Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
Complete five threads of five posts or more where your character experiences bad luck, such as stepping in a chamberpot, losing the rings for a wedding, etc...
Did You Know?
One of the cheapest homeless shelters in Victorian London charged four pennies to sleep in a coffin. Which was... still better than sleeping upright against a rope? — Jordan / Lynn
If he was being completely honest, the situation didn't look good, but Sylvano was not in the habit of being completely honest about anything. No reason to start now.
— Sylvano Capobiancoinyou & me & the war of the endtimes
November 16th, 1895 — Tarot Tea House & Parlor in Horizont Alley (an offshoot of Diagon Alley)
Matty V. Eventide
After having received the most recent missive from Mr. Prusseneit, Matty had audibly gulped, spent the evening tossing and turning, and then by sunrise, had decided that the vampire could go right back to the hell he had crawled out of. He was an Eventide and he refused to be cowed by whatever ridiculous man was currently obsessed with him. (And yes, he'd had multiple, although Gilbert Prusseneit took it to an entirely new level. An extreme, violent, incredibly dangerous level. One that was terrifying and not at all flattering... well, maybe a little bit flattering... but mostly terrifying!) So far earlier in the morning than he tended to wake on a Sunday, he'd packed up all his painting supplies, tucked a smaller canvas beneath his arm, and floo'd to the tea shop to enjoy his new hobby.
And like the rather spoiled brat he was, the moment he caught sight of his distant cousin Anat with her beautiful chin held high and that confident grace she moved with, he immediately snagged her attention away from whatever it was she had been doing. He hadn't been paying attention, because unlike his cousin, he wasn't the one who worked here. Instead, Matty's green eyes were bright with inspiration as he made his excited demand. "Anat, darling, you simply must let me paint a portrait of you! There's a perfect spot for it just there," he gestured leisurely to a spot of empty wall just near the window.
Despite not originally being all too thrilled with needing to work for the first time in her life, Anat had grown used to the routine of being at the tarot parlor. It was relaxing in its own, odd way. The clientele was often times pathetic, whining about fleeting romances and problems of their own creation, but ultimately it was easy labor for her. It kept her mind busy and filled her days. With her husband gone and her children in school, she had little to occupy herself with. Not that she wanted to spend all day being a mother in the first place -- that had always sounded particularly awful of a fate.
Her gown was a soft chiffon fabric the color of muted orange -- not unlike the golden sunset that filtered in through the window as she organized a shelf of tea leaves. Diagon Alley was often a bit drab, but it had a charm to it that Anat could only describe as 'common' and 'folky.' With the flick of her wand, glass jars began to alphabetize themselves on the wooden shelf behind her while she turned to mindlessly shuffle her deck of tarot cards. The edges were yellowed and worn after many years of use. She had inherited them from her grandmother who was a reader in Russia many decades ago. An amber pendant hung at her breast, also an inherited item from her grandmother. She had inherited many things from her ancestor, including her middle name of Klavdiya.
Thoughts of her dear grandmother and her shuffling were cut off, annoyingly, by the sound of Matty barging into the shop with his usual overwhelming energy. Anat was a woman of silence and observation -- too much interaction often made her irritable. A sharp sigh left her mouth as she turned to face her younger cousin, a flat look of exhaustion already displayed across her features. She perked ever so slightly at the mention of being painted, though.
"I did not know you painted?" Anat asked, arching a brow and placing a hand on her hip as the jars behind her settled into their final positions. She looked to the spot where Matty suggested and then back at him, "Since when?"
It didn’t surprise him that she came right along with him—or would be. Matty could rub people the wrong way, but he was also just as likely to charm them. Anat seemed to be considering it, so he replied swiftly before she lost interest. “Of course I do,” he gave her an easy smile, "It’s been about two or three weeks, give or take a few days.” And then, because he felt like this was likely important information, he added, ”I’m self-taught.”
And then, without waiting for her response, he moved toward the window to set up his canvas and unpack his painting supplies from his satchel. "Here, the lighting near the window will be perfect and I think I’ll be able to make that lovely chiffon of yours nearly glow.” Matty continued to prattle on, commandeering one of the tea tables as his worktable. "That color is stunning on you, by the way, though of course you already know that.”
Anat's expression flattened even more, her eyes narrowing as a sense of uncertainty washed over her. How good could someone be at a craft they had only just started? Especially an artistic craft like portrait painting? Sighing, she crossed her arms and took a few steps towards where Matty was setting his supplies up.
Self-taught after a couple of weeks. How encouraging," she muttered, not convinced this was going to be a good experience. However, the shop was extremely slow today and she was bored. It would at least provide some variety to her day. Anat took a seat near the window as he complimented her chiffon dress -- at least the boy had good taste.
She tossed her braid over one shoulder and couldn't help but think of the portrait artist she had sat for when she was a young Ravencrest girl. Anat hadn't quite developed her vanity at that point, so she remembered hating it. Now, however, was a different story. And even then, what most people thought was vanity was simply confidence and assuredness. Perhaps too much at times, but that was neither here nor there. "If you make me look ridiculous I will not be happy," she warned him, the threat a watered down version of what she wanted to say.
Anat’s unenthusiastic response didn’t bother Matty in the least. He was so used to that type of response by this point in this life that he’d come to expect it from most people. Having a bright, shiny personality like himself was rare. He couldn’t blame the people who were lacking. You either had it, or you didn’t. Had he truly thought about it, he may have found it in his heart to pity them. But he hadn’t thought about it, and so he didn’t pity them either.
She’d gotten a bit closer to where he’d asked her to sit and then gave her a satisfied little smile once she was in the chair. ”Oh lovely, I can already see it in my mind’s eye,” Matty told her encouragingly, choosing not to acknowledge her warning. (Because even though he presented himself as a skilled artist, he wasn’t a delusional idiot. He knew he was terrible, but he couldn’t very well lead with that, could he?) So instead, he decided to lean into his unearned confidence and gestured toward her, ”Now if you could turn your body just slightly more towards the window—and then arrange the bottom of your dress to flow out a bit around you, it would be perfect.” And then, he returned back to his tool setup and began to wonder which colors of paint he needed to mix in order to get anything close to the color of her dress.
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