Student applications for the 1955-56 term are now open!


This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.

Messages - Dorian James

Pages: [1]
Archived Applications / Dorian James - Junior Healer
« on: 13/12/2012 at 18:17 »

Character Name: Dorian James
Gender: Male
Age: 20

Salem Institute, Knight Society, Class of ’71 ‘34
Endsworth-Laurie Hospital, Intern, ’72-74 ‘34-’36

Tiny Flat, Fourth Floor, Warbling Rogue. Tessa Alcott’s roommate.

Applying to be: (select one)
Junior Healer

**If Department Head, please also fill out the section here Please note that the number of slots for this are limited.

Department of choice: (select one, descriptions here)
Magical Psychology

Why did you request that particular department?
Magical Psychology is more art than science, and Dorian’s never been especially precise. He has experience in basic medical environments, but triage and emergency situations just give him heart palpitations. He’s a little high-strung.

Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)
  • Charms: 9
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Divination: 9
  • Summoning: 6

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Isabelle Atkinson, Daphne Bennett, Horace C. Stufflebeam, Ophelie Lecuyier, Josephine Delaveau

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
October 17, 1973
Dear Ma,

You may be getting a letter from Endsworth-Laurie. Don’t kill me, okay? It was an accident. I’m not good with potions - you know that wasn’t my strong suit. Besides, I was only trying to beef up that Pepperup Potion just a smidge. I didn’t think it was going to explode.

The new floor looks really nice, though. I think they’re still deciding if they’re going to replace the entire lab or just leave that one little patch there on its own. I’m pushing for them to leave it, personally. There should be a plaque. Dorian James Commemorative Flooring. Limited edition.

Love you,

December 21, 1973
Dear Ma,

I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it home for Christmas. I know New Jersey’s not that far. I know it’s only one day. But I’m the low guy on the totem pole, Ma. They always make the interns work the holidays. Someone has to stay and save lives. Someone also has to stay and change bedpans.

Three guesses which one’s me.

Know what my favorite part is, Ma? That you know me and I’d bet you still guessed wrong.

I’ll send a fruitcake, the nurses probably won’t notice if I pinch one. They get so many, all the Healers hand down the ones they get to the nurses, and then they get all defensive when they interns take them, but I think it’s an act. They have to expect it.

Give my love to Dad and Christopher.


March 3, 1974
Dear Ma,

Spell Damage isn’t working out quite like I hoped. I didn’t realize when they put me here that the spells would be damaging me. Besides, some of these side effects...Ma, they’re traumatizing! You’d be amazed what happens when incompetent people attempt things they can’t handle.

Well. Then again, maybe you would.

It’s better than triage anyway. I hated triage. People coming in with all kinds of crazy stuff, all panicky. You know I can’t handle it when people panic. This one witch came in with...something, I don’t know what it was, but it was gigantic and hanging off the side of her nose. She was flailing all around, arms waving, so I started flailing my arms, just as a reaction, but she thought I was making fun of her. She tried to impale me with a clicky pen.

This internship has sharpened my reflexes, if nothing else.

Love you,

August 14, 1974
Dear Ma,

I’m writing this from the supply closet. It’s the one place in this hospital that I can’t kill anyone, or make someone’s condition worse, or start a fire, or blow something up. The nurses are doing half my work for me. It’s a wonder they haven’t kicked me out yet, Ma. I’ve been here how long, and I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve failed at just about every department. I don’t know how many more strikes I have left.

The only place they haven’t turfed me yet is the psych ward. And honestly, if that happens? I wouldn’t know if they meant for me to work or to take up residence. Might not be so bad. I could use a vacation. Besides, who doesn’t love pink elephants?

I’ll get it together one day, Ma. One day soon. I promise.

Love you,

January 3, 1937
Dear Ma,

I don’t even know if you’ll get this, if you’re okay. We’ve had a lot of people come in since the New Year, Ma. People saying they can’t find their families. Most of them are Muggleborn, or they have Muggle relatives, and...well. You know.

I haven’t heard from you since Christmas and I’m worried. Just a quick letter back would be nice. Just to say you’re safe.

