Day IX

DAY IX CHALLENGE


COPY + PASTE your responses to Day IX in this thread by 10:59PM PST tonight to qualify! Please bold the words to make it easier for me!

  

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Actual Post

It was only third day home from Hogwarts and already the day had become afternoonified as the Thompsett children longed around the sitting room in near boredom]. Henry's cheeks were red from playing outside in the snow and he was now thrown across the couch looking at his collection of chocolate frog cards. Meanwhile Matthew's temper was nothing short of a batty-fang, snapping at anything his younger siblings said or did. Sisse for her part had been attempting to work on her embroidery, but was finding it droll and her brothers temperaments did not endear her to patience with her work.

So Sisse had escaped from the sitting room to the kitchen, the warm pleasant glow of brewing hot chocolate had filled the room and her mother held a gigglemug as she discussed pantry-politics with the cook, discussing whether the price of beef was worth a Christmas roast or perhaps duck might be better. Sisse knew her mother encouraged her to pay attention to conversations of these but the revolveress nature of them quickly made Sisse's mind wander like a daisy-five-'o-clocker. It wasn't like she was sitting needles and pins to know if the Christmas meal would consist of meat or poultry. Cook would make it taste delicious no matter what.

“It’s hardly as if not having a Christmas roast is the next thing to judgement day” Sisse’s mother was pointing out to flustered cook. Cook fixed her mother with a look that clearly stated she disagreed at such a fundamental change in the menu but knew she could say nothing of it. Mrs. Thompsett sighed such reelings from her staff were to be endured, patience to be maintained at all times, she did after all, have to set a good example for her daughter.

Without waiting to hear the response Sisse slipped from the warm room, thank Merlin that she had made plans to go back to the festival with Calla. Sisse slipped on her coat and boots, popped her head in the kitchen to wave good-bye to her mother, then left the house and stood on the top step. At the end of the fence she spotted Calla with her sister and waved to her.

She might only have been home for a few days, but she already dearly missed seeing her friends. "Calla!" She greeted excitedly, not even bothering to feel remorseful at the informal greeting. She practically danced her way to Calla, a grin on her face and her cheeks already tinged a bit o'raspberry.

word count: 419

  

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Thank you Bee <3 Your magic has made Sisse bloom

https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7303&pid=62439#pid62439

The majority of the family seemed enthusiastic, but the most unenthusiastic member of the family was Jo. To her, it seemed like this was the next thing to judgement day. He hadn't meant to make the evening even more unpleasant for her, truly. Her exit was likely to upset their mother most of all. It was always pantry-politics between those two. Getting in between those two was like dealing with needles and pins. But there were times that Saturn did get in the middle. If only to attempt to reason with both women before things got too tense. Something he'd likely have to do in the morning. It was unlikely to be a daisy-five-'o-clocker.

While the others discussed the crackers, he could not help but think about what such an argument would consist of. Mother might actually act like a batty-fang if she's mad enough. Anyone within earshot would know that it was not a bit 'o raspberry circumstance. What a dreadful thought. It might leave himself and Jo to be a pair of gigglemugs by the end of it. For now he would have to stop thinking about it and make this evening afternoonified for everyone else. He would not want to ruin everyone else's night.

As he tried to seem cheerful once more, he worried that he would seem revolveress. The idea of needing to confide his reelings to one of the others made him feel guilty in a way. His surprise had been the reason Jo had elected to retire. Her future troubles with their mother would partially be on his head. Should he go talk to her? He hadn't even thought about her symptoms, and that was foolish of him. How could he not think of such things? Oh, but if he left, his mother might blame Jo. He was quite torn.


[wc: 306]

  

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Magic by MJ

There wasn’t a single member of the family who could be accused of being a gigglemug – except perhaps Freya and she was certainly a little less afternoonified than usual – but today was already proving to be an exercise in hellish reelings and Ambrosia could see the same misery reflected in the most of the faces in her home. The children didn’t seem to be as affected, the novelty of having presents to look forward to perhaps raising their spirits, but the adults looked as though they were being assaulted with needles and pins.

Ambrosia had considered cancelling the arrangements. Freya seemed keen to take over hosting duties and Ambrosia was tempted to let her, if only so somebody else in the family understood that between the servant’s pantry politics and the overwhelming lack of gratitude being the designated hostess was the next thing to judgement day. But even with the knowledge that the last time they had all been together somebody had died Ambrosia had persevered – she would batty fang her way through this Christmas and next year she would let Freya take the lead and comment upon her failures with all the sharpness of a revolveress.

