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Messages - Irene Dumont

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Elsewhere Accepted / Irene Dumont - Adult
« on: 23/08/2014 at 10:55 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Irene Dumont
Gender: Female
Age: turning 35 - born on August 31st 1907 ('45 - year before time warp)

Durmstrang - Class of '25 ('63 - year before time warp)

3 1/4 Belgrave Meadows North, Wizarding Belgravia District, London (just tap the wall with your wand between street number 3 and number 4 on the '1/4' that is etched there, that's how you get to the house)

Psychologist / 'Problem' Consultant (known only to very few people)

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?

Requested Magic Levels:

  • Charms: 10
  • Divination: 7
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 8
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Gabby, Chantal, Vicky, Izzy, Adela, Naomi and Venus

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Excerpts from the memoirs of one Irina Simonova.

"I am ... complicated.

My father was half-German, half-British. My mother was half-French, half-Russian.

Like I said ... Complicated.

My parents were married for only a couple of years. They clearly didn't match. My mother took me with her and gave me her maiden name. We lived in Leningrad ... But you're not interested where I lived and what I did in my childhood.

So, mother said I required education. The most suitable one seemed to be at Durmstrang Institute. So that's what I ended up choosing as my school. Plus I started learning some foreign languages. Mother said they would do me good."


"My first time ... I was 15. It was a boy, a year older. Didn't particularly like him, but he forced me to make out with him. I decided that it wasn't fair so ... I stole his wallet while we made out. He found it later, empty and with a note (in Russian, of course). 'You stole my lips. I stole your money.' I don't know if he figured out who did it, because he seemed to be sharing his lips with a whole lot of girls.

What ... Did you expect to read something else? It was the first time I committed a crime. Fooled you ... "


"So I was 23 and I had left Russia behind. That bastard deserved it, after what he had done to my mother. Seriously, killing her in front of me and then kidnapping and forcing me to be his mistress, then his wife? Then cheating on me with several other women? Did he really think I wouldn't react? I guess he really didn't think much about Russian women. A poison burning his insides was exactly what he deserved ... Ok, so perhaps I shouldn't have slipped that poison vial in his current mistress' purse. And the poison ingredients stashed in her room. But she was so obnoxious ... From all that money that he had, I got most of it before departing. Should keep me warm for a long while."


"So it became a living, I guess. A very ... profitable living. Some men are just so easy to lead. Then it was so easy to get evidence, blackmail them that you would show the evidence to their wives and get paid to be quiet. And that safety net that I added ... the evidence staying with my lawyer. And if he didn't hear from me regularly, he would've released the evidence to all the wives involved. That worked perfectly. But I decided to leave Germany. The trail of angry lovers as getting a bit long. I was turning 28 soon. It was time to visit another part of me ... Vive La France!"


"So I could speak three languages fluently then and was learning a fourth. I had found a decent young man who knows English. Payment was in bed. Oh, no no ... not that kind. We just sat in bed and I was listening to his troubles. Quite a few of them. I had become a good listener. Some sort of psychologist, if you would. A good cover job for my real one. Speaking of that, I was starting to gather more than just secrets for wives, but also secrets for myself. Some of these men had hidden pasts and have stuff that wouldn't want out in the open. I guess nobody is innocent. Least of all me ... Pay up, messieurs, if you were stupid enough to reveal your secrets to me.


"Another long trail, another departure. But there was trouble brewing. I just managed to sneak into Britain before the borders were closed. I wish I could have taken Pierre with me. But he chose to stay ... At least, now I know English. It's not flawless, but the accent isn't as noticeable as before. It's time to settle here ... Hopefully for a longer time. Maybe I should stick to the psychologist part for now. In any case, all the secrets of the men left behind come with me. I hear they have a fancy vault in London. A place where I could stash them. I will take the name of my grandmother ... the French one. Somehow I don't think I could just fool them to be British. And a German or a Russian name at this name ... that might not be the best of ideas.

So Irene Dumont I will become. And I might have just enough money to get myself a fancy house in a classy neighborhood. Or ... I could just blackmail whoever is in charge of the residences there. Let's see if he's married ... "

And her memoirs end here, in January 1939. For the moment, anyway. They will be resumed ... You can count on that. There is plenty more to be said after that.

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:
It was lunchtime. The perfect time to sit down and observe. Perhaps pick up a client or two. For either of her two jobs. Although the people rushing by through Diagon Alley at this hour would most likely fit for the 'regular job'. Because some of these individuals would really need a shrink. But maybe one or two just needed a 'problem' to be 'taken care of'. To each with their own things. Irene wasn't going to be picky about it.

Sure, one job paid better than the other, but ... hey, psychologists made plenty of money too. Especially with the war outside the door ... figuratively speaking. Lots of people with mental and emotional issues. A rather large amount of prospective clients. The other 'job' had less frequent opportunities. Nonetheless, they did exist and she was interested in each and every one of them.

For the past few moments, the dark-haired woman's eyes had been watching the rather frustrated reporter being pushed around and not seeming to be getting much from those rushing past her. Nobody was stopping for her. Maybe it was just a casual question to ask and she just needed a few answer for her article. Then the woman collapsed just a few steps away from Irene's table, apparently brought down by a loose stone and a broken shoe. Which was well visible to the dark-haired Belgravian resident.

Irene's eyes glittered briefly, before she extracted her wand and summoned the shoe from within the rushing crowd and right on her table. "Excuse me ... Miss. Lady with the broken heel ... " She called out calmly towards the seemingly-desperate woman. "Does this belong to you?"

Yep, this one surely needed a shrink. She looked seriously out of sorts. Definitely didn't need Irene's 'other services', but sometimes one individual led to another ... Pieces fell into place quite nicely.

How did you find us? Ezboard, Yuku ... then here. :)

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