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Archived Applications / Charlene Buchanan
« on: 07/12/2016 at 07:00 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Charlene Buchanan

Birthday: June 18, 1938

Hometown: London, England

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Year: First or Second

Biography:
She was born to detachment and regrets; knew the taste of half-hearted efforts like a child their favorite blanket. She never could understand why things were as they were and at one point, thought her parents’ separation and sole custody was how all families should have operated. It was normal that her mother did not live at home or that she only saw her once every month because it was too much of a commitment coming once every two weeks. She knew cause she’d religiously count the days of her absence, never the days which she came. Her dad overcompensated and gave more than he had to offer mentally and emotionally.

But that was normal. And they loved her, she thought.

In many ways, her world operated in bouts of unseasoned denial, externalised into wide smiles and easy laughter. She was every bit the child she should be, playful, excitable, and optimistic. But beneath the current, twined in the absence of normalcy, something festered into a too curious mind for darker things yet. She knew because when she tousled and wrestled with the kids, climbed the jungle gyms, ascended trees and cliffs, she risked scraped knees and burnt palms―collections of recklessness against skin, seared to soul.

But that was normal. And she loved it, she thought.

’Charlene Buchanan?’ An errant voice, pitched and nasally, called her by the name she’d been given. Her hand shot in the air, fingers splayed and arm ramrod straight from an overexcited reaction. She smiled brightly, all teeth and no inhibition. “Here!” The girl yelled; vibrant creature, she was. Her tutor’s eyebrows quirked, expecting blonde hair, blue eyes, no doubt. Or maybe brown hair, hazel eyes? She burned away the doubt with exuberance that was very simply over-. Overdone. Overwhelming. Over the top. It was a shade that suited her when she decidedly, as a child, corrected her given name, “Call me Charlie!”

But that was normal. And she had to love it, she thought.

They never spoke about magic. It was taboo, banned and washed away in the ghosts of idealism that once brought her parents together. Politics was a force too great to contest and so far as the blood beneath her veins, her father's... They never spoke about magic. It wasn't until her mother visited, brows furrowed and lips pressed paper-thin, did something change. She always looked like that, like the world owed her for her grievances. But not today, today she wore a twinkle to her eyes and as if she were bestowing a gift upon her, she bent and whispered, “You're going to Hogwarts, baby. Make me proud.”

And that was normal. Except, she did not love it.

She did not love them.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Slytherin or Gryffindor

Personality:
Entering into Camp Loki, Charlene is every bit a whelp when it first leaves its den, curious, awestruck, and excitable. She carries herself in much the same way as when she is in school, brimmed with smiles and laughter and always rearing for an adventure. Subtlety is, as usual, left to the wayside in favor of ostentatious optimism, reflective in her loud voice, loud demeanor, and loud smiles. But trapped beneath the layers of an overdone guise, she buries her reservation toward her parents, her apprehension about being in a space surrounded by the very thing she was taught to ignore, and an inclination for the very solitude which she hates. In many ways, small as they may be, she resists authority and toes the lines of rules and boundaries. Through these occasional slips and falls, there is a maturity and keenness that cannot be denied. Disillusionment, as the adults would say. But for her, she weaves a grander illusion yet, rooted into fragments of a reality she crafts to her own wiles.

Appearance:
In every sense of the word, Charlene is a small girl; short for her age and tiny in frame. Her only saving grace is the baby fat along her cheeks, stubborn and often flushed from too much running, too many emotions. She is known for her smiles and laughter, permanently etched to memory as all teeth and closed eyes. Framed by long black hair and straight bangs, her brown eyes are as animated as her gestures and perhaps that is what is most memorable about her. It is not her physicality but that with every movement, there is a story to be told.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.

It wasn't intentional.

Not really.

She hadn't deliberately planned to go to the very first place she'd been warned against entering. It was more a matter of coincidence, one which she perhaps found all too easily , which if pressed, she would have admitted she'd been actively looking for. But given that no one had bothered to ask and she had yet been caught, it did not seem an imperative to explain why the ten year old had wandered into the dungeons.

(Coincidences could be such wicked, opportune things.)

Though the air changed notably and her breaths came in shorter bouts, Charlie was hardly phased. More than anything, she was fascinated and drawn to the shadows and this place was nothing if not that, of hard edges and hidden corners. There were secrets here, she could feel it along her fingers and taste it at the tip of her tongue. How close yet far she was  to her imagined conquests and adventures. A pursuer of rumors. A catcher of secrets. A jailer for dreams and nightmares.