From her vantage point she observed the others – even Daniel didn’t seem especially spirited despite the bit ‘o raspberry at his side – but she was more intrigued by the brother that occasionally took a turn around the room for no particular reason, coming back looking a little more smug than before. She didn’t begrudge him whatever was keeping his spirits up but Ambrosia did hate to be out of the loop. What on earth was he up to sneaking off for a daisy five-o’clocker?

The next time he moved, she did too, following him to the tree and witnessing him concealing a present about his person. Ambrosia rolled her eyes.

“Whatever your reason is I’m going to assume it’s childish.”

https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7317&pid=62441#pid62441

  

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fabulous set by Lady <3

As the day was increasingly becoming afternoonified, Aristide emerged from reading in his room to see about getting something to eat and to seek out his twin. He was looking forward to sticking  a bit 'o raspberry into his gigglemug. That was if the cook wasn't in the middle of pantry-politics which could sometimes happen. Pissing off a cook was practically the next thing to judgement day. The cook could be a bit batty-fang and a definite revoleress so she was best not trifled with.

Aristide felt like he had slept on needles and pins since his body was still not acclimated to being back in his own bed rather than the bed at school. He had gotten too use to the lower quality mattress of the school beds, he supposed. Which was a little ridiculous and made him think of the fairy tale 'Princess and the Pea'. He hoped he would get used to it soon, he didn't want to be dealing with reelings every morning until going back to school.

He was no daisy-five-'o-clocker but he also was not the sort to sleep past noon. Figuring Adrienne was likely in one of her usual haunts, he didn't bother with checking her room just yet. Instead, making his way into the dining room and eating the lunch that had been laid out for any hungry Selwyns that might seek out sustenance on this lazy day.

He had just finished eating and had been just about to head out to roam the grounds when he sensed the presence of his twin before he even saw her. "What should we do today?" He asked of her as he took one last drink of his orange juice before turning to face her fully. He had idle thoughts of just staying around at home but there was also that Festival going on over the next few days in Hogsmeade. He had already made plans to go ice skating later in the week as well.

https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7320

  

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italics means Aristide is speaking French

set by MJ!

Dorian had always been something of a gigglemug. He was an easy man, excited by the simplest of prospects. There weren't many circumstances that threatened this relaxed demeanor of him. Fewer still that left him standing on needles and pins. However, landing himself in the spell damage ward of St. Mungo's in the wee hours of Christmas morning just so happened to be one of those dampening effects.

Working throughout the Christmas holiday was always a task he volunteered for. The Fisk's, unlike most of wizarding Britain, were known to be Jewish, and thus their celebration of Christmas revolved solely upon their close friends who were decidedly Christian. He didn't care much either way whether or not his colleagues got to be near their families for the holiday, but the batty-fang leader of their committee seemingly did. Dorian knew better than to wage war against the pantry politics that were the Ministry of Magic, which left him on call from Christmas Eve until the monday following.

Wonderful.

Christmas Eve had gone well for the most part. The single call consisted of removing the charms from enchanted ornaments whizzing about the room, a no brainer that was more boring than a daisy-five-o'clocker. All hell had broken loose at midnight, though. First, a young child thought to be a harmless muggle, who really ought to have been in bed, had caused a revolveress to shoot off several rounds in a muggle home. Then, a toddler decided to be frightened by the tale of good ol' Saint Nicholas and afternoonified his entire household. The bright daylight took the better part of three hours to disenchant, finished all whilst dear Mrs. Puddlebottom shrieked about Christmas being ruined.

It was the third stop on Christmas that sent Dory to the hospital. He laid in the bed on his side, a bit 'o Raspberry being coughed into the nearby bucket with every breath. He wouldn't have stoped into the hospital at all, except that the coughing left him feeling like the next thing to judgement day. His limbs were like jelly, his head even moreso. And all because a bloody toddler decided to sneak out of bed for a bloody raspberry cookie. Dorian rarely had such reelings from a young child, but this one he dreamt of rebounding this particularly awful charm upon.

He was mid coughing fit when the door opened behind him. Try as he might to turn and greet his healer, Dorian couldn't will his jellied body to move.

https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7323&action=lastpost

  

Sophie had been staring at the profile on her husband for twelve days now. Ten "facts," so they claimed. Indecisive, they called him! A drunk! Biased towards his own family!! Sophie couldn't help feeling offended, and quite frankly, angry. How dare the pantry-politics of Witch Weekly insinuate that Sophie's own life problems would be a factor of Martin's! Firstly, he wasn't a drunk. Not that Sophie had seen or smelled — and Sophie certainly would've noticed; she was no gigglemug.

