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Topics - Poppy Applewhite

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Elsewhere Accepted / Poppy Applewhite | Elsewhere Child
« on: 25/01/2018 at 07:22 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: POPPY APPLEWHITE

Gender: Female

Age: 9 (DOB: 04/08/1943)

Bloodline:
Muggleborn

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Deceased

Residence:
The Hogsmeade Home for Children

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
The Hogsmeade Home for Children

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Pax & Co.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

The old woman across from Poppy scratched a quill--not a pen--across the sheets of parchment--not paper--in front of her. She’d hardly looked up at Poppy for the last half hour, even though she’d had plenty of questions for the little girl to answer. People who worked at orphanages always asked too many questions. She knew this because Peter had told her so. Peter, who had always kept them safe and together, who knew that if adults got hold of them, they’d end up in some sad institution where their lives would be dictated for them, possibly separated, instead of them being able to carve their own way together, as they had managed to do just fine since she was five.

But Peter wasn’t here anymore either. Now it was just Poppy. And Poppy was not as good as Peter had been at getting away from authorities.

“No parents.” The voice rattled across the table. Poppy raised her eyes beneath a wild mane of auburn hair. The woman was looking right at her, hands folded atop the desk, yes the quill was still moving. “No grandparents. No siblings.” Poppy flinched. “Do you have any other family who might take care of you?” There was no comfort in the voice.

The truth was, she didn’t even know. Father dead before she knew him. Only bare, vague memories of a mother. Poppy could smell her charcoal and rosewater scent more than recall her face. The feel of cold, sure hands stood out stronger than a smile. And siblings… no, Peter was gone now, too. As for anyone else, she didn’t know them and they wouldn’t know her. They hadn’t taken care of her and Peter for the years and years they needed someone. They hadn’t sheltered her brother from cold nights that stole poor children. The girl shook her head after a moment, no words, just one sharp negation.

“No matter,” The woman pushed herself back from the desk, the legs of her chair screaming against the floor, “We’ll be taking care of you now. Nine. Just a little more time and you’ll likely be at the Castle most often. We’ve no doubt you’re able. It’s how we found you, anyway.”

Poppy knew what she was talking about. The Incident. When she’d woken shivering and discovered Peter nearby. When people had tried to separate them, hands pulling her away, the sudden screams, and bodies knocked back for no apparent reason away from the frightened, grieving girl. The flurry of light and sound and cloaks that followed so closely after. When suddenly someone grabbed her and with a Pop! and a lurching, sick feeling, she was no longer in that alley but surrounded by people who looked like doctors, but not quite like doctors. And then she’d gone to sleep.

And now she was here. Silent, in an orphanage. A strange orphanage. Being told strange things by strange people until she felt it must be herself that’s strange. That she’d gone crazy, cracked. She was living in some perpetual waking dream, and maybe Peter was trying to get her up to help that pretty Sadie girl sell flowers right this moment.

But no matter how many times she pinched herself, or blinked, or willed herself to see the real world, all that was in front of her were strange things and terrible memories.

She was skeptical of these people, of this orphanage. Resentful even. Peter had told her to be. She didn’t need anyone to “take care of” her!

But Peter was gone now. Poppy was alone. And she could smell hot food. As if the woman was reading her very thoughts--and with these strange people, Poppy would not have been surprised she was--the “Witch” almost glared at her before saying “Lunch will be starting soon. I’m sure you’re hungry. Shall we go introduce you to the other children?”

Slowly, peeking from beneath her wild hair, Poppy nodded, one sharp affirmation.

Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

Godric Park.

Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.

Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.

It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.

"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.

Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.

Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.

"...Do you want to play?"

Roleplay Response:
A park was a park. This park was much like many parks Poppy had seen. But only the ones she’d never played at. The ones she’d actually made use of in the past were not as nice. But this one, apparently, she could play at.

Still too young to use magic, she’d been called. She had to be eleven, on her way to “Hogwarts” (what kind of name was that for a school?) in order to get a wand, so she’d been told. Magic. Poppy was a witch, no doubt about it they said. But her power was, for now, forbidden to her. Her family was dead, and anyways, they’d been “Muggles” (what kind of word was that for people?). She’d never had access to magic before, but she hadn’t known about it either. Now, having to stare at it all around her, not being able to touch it was excruciating.

She couldn’t have a wand. She couldn’t have a broomstick. She couldn’t practice spells or brew potions or possess things or make them float. She wasn’t allowed anything about this fantasy she’d been thrust into. The only thing curious enough to distract her from recent tragedy Poppy was not permitted to tamper with.

But a park was a park. She could do that. Sitting on a swing, though, was nothing to the brooms she watched enviously, floating across the sky.

The squeals of a small girl on a much less bouyant broom made her look. The girl had been left behind, and Poppy felt bad. Peter would never have left her. Peter would have given her the first go. Peter…

Poppy hiccuped and lowered her head so her long, red hair draped about her face like a curtain, shielding the view of her tears from the world.

”You!” With a snap of her head, Poppy looked at the girl who was no longer screeching for her brother and had shifted her attention to the lonely girl on the swing. She rubbed the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes, then her nose and focused wide-eyed on the child addressing her. ”...Do you wanna play?”

It was a simple question that didn’t even require words. She could just shake her head yes or no. Instead Poppy stared, unsure, skeptical. Tears dry, her brother tucked safely in a dark spot of memory, she hopped off the swing. Reaching up with the same arm she’d wiped her snot on, she pushed a thick bunch of hair behind her ear.

“Sure,” Poppy said tentatively, “...You don’t happen to have one of those wands, do you?”


OTHER
How did you find us? Fate

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