We are currently accepting new applications for Elsewhere!

Recent Posts

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
Resources / Re: Face Claim
« Last post by Clay Julius Sbebbington on Today at 01:33 »
Character name: Clay Julius Sbebbington
Face claim (first name last name): Matt Smith
Link to accepted application/completed thread: http://hogwarts-school.net/sortinghat/index.php?topic=8227.0
Student Applications / Rebecca Silvers Re-apped
« Last post by Rebecca Silvers on 19/08/2018 at 20:31 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Rebecca Silvers

Birthday: June 23rd

Hometown: Kenilworth, England


Magical Strength (pick one):
 Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two): Fifth/sixth

If you are applying to be a first, second, or third year, your biography must be at least one hundred words long.
If you are applying to be a fourth year or above, your biography must be at least three hundred words long.

Rebecca was born the fourth child to a fairly well off wizarding family. The entire collection was there that bright day: from cousins to great-uncles. They weren't exactly the largest wizarding family, but Rebecca's parents chose to face "tradition" and fill their house with lots of little witches and wizards.

Her father, Jacob Silvers, had come from an even smaller village where his family ran the bakery, as well as selling enchanted goods to visiting or local wizards. Deciding to continue his family trade, he moved to Kenilworth to live with his fiancee at the time, Adilah, Rebecca's mother. She was a bright young witch who came from a family that traced themselves back to a wizarding family from Morocco, but had moved to England after they had almost been revealed by muggles. As well as creating another bakery for the muggles in their neighbourhood, the pair decided to focus on the protection of magical creatures in the local area, collecting a small zoo in their back garden. With the growth of this collection, the pair moved, with their eldest child, to a small farm close to the town, with the pretence that they would be harvesting grain to use at their bakery.

Their first child was a girl named Malory, who joined Hogwarts to be top of her class whenever she could. She dedicated herself to knowledge, and grew fascinated with the origins of magic and spell making. This brought an influx of magical material into their house and Rebecca was from a young age surrounded by her sister constantly practising and experimenting with magic.

Their second was a boy they called Daniel. He was more interested in his parent's fascination with magical beasts and spent most his time treating them. By the time he was sent to Hogwarts, he was well-versed in the care and treatment of many magical creatures, and extended his knowledge for care and treatment of humans as well.

The third child was a quieter girl, Clara. Unlike her elder siblings, who chose to specialise, she learnt everything about anything and became a walking encyclopaedia. Constantly spouting knowledge, she also took it upon herself to teach Rebecca and her younger brother Christopher everything she knew.

Surrounded with intelligent, successful siblings, Malory knew she had to work hard to match their achievements and make her parents proud. She absorbed anything she came across as well as she could and would often stay up late trying to understand what her siblings talked about. As her elder siblings went off to Hogwarts (leaving Rebecca alone with a toddler for several years before it would be her turn) she grew closer with the muggle children in her neighbourhood and got a fascination in all the technology they had invented without magic.

When her father left to serve the war, she also took his place in the bakery, helping to create bread and cakes and serving behind the counter. Her father returned a few years later with an injury that meant he could no longer fight, but she continued to work beside him, learning about the adventures he had abroad and gaining a fascination for travel.

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

House Request: Hufflepuff


Rebecca is very determined to match and beat the achievements of her siblings, working hard to become at the same level as them. She wants to be able to take on any challenge and enjoys the thrill of doing something she doesn't know or something different. She applies herself very hard in her passions and in things that she isn't interested in, so it is often hard to tell what she truly enjoys. However, when doing something she does find interesting, she become more chatty and curious, seeking to learn more and bring others to work with her and connect their ideas. She seeks adventure and discovery, in the wizarding world, but also in the muggle world, where many of her friends lie. She is very inspired by family and feels that following their lead is very important in life.

With Moroccan roots, Rebecca has tanned skinned and dark, thick hair with she like to tie up in a brightly coloured cloth. Her eyes are bright and brown, and she is on the rounder side from eating too many pastries and cakes from the bakery.