Then there was the sheer accusation that Martin had been having a bit 'o raspberry with Lisa during their separation! Had she not been in such a delicate state, she might've already gone off and written a letter to the editors, like some revolveress. Still, sitting here, thinking on what the gossip-mongering women at Witch Weekly thought of her husband, it was like needles and pins in her sides. Martin deserved better. His children Acacia, Chrysanta, Orinda, Dunstan, they deserved better!

Better than the next thing to judgement day, that was for certain. But the batty-fang reelings of a pregnant woman mattered nothing to the gossip magazine, that much was absolutely certain. They never seemed to listen to letters before.

It left Sophie feeling like quite the daisy-five-'o-clocker, with how the world seemed to treat her. Perhaps a cup of tea would help the situation — not that it had in recent days, as she tried to make sense of this article and how utterly frustrating the baseless rumors are. She decided that no, she wouldn't write a letter. Not to Witch Weekly, certainly. Perhaps to an old friend. The Daily Prophet was even less likely to listen to an afternoonified pregnant woman whine about a gossip rag than her husband would.

Speak of the handsome devil — he'd be home soon. With the flick of her wand, the kettle began heating, as she prepared two cups of tea one in the fine new cup he'd given her last month. She needed some time to think before she decided what to do.


Here

  

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https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7325

It had been a good long while since Mariana had livened up a family gathering with some mischief. Hers was not a family of gigglemugs and often she felt they needed to take themselves a little less seriously. It wasn't healthy to be dour all of the time, although some members of the family were more partial to severity than others. However some could do with a little more of it, this she thought with the bit o' raspberry that had somehow been born of her late sister, Olivia, now Claude's new bride, in mind.

Rather than make a ruckus on Christmas day, Mariana had instead opted to strike on Christmas Eve with the intent of injecting a little more levity and informality into it. Her plan was simple: she'd stolen away to the kitchens when no one was likely to miss her and slipped a little something into the mulled wine. In order to escape the notice of the servants Mariana had stirred up some pantry-politics amongst the kitchen staff by vanishing a loaf of bread that had been on the side. Whilst they were investigating and pointing fingers at one another, she stole into the actual pantry and spiked the wine that was in the process of being readied for serving. As she slipped out again she was amused to note that one of the servants seemed to be worked up enough to give someone a daisy-five-o'-clocker.

Now all there was to do was wait. Although she might be considered a revolveress of sorts she had no intention of inflicting harm upon anyone, not the physical or permanent sort anyway. Lucius would probably want to visit the next thing to judgement day upon her if she insulted his hospitality, not that she was afraid of him but there was no need to rock that boat at present. The mulled wine was brought up shortly after she had returned from downstairs and so as to not look suspicious, she accepted a glass although she had no intention of drinking it. There would be no enjoying the reelings of her family if she was as batty-fang as the rest of them. She feigned a little sip and waited on needles and pins for the first one to succumb. Looking around at the faces of her family members for any hint of a sign that they might be feeling afternoonified.

"You look a little out of sorts, how are you feeling?"

  

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Thanks to Bee for this magnificent set <3

(I hope it's okay I underlined because I used a word in dialogue and didn't want it to get lost!)

https://charmingrp.com/showthread.php?tid=7326&pid=62468#pid62468

Billie had been waiting on needles and pins for days until the eve of Christmas. Not only did it mean that the next day would be a wondrous affair, but the evening would be spent with friends, new and old, knocking about on doors, and gleefully singing carols at the top of their lungs.

It was the one day a year that she was a Daisy-five-o'clocker, arriving at the rendezvous spot before nearly all of the other participants. She even beat out Fiona, Arnie's little sister, who dashed in ten minutes later with a bit o'raspberry staining her cheeks from a dessert she had taken on the road. Her brother strolled in much later, all wrapped up in an afternoonified red and gold scarf.

The other participants were Hogsmeade residents she knew to varying degrees. Some she knew quite well like the Bechdel twins whom she'd nearly gotten into a batty-fang with over the summer. Or the gigglemug who helped keep shop at Denbright's. Others she only recognized by their reputation, such as the intimidating revolveress who dwelled in the slums, or the red-headed gentleman whose political reelings were whispered throughout the village. The mystery of all the participants excited her almost as much as the adventure they were about to embark on.

