily beside her as she carried a basket full of things her mother insisted she needed. Perhaps she ought to take it to Jack instead, after she took out the little baby booties somebody had tucked in there; he obviously wouldn’t need those, but the rest, the bread and treats, would never go amiss with him. That decided, she took a turn she normally avoided and hoped nothing would come of it.

Naturally that was not the case. She could see him in the garden over the fence, no doubt collecting something for his potions. It had been half a year since she’d seen him, and she thought they were in a decent place, but still, it was complicated and she had more than her own feelings to consider. It would be silly to turn around now, when this was the most direct route. She could say hi and keep going, certainly. Daff didn’t even think about her current state, just the prickling feeling of leftover sadness, as she approached the Greengrass home. ”Hi,” she waved as she neared the gate. This would be the most interaction she’d had with any of them since she’d started up monthly flower deliveries for Fortitude’s wife.

babstamp ~15 weeks

Noble Greengrass



[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#2
Noble was plucking cow wheat flowers from the garden; not so many that the plants would have to start from scratch, which made it slower work. He was careful not to take more than half the flowers from any particular plant, because it was easy to do more damage than one meant to and he wanted the plants to persist year over year. When he was done with the cow wheat, he would do the same with bluebonnet.

Sometimes Noble thought that if he got Clementine married, he should cut and run — he'd failed Grace, and Ford didn't listen to him, or really even need him for anything but his part of the rent. He could move to let a flat in South Bartonburg, let this crash around them, and maybe eventually he would be happy again. But he was certain he would never actually do it — if he had any intention on running, he wouldn't have so much care for the flowers.

Despite this, he was peaceful, lost in thought, until he heard her familiar voice. Noble had not seen her since March, when he'd gone to Wildflowers in his panic over the Jemima Situation. Noble stood up straight, carefully holding his flowers, and waved back at her with his other hand. She had to have known there was a chance she'd see him. Despite himself, there was that familiar kickstart of warmth in Noble's chest.

"Hi," he said, back to her — she looked happy, with her dog and her basket. There was something different about her, but he couldn't place it yet.


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[Image: erzbcyj.png]
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#3
"Those look lovely," she said of the flowers in his hand. She had done her best to help him get a good handle on a garden his potions could benefit from, before everything fell apart, so she was pleased to see it looked profitable.

"The garden looks good too. It must be helpful." She couldn't even really help him in that aspect anymore either; it was all just a little too complicated. Still, Daff drifted closer to the fence, shifting the basket on her arm to the other side, away from him. At the root of it all, she just wanted to make sure he was doing alright after the upset in the spring. "Has the new Mrs. Greengrass settled in?" Daff knew how stretched they must be, which was why the invoice for the monthly flowers kept getting lost in the post.



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   Noble Greengrass

[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#4
"Thank you," Noble said, glancing behind him at the garden before he looked back at her. His smile was sheepish — they both knew that the garden, and the rules he used for harvesting from it, were all her influence.

"More or less," Noble said. Truth be told, he minded Jemima less than he'd expected — although having another woman to support through a Season was less than ideal, and he was half-convinced that eventually she would get wind of their finances just by Housewifing. "She's a nice girl." A nice girl, had gotten herself in a situation — and now she was another responsibility for him to half-have.

''You're on a walk?" he asked. She liked to walk, but — she didn't walk over here, anymore.



[Image: erzbcyj.png]
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#5
"I'm glad to hear, from what Dahlia tells me, she seems it." Daff didn't know Jemima all that well outside of stories from her sister and from doing the flowers at the wedding, but she did seem like she was handling everything the best she could. It was probably for the better, Daff knew too much about the Greengrass family to get too close to Jemima now. "I hope she's enjoying the flowers each month." Daff hadn't heard one way or another so just kept making little arrangements and sending them out.

Winston plopped down at her feet now that she hadn't moved for a few minutes and she chuckled at him. "Yes, I was visiting Mum, she sent me home with too much, I was going to take it to Jack instead." It wasn't as if Daff had her own house with her own small staff now or anything. She did not need to be fed anymore. "And it's nice out," even if her back hurt a little, which she stretched out gently trying to ease the stiffness out of from sitting too long at her parents'.




[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#6
Noble had never asked Jemima about the flowers; if he did, he worried that it would make it too obvious that he cared about the flowers. And maybe that was still too vague for anyone to actually guess the reason, but it still felt like slightly too much.