Note: This section is only for students who have been previously played at Hogwarts. Please see here for more information about Castle Dropouts levels/how many levels you are eligible to claim.

Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application): Here

Number of New Levels Requested: 4 (two missing terms)

New Levels Request: C8D5T8S8

How your character kept up with their studies: With the declining health (and subsequent death) of her mother’s mother, Rebecca moved to Morocco with her mother and younger Christopher to care for the old woman. While there, Rebecca struggled to keep up with the language and the pressures that were going on around her and isolated, she became less dedicated to keep up with her studies. Despite this, her mother and other family members in the area took turns to educate her the best she could, and the girl was sent to a private tutor in the area to keep up her studies. With the death of her grandmother, given how close they had been in those two years, she sunk even lower and put little effort in it at all, barely improving since she left Hogwarts.


Option 2:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

Rebecca had forgotten how good it had felt to be in the castle. Her feet found her way naturally around the castle, only slipping a little when the staircase changed and she wasn’t ready for it. She had forgotten being ready for it, but she was ready to be ready for it. The girl sat in the garden, wistfully working through some homework. With the nice weather, she had come here naturally and it seem so right to be clutching a textbook and some parchment. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed doing homework - how relaxing it all was. Sitting her, scribbling some nonsense about potions, enjoying the fresh breeze and the sweet fragrance of the flowers around her… She could forget everything that had happened, before her grandmother, before that. It was a fresh clean piece of parchment.

Some shouting and stomping shattered the perfect peace.

Her eyes flitted up, debating hiding from whoever it was in case they were someone she didn’t want to see. It was some other student, that she didn’t recognise. Sniffing and huffing and pulling up the flowers in search of some rat. For a second, Rebecca wondered whether it was a real rat or just a metaphorical one.

"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare.”

Of course it wasn’t. She wasn’t staring at him. Rather, she was staring at his snotty robes and dirty shoes and the ransacked gardens around him.

“It’s not polite to tear up the gardens, either. Someone’s clearly put a lot of work into them,” she retorted, no longer feeling like being that ever friendly person she may have been. She could be a different person now and even if she hadn’t been in Hogwarts for a while, she could own this place. Stop these little kids running around and ruining it all for her. That was it. She’d stop everyone ruining this for her - she stopped herself just before she started naming names. No poison on her tongue today. “So you can help me with something. First, don’t mess up the garden. Second, try to clear something up - those robes look like they need a good wash, if you aren’t going to replant this. And third? Move it.”

She had never said anything like that before. It made her wince secretly. Move it. Who was she becoming?

“I mean..” she turned back on herself, “If I can’t help you with anything, I’m a little busy. So scram.”

She wanted to just die. It was like she couldn’t control her own mouth anymore. So much for trying to make it nicer. Rebecca pushed a half-smile. In her mood, it probably resembled more of a scowl.


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):
Only Rebecca

How did you find us?:
I believe it was a goole search?
Resources / Re: Face Claim
« Last post by Maria Teodora Wittington on 19/08/2018 at 15:32 »
Character name: Maria Téodora Wittington
Face claim (first name last name): Maggie Duran
Link to accepted application/completed thread: Accepted application.
Student Applications / Re: Jude Francis Holiday
« Last post by Calypso Ross on 19/08/2018 at 13:17 »
Hi, Jude!

Your application looks great, there's just one small thing we'll need you to edit before we can get you accepted.

In your biography, you write the following sentence: 'And with belts and fists, he was punished, often.' As per our site rating:
Abuse of minors should not be directly described or mentioned.

If you could edit the above sentence to be more vague about Jude's punishments (e.g. 'he was punished, often'), this would ensure you remain in line with our site rating. 

Once you've made the required change, please repost your entire revised application below, and we'll be more than happy to take another look. Thanks!
Student Applications / ACCEPTED: Maria Teodora Wittington
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 19/08/2018 at 13:09 »
Congratulations! This application has been accepted. Term begins on 1 September 2018.