The child was anything she wanted to be in this space, pressed against cold walls and swallowed by shadows.

Her intention was to go as far as she could, until closed doors could no longer be opened. Her plans, though, were not to be met with fruition when a small voice broke the silence, meek and trembling. The child's fear was palpable and Charlie's interest piqued. She glanced to the source of the voice, unwilling to reveal herself should her actions warrant unnecessary trouble. Except, the visitor was like herself, young and uncertain, and infinitesimally less eager to be here.

A thought crossed her mind and with it, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She lifted her hands, cupping them against her mouth in a make-shift microphone before whispering in what she thought to be a fairly convincing (really, it wasn't) voice of the ghost the girl sought. ”Whoooo dares disturb me in this plaaceeee?” Her voice was operatic, weighted with gravitas by the cavernous spaces and comical theatrics. Nevermind that she could barely suppress her own laughter.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have on the site: N/A

How did you find us?: Recommendation

2
Elsewhere Accepted / Charlene Buchanan | Elsewhere Child
« on: 03/10/2016 at 23:21 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Charlene Buchanan

Gender: Female

Age: 10 Years

Bloodline: Halfblood

Parents/Guardians: 
Desmond Buchanan & Amelia Li; they are playable!

Residence:
London, England

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
None

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
None

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
None

Biography:
She was born to detachment and regrets; knew the taste of half-hearted efforts like a child their favorite blanket. She never could understand why things were as they were and at one point, thought her parents’ separation and sole custody was how all families should have operated. It was normal that her mother did not live at home or that she only saw her once every month because it was too much of a commitment coming once every two weeks. She knew cause she’d religiously count the days of her absence, never the days which she came. Her dad overcompensated and gave more than he had to offer mentally and emotionally.

But that was normal. And they loved her, she thought.

In many ways, her world operated in bouts of unseasoned denial, externalised into wide smiles and easy laughter. She was every bit the child she should be, playful, excitable, and optimistic. But beneath the current, twined in the absence of normalcy, something festered into a too curious mind for darker things yet. She knew because when she tousled and wrestled with the kids, climbed the jungle gyms, ascended trees and cliffs, she risked scraped knees and burnt palms―collections of recklessness against skin, seared to soul.

But that was normal. And she loved it, she thought.

’Charlene Buchanan?’ An errant voice, pitched and nasally, called her by the name she’d been given. Her hand shot in the air, fingers splayed and arm ramrod straight from an overexcited reaction. She smiled brightly, all teeth and no inhibition. “Here!” The girl yelled; vibrant creature, she was. Her tutor’s eyebrows quirked, expecting blonde hair, blue eyes, no doubt. Or maybe brown hair, hazel eyes? She burned away the doubt with exuberance that was very simply over-. Overdone. Overwhelming. Over the top. It was a shade that suited her when she decidedly, as a child, corrected her given name, “Call me Charlie!”

But that was normal. And she had to love it, she thought.

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:
Type your response here.

She liked it, days as these.

When the skies were not the decidedly grey luster it’d come to favor or when the sun decided that perhaps it did belong here, now. It was a breath of fresh air, literal in the ways a warm breeze pressed its gentle fingers along her face and metaphorical in the way everything seemed luminescent.

She’d somehow stumbled into Godric Park, more by chance than intent. A child too young to be unattended but here she was in her own company. Her gaze flickered left to right, up and down. Everything was meant to be marveled at, even the butterfly that’d been daring enough to alight on her shoulder. Vivid colors against the pastel coral of her sundress. She stilled in her awestruck wonder, afraid yet fascinated by nature’s act of bravado. How beautiful the colors of its kaleidoscopic wings. Her hand lifted slowly but surely in pursuit of curiosity like silk beneath the tips of her fingers.

’You!’

Charlie started, not deigning to turn around but instead casting a bewildered gaze over her shoulder. For a second that felt as minutes, she contemplated the earnest request before her eyes crinkled along the edges and her lips curled into a toothy smile. ”Sure! What did you want to play?” Turning from where she stood, she tucked her hands behind her back, having redirected her attention to the small girl with her small broom.

Not that she was one to talk.

”I’m Charlie.” She offered, eager steps closing the distance between them. ”What’s your name?”

(Vivid colors left in reckless abandon, like scattered petals of a wilting bloom.)

London needed more days as these.

OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation

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