Love you,

April 27, 1937
Dear Ma,

I haven’t heard from you. I’m still worried. Maybe you’re just busy. Maybe the owls are confused. Have you moved? I know Dad was talking about buying that cottage in the countryside, but I’d think you’d tell your youngest son if you just...upped and left. Right?


We’ll go with just busy.

A lot of the people that have been showing up are kids, Ma. We have a whole ward now full of kids with no families. They have no idea where their parents and sisters and brothers went, or what happened to them or if they’ll see them again. I’ve been spending a lot of time with them, because I know exactly how they feel. I like it there, with the kids. I like feeling like I’m helpful here, instead of just making everything worse.

Write me soon, Ma. I miss you.

Reply as your character to the following:

"Coming through!"

The double doors burst open as the newly-minted Junior Healer shoved through, dodging the milling patients and staff and leaving behind a trail of parchment. The doors stayed open just long enough to allow a glimpse of the scene beyond - a riot of noise, colours and gesticulating arms - before closing again.

It was Archibald Forrester's first day on the job, and while his professors had warned him it could get hectic at St. Mungo's, he'd never imagined it'd be quite like this. Arms transfigured and somehow regrafted onto someone's head, an Auror coughing up rainbows after a dust-up with a gang of young hooligans in Knockturn, and oh - that patient up on the fourth floor that was running around telling people he was Merlin reborn. And that was just the cases that had come in in the last hour.

It had to be time for his shift to be over, right?

He gave up the lost bits of parchment as a lost cause and cast a frantic Tempus. One minute. Heaving a sigh of relief,  his eyes instantly began darting around to find a convenient on-duty person to hand his load over to. Shoes - bought at the nice medical suppliers and outfitters just down the street - squeaked on the floor as he weaved and skidded around corners, before finally stopping in front of the first figure he found.

"Here. Here are all the charts - the arms for the Transfig patient seem to be morphing into tentacles, and Healer Wilberforce says we need to operate now but needs a second opinion - the Auror's squad captain is outside demanding to know what's been keeping the treatment and uh - "

A few floors up, muffled thumping and howling could barely be heard, but Archie winced anyway.

"Right. Mr. Merlin's somehow gotten hold of a wand and now the entire psych wing believes in him too - for the love of all that's magical, take this, please!"

Roleplay Response:
Lunch in the supply closet was Dorian's favorite workday ritual. The supply closet was a magical place, a safe haven from the chaos of the corridors. Nobody wanted anything from you in the supply closet. Then again, no one could want anything from you, period, if they didn't know where to find you. The only ones who really ever came looking were the janitors, and the most they wanted from you was to pass them a bedpan or paper towels or something.

"Coming through!"

Dorian settled back against the shelves and unwrapped his (very adult) peanut butter sandwich. They could come through all they wanted, so long as they didn't come through here.


"Here. Here are all the charts - the arms for the Transfig patient seem to be morphing into tentacles."

Dorian snorted as he listened through the door, wondering which intern was getting the brunt of this one. Morphing tentacles, indeed. He remembered those days, when he'd been accosted with cases like that, off the cuff. Remembered how he'd stood there, frozen and unblinking, at whichever Healer was thrusting charts and barking orders that day.

"...Healer Wilberforce says we need to operate now but needs a second opinion..."

He should get out there. Idly, Dorian checked his watch. Ten minutes left on his break, and breaks were like unicorns in this place - a rare commodity. Well, the intern could handle it. Besides, this sounded like Spell Damage or something, and that was definitely not his area. He chewed a bite of his sandwich.

"Right. Mr. Merlin's somehow gotten hold of a wand and now the entire psych wing believes in him too..."

"Jesus," Dorian growled. The psych ward was his area. For a moment, he thought about letting it go. He checked his watch again - seven minutes. What was the worst that could happen in seven minutes?

His patients might burn down the place, that's what.

With a sigh, Dorian shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, and moved to slip quietly out the door, past the commotion, without being noticed. If he had an entire wing of patients believing in god-knows-what, he didn't have time deal with tentacles and transfiguration and whatever else.

Besides. It was not his area.

How did you find us?
Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other

Pages: [1]