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Messages - Chelsea Chái

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Elsewhere Accepted / Chelsea Chái
« on: 25/04/2020 at 00:41 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Chelsea Alice Chái
Gender: Female
Age: Twenty-Two (April 26th, 1937)
Blood Status: Halfblood

Hogwarts, Ravenclaw (1948 to 1952); homeschooled/tutored (1952 to 1955)

Apartment in Stonebridge, London

International Policymaker Apprentice; Part-time Hostess

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?
Yes—the Ministry of Magic

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 9
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Summoning: 9
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:
Sia & co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
summer of 1947

"Do you know where we live, Mum?"

Her voice was loud, certainly enough to carry over the sound of the food on the stove. She'd learned to speak like that—like she had a purpose, even when she didn't—for fear of being drowned out completely. Her mother didn't look up.

"They ask you that in your workbook?"


"Don't lie." It got her to look up, though only to glare sternly at her daughter. She was quick to return her focus to the vegetables in her pan, and Chelsea gave up on trying to claim her complete attention; she was lucky to get half. "You know where we live. Where the world ends, in London."

"Yeah, World's End. In Chelsea, London."

"That the answer to your question?"

She stared at her name: Chelsea Chái. It mocked her from the top of the page, printed in that stupidly neat cursive she'd spent so long perfecting, an unforgettable label stamped on the few items she got to claim as her own.


winter holidays, 1951

She'd changed her hair while she was away at school—cut it short, started curling it, and chopped off her bangs.

She was lucky she'd made it in the doorway.

"You don't like how I cut your hair?"

"No, Mum—I—"

"They taught you that at school? That you're too good for your family?" For me, she meant.

"No, my friends, they thought—"

"Friends are not more important than family."

Her mother stopped talking, and Chelsea knew that it time for her to stop, too. She'd lost the argument; she'd never really had a chance.

summer of 1952

"We can't afford that."

"You think you know how to spend my money better than me?"

"I didn't mean—"

"That school isn't good for you. You act different. You're corrupted"

Her mother was right—she was different because of Hogwarts—but she was wrong, too. Hogwarts hadn't corrupted her. She was changing—growing restless of the death grip her mother used to hold her close, getting tired of having to shut up and sit down when people at Hogwarts let her speak her mind, hating that she'd been raised to live in the world her mother used to know and not the one they were all living in, now—and it was for the better.

Chelsea bit her tongue. If she tried, she would only lose this fight, just like she'd lost all the ones in the past.

She unenrolled from Hogwarts.

spring of 1956

Her fork clinked against her plate when she set it down.

"I've got to go soon. I have work."

"I don't like that restaurant. You sound funny, now."

"It's just an accent, Mum. I'm there all the time. I've started picking it up, but I—"

"You sound wrong. Fake."

Chelsea opened her mouth just to shut it a moment later. Neither of them said anything for the rest of the meal; it wasn't unusual. She thought about what her mother had said for longer than she cared to admit.

fall of 1958

Her day at work had been filled, like it always was, with people she didn't quite fit with and who wouldn't let her forget it. Chelsea had wanted to return to her apartment, to the company of her cat and the silence that came with living alone. She was sat at the table in her mother's house, instead, because her relatives were in town and she'd promised her mother she'd come.

At least, she'd figured, she would fit with her family.

They were speaking Mandarin. She'd never learned it—Focus on English, her mother had insisted—so she'd stayed quiet.

Her aunt tried to ask her a question.

"I'm sorry, I don't—"

Her aunt said something else she couldn't understand, and she felt her cheeks begin to heat. The five of them—her aunt, her uncle, her two cousins, and her mother—were laughing. Her ears warped the sound of it until she was certain they were mocking her.

She'd been wrong; she didn't fit with them, either.

Option One Roleplay Response:
She was making a scene.

Chelsea felt her cheeks burn with second-hand embarrassment, and she considered just rushing past with the rest of the crowd to leave her there to fend for herself. In the end, because she couldn't help it, because it was what she was good at doing, she stayed.

It never hurt to make friends; it was dangerous to make enemies.

One of her arms was busy pressing a stack of books and folders against her chest so that they wouldn't slip. She used her other to offer the woman some help, bending her knees slightly so that her hand would be easier to take.

"I'm—" Her name caught in her throat—Chelsea from Chelsea—and she paused. "—Elle."

She hated that nickname, too, but Elise from Chelsea was worse than the original. Her mother hadn't given her much to work with.

"Do you want help?"

How did you find us? Google

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