He glanced down at Daff's dog and smiled. This was probably the most normal conversation they'd had in a few years; no one was in a state yet. "That sounds like her," Noble said — he'd never actually met Mrs. Potts outside of that hospital room, but he'd been friends with, and then together with, Daffy for so long that he felt like he did.

"Anything particularly good in there for him?" Noble asked. If he remembered right, Mrs. Potts was a master of the baked good.



[Image: erzbcyj.png]
set by MJ
#7
Chuckling, Daff pulled the basket closer up to her face to inspect what it was that her mum had packed. She rummaged around a little, picking up the little booties that were near the top to see beneath them without even thinking about it. She used her other hand to move things so she could see the things at the bottom. "There's some bread, my favorite gingerbread cookies, some broccoli from the garden, flowers of course." She would take the cookies, certainly, it was probably because she had mentioned wanting them out of season because of the pregnancy and magically she had some. The rest however, was superfluous and Jack would probably eat more of it than she would.

"You can have anything, if you want, just not my cookies." She added with another light laugh as she put everything back where it was. Winston whined at her feet, probably because of the word cookie, but there wasn't anything in there he could have. "I will feed you soon." She promised him with a little shake of her head.




[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#8
Daff's words about the cookies were partially lost to him, although he was looking at the basket as though he was listening. Noble's attention had instead been caught by the items in her hand.

Booties, for small little feet — in a basket that had only been meant for Daff, originally. The thought that Mrs. Potts had knitted them prematurely was easily and immediately discarded; Daft's mother was, to every story he'd ever heard, exacting. She wouldn't have knit booties early, lest their presence make Daff worried about her chances. And he'd thought it himself: she looked a little different.

There was a faint redness of something on his face. Embarrassment, maybe. "Congratulations," Noble said, with a nod towards the booties — he forced his motion to be fluid, because he had no right to be jealous that Grimstone was having the life Noble ought to have had.


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#9
Daff had never been accused of being the most socially aware person when it mattered, and had she been thinking, she might have pushed the booties down to the bottom of the basket to avoid that look on his face. She put everything back in slowly, trying not to make it look like the rush job she desperately wanted to do. Despite knowing she would have to take them out to give the basket to Jack, she had also pushed them from her mind and now she had caught them both a little off guard. She wasn't about to lie about it and say they were for her sisters, or anything else that might be plausible, but she knew that this was a delicate situation and she had absolutely no idea how to handle it.

"Thank you," she smiled softly, looking down, just barely resisting the urge to run her hand over her skirts. In that other lifetime of hers, this could have been them and a little brown-haired, brown-eyed babe that had his eyes and her nose. But this wasn't the childhood fantasy she'd once cooked up for herself; she was happily married and beyond excited for this baby. Though they didn't want to acknowledge it, this shouldn't be that big of a surprise, either. "It's ah, still early, I haven't really told anyone outside the family."

Merlin, she just wished they could have a normal conversation where one of them wasn't upset or out of sorts for some reason or another.




[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#10
Noble smiled, although it was sad around the edges. If the timing had been better — if he had given up on his intense desire to fix things earlier, as he now had — then it probably would have worked out for them. They would have been desperately poor, but they would have been happy.

He was not sure if Daff would be happier than she was now. Noble knew he would be.

"Well," he said, pushing a hand through his hair, "I suppose I'm glad I'm one of the first."


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#11
It was hard to miss that note of sadness in his smile and Daff felt her insides twist uncomfortably. Merlin, she just couldn't keep from continuing to hurt him somehow. She had a comment on the tip of her tongue, something about always being a first, but she knew she couldn't say it and so she met his smile with a somewhat sad one of her own. This wasn't how she'd meant for any of this to go, and she couldn't change it, wouldn't either, but she wished it was easier, if nothing else.

"Of course," at least he had heard it directly from her instead of through the grapevine. She hadn't intended to tell him now, but supposed there was no right time to either. "I should probably get going and leave you to it." She motioned to the garden, hoisting the basket back onto her arm comfortably. Winston was whining at her feet anyway. Maybe she would go straight home after all and take the basket to Jack tomorrow.




[Image: Daff-Sig-A94.png]
#12
They had managed to briefly have a conversation where neither of them felt bad, but of course it had dissipated like smoke and now Noble was left feeling it all over again. He wished there was something he could say, something he could do — but he'd had plenty of opportunities and he had turned her away when she begged him not to. This was his fault.

Any thoughts of stealing biscuits forgotten, he said, "Be well, Daff."

There was nothing to do but turn back to the garden.


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