Standing on tiptoe, the tween squinted at everyone as the crowd grew, the anticipation nearly leaving her buzzing on her feet. Was it time to go, yet? Just when she thought she was about to burst, it seemed as if there was a lull in their gathering. It had been some time since anyone else had arrived.

"Quit with the pantry-politics and let's get a move on already!" She hollered.

It wouldn't be the next thing to judgement day if they were a few minutes late getting going, but Billie was eager. She only had so much time left to enjoy Hogsmeade before heading back to school, and she was fair determined to make the most of it.

It seemed her nudge had caused some rumblings and someone took the initiative to lead the way down the street. With a face splitting smile, she allowed herself to be swept along, her mirth suddenly being directed at her neighbor. "This is the best time of year!"

(10000% didn't know what some of these words meant, so...enjoy!)

WC: 379

  

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MJ, yet again working her magic.  <3 <3 Thank you

It was difficult, but not impossible, to smuggle alcohol into Hogwarts. The best time to do it was during the holidays, when the professors emotionally checked out from their responsibilities and half the student population returned home. Justice had figured that out in fifth year, when a small package from the orphanage had arrived from who he assumed was the sneaky revolveress who always seemed to have more than she could afford. "Got you a bit o' raspberry for the season. Go easy, or you'll have yourself a bit of a daisy-five-'o-clocker tomorrow," this year's said, similar to last's but less subtle. It wasn't as if anyone would check on him, anyways; he was a prefect, and a senior one at that. He was completely trustworthy. Completely. Apart from the one time he'd been caught playing pantry-politics with the house-elves in an attempt to leave the common room while off patrol duty in the middle of fifth year (for something of actual importance), he'd never been caught abusing his privileges, and he wasn't about to start.

He settled down by the fireplace with his glass of firewhiskey, enjoying the silence. From what he'd heard through the grapevine, most of the students who remained at school had taken the day off for an extended nap. Justice couldn't blame them. Between the exams, projects to finish, and late-night patrols, he'd been feeling a bit afternoonied himself. The stretch to the holidays was the next thing to judgment day.

But now it was over. The snow had settled on the ground, the decorations had been hung, and everything was quiet. He was alone. For maybe three minutes. He spluttered on his firewhiskey as the sound of the common room door closing sent him into a panic. Someone asked him if everything was okay. He couldn't respond for a moment; he could only stare with wide, guilty eyes. His reelings about abusing his privileges caught up with him, and it took a moment to find the words. Any words, really.

"A friend pranked me with a gigglemug for Christmas. Told me to open it early," he lied, placing it on the ground beside him—and more importantly, out of view. He was walking on needles and pins and he knew it. He had to remind himself that he wasn't a boy any longer. He was eighteen—a fully-grown man—and he had seniority over Ravenclaw house. "They're a real batty fang, always messing with me when I least expect it."

Find the open thread here!

  

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— we all know MJ is amazing but DAMN —

December 18th, 1890 — Slytherin First Year Dorms

Anne had done it! She couldn’t wipe the gigglemug smirk from her face, and truly, she’d earned the Batty-Fang thrashing and Reelings she did when the owl arrived. She’d pooled all her earnings, a true Daisy-five-'o-clocker, Next thing to judgement day sort of miracle, but through some Pantry-Politics all her own, Anne the Revolveress secured the absolute most afternoonified Christmas gift for Ned.

She’d been on Needles AND pins about it as Christmas break loomed and Anne counted her coins. She’d even considered asking that Bit 'o Raspberry Irish girl Ned seemed to spend his time with for her assistance if her plans fell to bits, but Anne managed her most Slytherin feat to date. She’d been sneaking every spare hour she had over the summer into her first true career, as she saw it, and Mr. Grimstone had been the most accommodating overseer. If this was how working was, Anne couldn't fathom why adults had to whinge about it so much. Who wouldn’t love to work with brooms all day? Even sweeping and sorting fragments wasn’t too awful, not when it meant she could learn about the woods and bits. It wasn’t the same as flying – nothing was the same as flying – but Anne could see the beauty in the work, in the subtle carvings that Mr. Grimstone made and the technical scratchings he did on parchment.

Anne even tried her hand at broom drawing and considered sending him some of her favorites, but hers all looked the same. Perhaps, if she was diligent, she could learn the charms to make her sketches move soon. That way, they would at least have something special about them she could share with her unlikely mentor.  Crushing his letter to her chest and nearly bouncing her poor Luna off the bed, Anne dashed to the owlery to send her reply.

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[308 poorly used words we will NEVER speak of again]

  

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MJ about made me cry with this one!
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