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Topics - Ciel Aimée Koell

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1

CHARACTER INFORMATION

Character Name: Ciel Aimée Koell
Gender: Never doubt that I’m a lady.

Age: Age is but a number, not an indication of maturity. I won’t be belittled because I’ve only around nineteen years.

Education: 
Beauxbatons: Class of 1937

Residence:
Wizarding London, in the home of Sebastian Koell

Applying to be: (select one, see here)
Photographer

Department of choice: (select one)
Domestic/Politics


Why did you request that particular department?
There were no vacancies in the other.

Requested Magic Levels: I'd just like to move them around a tiny, tiny bit.
Currently:
C9D5T10S7

Change To:
C9D7T10S6

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Ckeds and Co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
My mother was the type to smile while she demeaned herself.  “Yes, my Lord.” “Whatever you require, My Lord.” She’d bow her head with grace, tuck a strand of free hair back in place. Her tongue would never speak out of place, nor would it ever speak ill of the Master or his ways.   She would go about her duties with a kind smile and dainty motions.  I inherited her grace, her fine hair and gentle ways, but I bore a wicked tongue that proved difficult to hold.  I always wondered if my mothers thought how I did, if she secretly hated the castle.

I was a child of that house.

I longed to be outside with the fresh air and warm sun, I was a candle snuffed out in the cold walls and high ceilings.  Perhaps that’s why my mother named me after the sky; so I spread these metaphoric wings and fly the hell away.  Then again, she is a simple woman, and I doubt her mind was so clever to think of such a thing. 

I began to help her in duties at the age of six.

By the time I could remember, my elder brother was already at school (I felt jealousy that you cannot fathom when he left me in that house, all alone).  Though I never was alone, I had my mother and father, though I saw very little of the man.  I believed at the time he was some kind of very important socialite, going to events and writing stories about the time he had.  Now… I believe he was attempting to work himself to death.

I was to be primed and prepped to become the same house slave my mother was. Had you told me this was what my life was to become, when I was this girl, I may have just laughed in your face.  You see, when I was helping to clean dishes and serve the Master, I was hiding my bitter tongue.  How I craved and desired to speak my mind, join in debates between he and the men of the house as they smoked cigars more expensive than my own worth.   

My Master enjoyed split pea soup.

Had I any less control, there may have been spit in it.

Fret not, for I am the most delicate of ladies.  I would never regress to such a level, but in my younger years I had toyed with the thought.  The Master treated us well, or as well as most purebloods treat their house elves.  At the very least, he had treated my mother to coin and my brother and I to an education.   He was several years my elder, and it took me these several years to realize that I may not have been the most anticipated gift.  But I came none the less, and my presence would not be soon pushed aside.

I made sure I was recognized. 

My determination peeked when I received my letter for Beauxbatons.  I would outshine my brother, mother, the Master’s son.  I would do better than them all.  And I did.  I did everything and anything I possibly could to defeat them; I got better grades, took more classes, became a teachers assistant and still I felt shadowed.  By the time I graduated the feeling did not subside, and now our fine Master did not have the resources to hire my services.  Not that I ever would return to them, mind you, but work was hard to scrap up and even with all my talents I was struggling.

My brother introduced me to the house of Malthus, and that was where my talents lead me.  Doing a job I swore I’d never do again. That year of serving the lady had not been as bad as I anticipated, but her death hit us all hard. My pregnancy and loss even harder. At the request of my brother, I am once again seeking employment.

At the very least it’s not house work.


Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:
Jim hated Mondays.

He had always hated Mondays, really; that cursed beginning of the week, that day where it still should have been the weekend and yet there was work to be done - deadlines to be made - stupid lunch meetings to attend.  Even when ‘lunch meetings’ had been just plain lunch; ‘work’, homework, he had despised the start of classes and - all at once - the next five un-fun days before the weekend started up again.

Now, cloudy October morning, Jim hated Mondays more than ever.

His desk filled with the wide-open arms of the Sunday Prophet, he scribbled furiously over sections with a bright red ink.

All the new graduates with their impeccable NEWTs and superb teacher recommendations had come in last month, only too eager to start preaching the truth - their truth - to the whole of Wizarding Britain.

Jim’s train of thought was bitter, but he smiled wanly, for he had once been one of those recruits themselves.

Most of their dreams should have been been smashed in the first week, from the first time people like Jim had told them to fetch the group some coffee. Day after day, hour after hour, that was what they now said to their youngest colleagues, as their older counterparts had told him years before: At some point everyone has to fetch us our drinks.

Almost every year, the new recruits sat down and took it - and fetched the group some coffee - and maybe it was just the age or the nostalgia, but Jim was fairly certain that they deserved it all.

They did not deserve to publish half-coherent drafts with way too many adverbs and completely unmodulated opinions.

Jim threw down the quill in disgust, ink splattering onto his button-down shirt as though it were blood.

Smartly, he piled up bits of paper, and then, still angry, face marred by an unhappy Monday, deposited the pile in front of his door before reaching out to grab at the first person he saw.

What happened to this paper?”

Roleplay Response:
She had been reduced to an errand runner.

Not that such a job was minimal work, she had done so her entire life. She had been stuck in this cycle, again and again. Life in London had been difficult.  Austria had taken its toll, had stripped her down and left her abandoned. What was she doing, chasing after her brother and being nothing more than a hindrance to him? Childish ignorance had thought France to be difficult, but this place was just becoming a wet blanket of an adventure itself. All she had was her brother, and even he seemed to be growing tired of her.

The tapered waist and elegant curl of hair were done to perfect: a dress falling from her hips to match a pair of heels that clicked with each step. She had been paying attention to nothing but the tray of drinks she held.

