E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Vega Violet Nettlebed
Gender: Female
Age: 12/13 (birthday: 10:43AM on 23 March 1939)
Bloodline:Pureblood/Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Magda Fellwater & Atlas Nettlebed (NPCs)
Residence: Foxe Farm
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?IC student at Hogwarts.
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? Nope.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Calypso Ross & friends c:
Biography: (100 words minimum.)
00:01am. sunday 23 march 1952.
Thirteen was quite a few teens. Three, to be precise.
She was
getting old, and if Maia was to be believed, from here on out there was no stopping time. Her sister had told her that time actually got faster the longer you were alive, so that by the time you were a grandma, the years practically skipped by. One grandchild after another like they were just days in a week, until one day --
BAM! -- you dropped dead.
That was how it worked according to Maia, anyway.
And if there was even the slightest chance that Maia was right, then it meant that Vega was running out of time.
When she crept from the shared bedroom, she was careful to avoid the creaky floorboard that lay two inches from the doorway, and she was careful to avoid the creaky stair that was sixth up from the bottom, and she was careful to avoid any other potentially creaky aspects of the farmhouse as she stole silently through the darkened rooms and slunk out of the back door.
It was dark outside, and cold too.
Rewrapping her scarf a little more firmly around her neck and doing up the topmost button on her puffy winter coat, Vega trekked across the muddy field, leaving a trail of perfect, dark green footprints in the damp grass behind her. When she got to the stile, she swung first her bag over, and then herself.
The journey had begun.
06:57am. sunday 23 march 1952.
She couldn't remember the house number. Was it 75 Grimstone Street or 57? Maybe it wasn't even Grimstone Street at all. Maybe it wasn't even
London.
No, no, she was panicking. She knew it had to be in London, because she'd visited him before. A long time ago, yes, but she remembered the bustling streets and the crowds of people that could only translate into the capital city.
Funnily enough, it didn't look like London today, even though Vega knew it was, because the man she had managed to persuade into giving her a lift had dropped her off somewhere around Leicester Square about an hour ago.
(It would have been stupid to ask him if he could drive a little closer to Residential Wizarding London. Stupid, and probably asking for the Ministry to parade in and scoop her off the Muggle's hands too.)
But, anyway -- it didn't look like London today, because not only was it a Sunday, it was a very early Sunday, and that meant that Grimstone Street was deserted. Not a single light flickered in any of the windows, let alone a real person. There was nobody that she could ask.
...Now that she thought about it, it was
definitely house number 57. Vega recognised the blue door.
10:42am. sunday 23 march 1952.
She had been slumped on the step outside the door for the best part of four hours now, waiting for the right time.
She knew for certain that 57 Grimstone Street was, in fact, the correct address, because she could hear him inside, talking in a muffled murmur that seeped out from beneath the front door and echoed in her ears.
He sounded just like she remembered him sounding, though those memories all felt a very long way away. It had been years since she'd seen him, and even longer since he'd first left.
Vega pushed herself off the stone step and stood. Her legs, previously numb from both the cold and from having sat in the same position for far too long, twinged with a dull ache. But she couldn't stop now, couldn't pause to shake some feeling back into her frozen limbs.
The truth was, she was all out of time.
Vega knocked.
10:43am. sunday 23 march 1952.
The blue door opened at precisely seventeen seconds past ten forty three in the morning.
"...Vega?"She breathed out a breath that she hadn't even realised she was holding.
"Hi, Dad."
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:It was a beautiful day to be outside; but then, most days were beautiful-days-to-be-outside sort of days for Vega, so this was hardly a special one.
The girl was currently sprawled on her stomach, preoccupied with examining a rather interesting mushroom. The plant was sprouting from the base of a large oak tree in the centre of the park, and it was a species that she hadn't seen before. At least, the tiny orange spots decorating its underbelly (or
gills, to those who understood mushrooms) were certainly new to the young teenager.
It was possible, Vega mused to herself as she rolled over onto her back and squinted up at the sun, that it was poisonous. No, scratch that, it was
very likely that it was poisonous, and that meant that she wanted to take it for herself. It was always the toxic plants that proved to be the most useful, particularly in potions, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to experiment with it.
Now, if she could just find something in her satchel to keep it in...
"...Do you want to play?"A shadow fell across her, and Vega promptly sat up, shielding her mushroom from view. The girl who had spoken didn't look old enough to care; but then, who was Vega to judge what it was that this child did in her free time? What if she happened to be extremely interested in unusual species and stole it?
"Um," Vega answered, pulling her bag towards her and beginning the search for a container of some kind. It didn't feel right to simply say
no, but she had more important things to be doing than entertaining someone who looked to be about Rana's age. "Maybe. But you know," her fingers curled around an empty ink pot, "My sister's just over there, by the swings. She's called Rana, and I bet you'd have even more fun playing with her!"
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