Hogwarts School Accepted / Re: Maria Teodora Wittington
« Last post by Ella Galanis on 19/08/2018 at 13:08 »
Dear Miss Wittington,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Term begins 1 September 2018. Currently, students have gathered at Camp Loki, and we encourage you to spend your summer there. Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies.

Yours sincerely,

Ella Galanis
Head of Ravenclaw
Student Applications / Jude Francis Holiday
« Last post by Jude Holiday on 18/08/2018 at 13:11 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Jude Francis Holiday

Birthday: 15 November 1938

San Francisco born and bred, though he’s been at Ilvermorny (Horned Serpent) for the past three years before he was pulled out of school at the beginning of his fourth.
For much of the past year, Jude’s been living in a sleepy muggle town not too far from Hogsmeade where his muggle aunt is staying, spending his time doing part-time work and exploring Hogsmeade.


Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):

Year (pick two):
Fourth Year - he was pulled out of Ilvermory a couple of months into his fourth year.
Fifth Year.

Once upon a time, there lived a family of Squares with one round peg, all living together in a little box made of ticky-tacky, surrounded by white picket fences, pools, manicured lawns and pedigree dogs. The American dream, almost. 

Even in diapers, he hadn’t fit in. When they received his letter in the mail, it seemed like a critical part of the truth had finally snapped into place. He might not be adopted, but he was definitely not the same as the rest of them. The day the train left for Ilvermorny was a relief to everyone, only to be united in their discomfort during the long summers when he returned to live under their roof once more, forced to follow their rules. 

He had never been good at following rules. And there were many. Rules on what to watch, what to wear, what to like, what to say. There were rules on how to dream. Rules on who should be loved and how and how much. Rules on religion and race that were meant to keep him from associating with the wrong sort. Rules to stop him from rocking the boat at every turn he could. Which he did anyway. Because unlike rebels without causes, he found his, picking them up like strays in their multitude. Picketing. Defamation. The charges never really stuck. 

Let your voice be heard, they said. But not too much. Be who you are, except who they told you not to be. Perfection, he learnt, was a disease that infected both body and soul, breeding hypocrisy. 

At the beginning of his fourth year, the parental squares pulled him out of Ilvermorny for lewd conduct. They blamed the school mostly, for their lack of vigilance, for allowing their son to violate the statutes on morals so thoroughly. He faced his father’s wrath like a soldier. And with belts and fists, he was punished, often. Strictly for his benefit, of course, and sometimes he believed that it was only because his parents were afraid because they said things like do you know what they do to people like that, and they found a cure – it’s called stilbestrol.

The hegemony was fighting back, and the sentence was clear. 

In the end they exiled him to the UK. Nothing as fancy or as distracting as London, but instead a sleepy town in Scotland where his aunt lived. Nothing of note ever happened there, which, he supposed, was the whole point. The removal of his whole world and all the fun that life had to offer, but he was still a kid, they said, there was hope yet. Jude didn’t really get the big deal. Not being around his friends sucked, but he was optimistic and adaptable, and cool enough to make new friends, he was certain.


House Request: 
Slytherin please (or just not Hufflepuff?).

Jude likes to thinks many things; things such as how school houses and labels are stupid. How rules are stupid, and convention, and formal dressing, and red velvet cake. He’s got opinions on everything, and if he doesn’t, he knows how to make them up. He likes to think he’s automatically smarter and cooler than most because he grew up in San Francisco, likes poetry, reads philosophy, is a super zen buddhist and hates capitalism. On a good day, when his chakras align with the universe, Jude is a pretty chill person to hang out with, though bad days have the tendency to transform the self proclaimed zen master into an adolescent drama queen.

Jude has his father’s brown hair and green eyes and most of his nose, which unfortunately is an indicator and a constant reminder that he wasn’t adopted. He stands at middle hight, though that’s mostly because he likes to slouch a lot, and people tend to be surprised when he’s taller than he appears. Not one who naturally likes exercise, he’s not too built. Finally, while he would deny it to his grave, Jude actually cares about how he looks, and the “scruffy-chic” look is more cultivated than one might assume.