Four coffees and a tea.

The orders had been placed and they asked why she hadn’t held a paper to pen. But it wasn’t necessary: taking orders was the only thing she seemed to excel at. She eyes flittered to the drinks once more. Every order perfect, down to the brew and how dissolved the sugar was.

”What happened to this paper?”

He grabbed her, and she stumbled. The coffee shook her hands and splatters of hot drink stained the trays white doily and burned the side of her arm. She shot the man a glare and yanked her arm free of his hold.

“Don’t touch me.”

But he was a man, and he wore a suit, the assumption that he was important was made. “Excuse my ignorance, Sir.” Her voice dripped with fake sugar, and no smile touched her lips. Soft hazels turned to the paper and blinked slow, “Ask someone who writes it.”

2
Elsewhere Accepted / Ciel Koell
« on: 07/11/2012 at 16:19 »
CHARACTER INFORMATION


Character Name:
  Ciel Aimée Koell

Gender:
 Never doubt that I’m a lady.

Age:
 Age is but a number, not an indication of maturity. I won’t be belittled because I’ve only around seventeen years.

Education: 
Beaxbatons

Residence:
Ruine Haute-Marne

Occupation
Keeper of the grounds at Ruine Haute-Marne.

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 9
  • Transfiguration: 11
  • Divination: 5
  • Summoning: 7

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
The Ruine Haute-Marne Gang

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Robert Oliveroot, Charles Kedding, Aylen Kanti, and co.

Biography:
My mother was the type to smile while she demeaned herself.  “Yes, my Lord.” “Whatever you require, My Lord.” She’d bow her head with grace, tuck a strand of free hair back in place. Her tongue would never speak out of place, nor would it ever speak ill of the Master or his ways.   She would go about her duties with a kind smile and dainty motions.  I inherited her grace, her fine hair and gentle ways, but I bore a wicked tongue that proved difficult to hold.  I always wondered if my mothers thought how I did, if she secretly hated the castle.

I was a child of that house.

I longed to be outside with the fresh air and warm sun, I was a candle snuffed out in the cold walls and high ceilings.  Perhaps that’s why my mother named me after the sky; so I spread these metaphoric wings and fly the hell away.  Then again, she is a simple woman, and I doubt her mind was so clever to think of such a thing. 

I began to help her in duties at the age of six.

By the time I could remember, my elder brother was already at school (I felt jealousy that you cannot fathom when he left me in that house, all alone).  Though I never was alone, I had my mother and father, though I saw very little of the man.  I believed at the time he was some kind of very important socialite, going to events and writing stories about the time he had.  Now… I believe he was attempting to work himself to death.

I was to be primed and prepped to become the same house slave my mother was. Had you told me this was what my life was to become, when I was this girl, I may have just laughed in your face.  You see, when I was helping to clean dishes and serve the Master, I was hiding my bitter tongue.  How I craved and desired to speak my mind, join in debates between he and the men of the house as they smoked cigars more expensive than my own worth.   

My Master enjoyed split pea soup.

Had I any less control, there may have been spit in it.

Fret not, for I am the most delicate of ladies.  I would never regress to such a level, but in my younger years I had toyed with the thought.  The Master treated us well, or as well as most purebloods treat their house elves.  At the very least, he had treated my mother to coin and my brother and I to an education.   He was several years my elder, and it took me these several years to realize that I may not have been the most anticipated gift.  But I came none the less, and my presence would not be soon pushed aside.

I made sure I was recognized. 

My determination peeked when I received my letter for Beauxbatons.  I would outshine my brother, mother, the Master’s son.  I would do better than them all.  And I did.  I did everything and anything I possibly could to defeat them; I got better grades, took more classes, became a teachers assistant and still I felt shadowed.  By the time I graduated the feeling did not subside, and now our fine Master did not have the resources to hire my services.  Not that I ever would return to them, mind you, but work was hard to scrap up and even with all my talents I was struggling.

My brother introduced me to the house of Malthus, and that was where my talents lead me.  Doing a job I swore I’d never do again.


Roleplay:
Roleplay Response:
A swirl of red wine in a dirty glass had the woman’s eyes wandering.  This bar could do with a cleaning, dust on painting’s frames an white cob webs decorating the corners.  Had she really become this person?  One who could not, even when out with friends, leave the working eye behind? A small sigh, and a gulp of crimson as she tried to join in the conversation.  She was often thought of as meek.  As a quiet girl to most, but one who had, how was it put? “Quite an opinion for a woman.”  She never considered herself meek, only observant. 

Maybe she was simply depressed, after graduating near top in her class she was reduced to this lack-luster life. Trimming flowers and caring for gardens that were so overgrown from miscare she swore up and down the rose bushes tried to bite her.  She raised lithe digits for another glass, faux silver bracelet clicking against the glass as she swirled it. 

The tug on her hem had the glass in the ready as a weapon.  How was she supposed to know it was a mere girl and not some pervert?  Warm chocolate hues glanced down to the girl, and Ciel found herself smiling, running a soothing hand across the mop of  curls.  “Shh, alright dear, it’s okay.” Her French accent held strong, though the strange mix of Italian made it  near impossible to decipher where she was from.   “We’ll find your and… Sammy’s mommy, no problem.”

Sliding from the bar stool she welcomed the little distraction, though it was a wonder why this child was out alone at this time of night.  She reached over and grabbed a few pretzels from the bar and handed them down to her and the puffskein.  “Now.  You never take food from strangers, you know.”  She paused, “But my name is Ciel Koell, and we’re not strangers anymore, so could you tell me your name?”  She nodded, reaching down to take the girls hand and find her mother.


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