Regulation and Control

( Warded memo to Unspeakables obliviated the 26th )

( Warded memo to all other Unspeakables )

Who: Ian Twittlefoot and Graham Pritchard
What: Visiting hours. Secrets kept. Memories repressed. (Who knows, it keeps shifting. *g*)
When: Monday, July 28, evening
Where: St. Mungo's
Rating: TBD
Status: Open; in progress

The laces on his boots were hanging off the toes as Graham stared at them. He couldn't remember how they went together and he quirked his mouth as he tugged on one, then the another. With a sigh, he lifted his right foot and gripped a lace in each hand, then began to wrap them around one another until they made a perfect spiral. Releasing, he watched as the laces began to slacken when he put his foot on the floor.

Putting his foot back up on the chair, he started trying again. Why can't I bloody do this?

Who: FREE FOR ALL! (But especially Vi and Katie)
What: Abraxan Races (Malt whiskey drinking horses - does it get any better?)
When: Sunday noon, July 20
Where: Mistley Downs, a wizarding aerial race course in Manningtree, the smallest market town in England
Rating: TBD, minimum PG for language
Status: Open; in progress
Notes: This is a fun open RP. Mon's developing plot around this idea but it won't happen here. People are welcome to subthread or start separate ones. We're going to blithely ignore the conventions of time for those participating - chalk it up to a misplaced Time Turner or something and double-thread as much as needed.


Wizards had conspired for centuries to keep Manningtree small. And to keep muggle animal authorities out of the place - while it was easy enough to place disillusionment charms on the wings, too often in other villages had careless wizarding lads shoved a bottle of malt whiskey into an Abraxan's mouth right in front of the authorities.

As a result, the air itself seemed charged with magic as the crowds began to filter through the Downs, explained away to the muggles nearby as part of a music festival. With pitchforks and brooms, the farmers eyed the passing wizards but allowed them to pass, shying away from the grassy dale where sounds of unearthly music began to echo. Nothing, after all, spoke "leave me alone" quite like the dismal sounds of Mad Martin and the Muggles. Many wizards, also, clapped their hands over their ears during opening ceremonies.

The stands were packed with roaring wizards, each with galleons and betting forms in their hands, many of them with pencils clumsily strewn across the broad brims of hats or tucked behind an ear. Smells assaulted the senses - boiled peanuts, butterbeer, the occasional whiff of popcorn and rock cakes mingled together to create a bizarre aura of carnival. And above all, the horses, hovering overhead as they awaited their orders, grooms angrily swatting pixies away from their mounts' tails.