Option 2:
As it turned out, the act of meditation was a lot harder than it appeared. It wasn’t all just sitting and breathing — or well, it was. Which was exactly what made it so impossibly difficult for Jude, and he had almost immediately come to learn that trying to keeping his mind clear and focused on the present was much like trying to wrangle an alligator into submission. Ergo, it sucked. And worst of all, it was boring

But one couldn’t very well be a practicing zen buddhist without the meditation, and so, in the spirit of making do, he was determined to succeed. Or at least try. After all, if Ghandi and Confucius and all the old sages could do it, he was certain that there were benefits to be gained from it, not to mention that one received points for trying, and so he tried; Full Lotus position, palms flipped upwards, the back of his hands resting on his knees, fingers gathered together into points.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The only problem seemed to be that Jude had chosen a rather open place to attempt his meditation, and the middle of the Hogwarts gardens was a far cry from some quiet, zen little corner or the desolate scraggly mountain tops where a wandering soul could be alone.

The sound of someone shouting about a rat just behind him caused Jude to frown, bleeding all sorts of bad vibes into his ritual. This was followed by some rustling, and one green eye opened in curiosity to see a kid roughly his age trampling through the flowers.

At the sight of the other boy’s powerful sneezing, another eye opened as if he much enjoyed watching the boy and his runny nose, mucus dripping down one sleeve. And if he had caught sight of where the rat had gotten to, Jude wasn’t about to volunteer any help. After all, he could barely fault the rat from escaping. He hated pet stores and didn’t believe in having pets. The very thought of caged animals that weren’t wild and free to roam the earth in some idyllic way made him twitchy. Incarnation and all that.

At the boy’s tone, an eyebrow rose and he shrugged nonchalantly.

“I wasn’t staring.”

He had definitely been staring.

And it showed, because he continued to stare as one hand came up to brush his bangs off his forehead before a finger circled to indicate the area around his own face.

“You’ve got some snot right there.”


Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Lucian Grey & Co.

How did you find us?: I’m forgetting, but I’m pretty sure it was Google.
Hogwarts School Accepted / Maria Teodora Wittington
« Last post by Maria Teodora Wittington on 16/08/2018 at 02:53 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Maria Téodora Wittington y de Córdoba

Birthday: December 8, 1938

Hometown: San Angelo, Texas

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fifth (preferably). Sixth (if necessary).


Vivid yellows flowed into orange, filling out the shape of a canine-like creature. Red, heavily painted, defined its rearing form, as the head of a feline appeared to roar forward. Inky black eyes glinted and flashed.

Maria Téodora Wittington y de Córdoba was born on a cool, sunny morning at the Córdoba hacienda. She was the first and only child of Charles Wittington II and Adelita Esperanza Córdoba y Martinez, the second granddaughter to the Córdoba family, and to the Wittingtons… it didn’t matter what number she was. Her father’s parents had still not forgiven him for refusing the family horse ranching business and becoming a professional chef instead. Or maybe it was his persistent siding and defense of his sister that had been disowned many years ago that caused bad blood between them. Or maybe it was her mother. Though the Córdoba family was a prominent, pureblood line, well-known throughout America, they were also well-known in the family homeland of Mexico.

Whatever the case, Charlie's parents had not been present at his daughter's birth. But the whole of the Córdoba family had been, along with extended family and close friends.

There had been energetic talking, hearty laughter and dogs barking when she came into the world. Guitars and singing had started up at her first cry, and her mother had said she had been in such a hurry to hit the world head on, that her aunt had barely had enough time to catch her. Wrapped in a colorful, handwoven blanket, Téo had been placed in her mother’s arms, but it wasn’t her mother’s eyes she had seen first or even her father’s. Her grandfather’s loyal canine, a xoloitzcuintli, had stuck a curious muzzle in the way and sniffed, and brown eyes met her own.

Her grandmother hadn’t been too happy about that, but her mother had just laughed.

One large, broad stroke of green was smeared intermittently with cobalt blue, the paint sinking into the grains of wood. There was a splattering of vermilion, just on the outskirts of blues and greens, as if accidental.

It hadn’t been the first time she had played with paints, but it was the first time she took them out of her grandfather’s studio. It had large floor to ceiling windows and opened out into the courtyard. By the time her mom had found her (by way of following multicolored footprints), a bench, two steps of a stone stairway, a pre-Columbian artifact, and a door had all fallen victim to the four-year-old’s vision.

Hands on hips, surveying her daughter’s damage, her mother had risen both eyebrows at her. Téo was perched on the edge of a large fountain that lay directly center of the yard, squeezing what was left of green and red paint into the water and watching as the colors swirled and reflected in the sun. At her mother’s throat clearing, she had looked up, blinked away a much too intense gaze for a child and grinned widely.

Her mom sighed, “Oh, mijita,” but a slow smiled had begun to form. “I’m afraid your papa is going to return home to quite the hand full.”

From that moment on, with a wave of the hand or wand (depending on if it was her mother or grandfather), rooms had been transformed. Walls became canvases of varying textures, blank ceramics were placed here and there, and even the floors were given fresh tiles. Her mother was a muralist and her Belo an artist, both incorporating styles of No-Maj artists, as well as magical techniques in their works. They were supportive and thrilled at her early interest and enthusiasm.

The proud form of a crested caracara shone like bronze, gripping in its outstretched talon a wavy lightening bolt, seeming to be made out of molten turquoise. Looking closer, fines lines on the bird’s head appeared to be that of an old woman. Brightly colored textiles streamed in every direction behind the avian, a show of magenta, yellow-orange, and green. The strands vibrated on the canvas, as if enraged.

They had focused on still life. They often focused on still life. But Téo enjoyed her art classes, she did, and her mama had insisted to her that foundations were important. The classes were being attended in the No-Maj area of San Angelo, and often times, her little cousins would run to meet her before she passed into their village. The wizarding village of San Angelo had a smaller town, but much more expansive land than its No-Maj counterpart, and this is where the Córdoba hacienda was settled.

She was eleven, and most of her younger cousins were very little, with the oldest being just three years younger than herself. They really weren’t supposed to come out this far, but they got excited easily, and when Diego came running at her, she picked him up and swung him around a few times before balancing him on her hip. He was her favorite; tiny and only five, he had the sweetest smile she’d swear she’d ever seen. A small spider monkey would usually trail him, and she would end up with both of them crawling on her shoulders.

The shout hadn’t registered at first.

Not until it was called again, louder, and by more than one boy that she realized what the slur was. Téo had frozen for a full second, feeling the heat rise in her face. Breathing deeply through her nose, and feeling Diego grip at her shoulder uncertainly, Téo willed her feet forward, to move without looking back and ushered her cousins toward the barrier. She had to give a warning look to the oldest of them, Rosita, having caught the eight-year-old’s telltale head rubbing; it was something she did right before an angry outburst.

What came next seemed to happen in slow motion.

For a moment, she couldn’t understand why Diego had jerked in her arms and then began crying. Then a rock hit her - in the shoulder. They were shouting at them again. Handing Diego over to Rosita and guiding them around the corner where the barrier was located, she did a quick, almost automatic head count. Once satisfied with the number, Téo whirled around. The blood was thudding in her ears as she walked right up to the boy that had thrown the rock that had hit her baby cousin. Not the one that hit her, that was a girl, but him. He had a lot of freckles and a slight underbite.

She hit him right in his stupid underbite.

A week later, she was sent off to school to study magic, now that she was finally of age. When it was her turn to step forward, she came with bruised knuckles, and at once, one carving roared and the other beat its wings towards her.

Téo smiled, despite the busted lip.

A rolled up canvas was propped in the corner. It was blank.

The shape of the sheet was human and so very not human at the same time. The sheet never ruffled. Never twitched. The form was too still. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there. There was so much movement and noise around her. She had been at school, in class, talking about what she would be doing for her birthday. She was turning fifteen soon. The first snowfall of the year in Massachusetts had been that morning. But her mama had been ill. For a while. Téo had always been told it wasn’t that bad, that she would be getting better soon.

Her father’s appearance had been unexpected.

Téo hadn’t made it home in time.   

So she found herself standing there. Rooted. If she thought about what was underneath it… What was really lying on the table in front of her… A heavy, suffocating sickness filled her chest, creeped up her throat. She had to breathe. She had to…

Study the lines.

Téo’s eyes narrowed, that intense quality glinting in them, as she followed the sloping lines, the shadows of the lit candles surrounding the figure. The sheet was very, very white. It seemed stiff and not warm enough. That was wrong. Because what was underneath had always been so warm, light filled, and seemed to move in colors. This was wrong.

Just when Téo couldn’t breathe, she felt a hand, strong and steadying, grip her left shoulder. She knew her papa by the smell of worn leather, campfire smoke, and soap. Sometimes whatever food he had been working with would weave its way through too. But he hadn’t been cooking. He didn’t say anything, simply kept his hand on her shoulder, and she desperately wanted to lean into him, have him make it all go away. But she didn’t. She remained rigid, jaw set.

Dully, she realized the grandparents she never met weren’t there. They never even sent a letter. Even now, even this, and they still couldn’t show up in her life.

One year later…

She was still gone.

The move had been suggested by her aunt. A change of scenery might be just what they needed, especially for Téo, and there was a job opening already in the process of being secured for her papa. Téo welcomed the move with outstretched, empty arms - on one condition. If she were to completely uproot her life, and in the year she would be turning sixteen, then she wanted the freedom to choose her company in a foreign land: Tepi, Xoco, and Coyolton.

Her papa agreed.


House Request: Gryffindor, probably? But I could potentially work with whatever you all think is best.


Option I:

Her abuelita had been horrified to hear about how Téo’s new school had dungeons. She had wanted her granddaughter to come back home immediately, because why in - various saints’ names that she always blanked out on - did a school need dungeons? A fond smirk played at the corners of Téo’s mouth, just thinking about the elderly woman’s face. Her papa was in it for it with that one, she’d bet on that. Téo just assumed it was because it was a castle, and didn’t all castles have dungeons? Maybe it was a design requirement.

As she made her way further into the dampness, she adjusted the bag on her back more onto her shoulder, and a thought crossed her mind: then again, this castle was built for the sole purpose of teaching, wasn’t it?

Europeans were a little strange.

Téo’s dark eyes were roving every inch of the dungeon as she wandered, particularly watching the way the shadows from the torches bounced against the stone and back into darkness. She had come down here because, frankly, she had never seen a dungeon before. She’d never been in a basement even, and the whole sensory experience was astonishing to her, if a bit…pungent.

Her hand was halfway to her pocket, contemplating smoking to fight off the smell, when she heard footsteps. Pausing, Téo briefly thought about reaching for her wand, when she remembered that there were common rooms down in the dungeons. Not that that didn’t mean she wouldn’t need her wand, because with this place, who knew what was going to jump out at her?

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

Téo’s brow knitted and her hand fell away. Despite the impressive echo, she could tell the voice was small. Holding her hands up in a non-threatening manner, she came around the corner as easily as she could, and spotted the kid in the torchlight.

Hola,” her smile was warm, open, as it often was with children, “Just me. Not Emma Birch.” Because who the hell was Emma Birch? “My name’s Téo. Do you need any help?”


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):
Addison Wittington, Bianca Rosalind Lecuyier, Adrian Dragomir, etc. etc.

How did you find us?:
Uhm. That was an overly long time ago. Probably Google.
Congratulations! This application has been accepted.

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10