E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Logan Fetterly
Gender: Male
Age: 16 (or 15, pending sort)
Bloodline:Halfblood
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): No
Residence: 11b Webber St, London
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?Camp Loki
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? No
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Tobi / Aeth / Nora / Vincent / Frank / Zina / Rosemary / Goldie / Lillian
Biography: (100 words minimum.)It was
the day. Everyone bustled around their large, wood-framed house, keeping themselves busy. His father was packing upstairs, mother in the kitchen preparing meals, siblings running around. An almost nostalgic grin formed on Logan's face, before shaking his head. Soon, it would just be him and his father in London - the latter had taken a diplomatic posting with the English Ministry for Magic.
Logan's reasons for going were far more complex. In part, it was due to the bustle of his family, and having his mom work at the school he attended. To his family, he told them it was because he wanted to pursue a Quidditch career, and there was little chance of that coming out of the Quodpot-obsessed Salem. As the captain of the intermuriel Quidditch team, he had led them to victory in the annual Salem/Ilvermorny 'derby' for the last two years. That was not the term Logan would have used, but he needed to get used to British slang sometime.
Though, what the Brits would think of his American accent, he wasn't sure. Maybe he would drop a 'y'all' every once and a while to see if they'd notice how strange it sounded coming from someone from Massachusetts.
His own reasons though were a combination of the two, but also something he did not fully understand. It didn't worry him though: not much did, and since it seemed the right thing to do he went ahead and did it. The clammer upstairs had stopped, and Logan slipped the notebook, filled with a combination of doodles and tactics, into his pocket before heading over to the stairs.
He knew, though he was no Seer, what would happen next. His mother would fuss over him, brushing his hair. He would give a grimace, though acquiesce. Maybe protest a little about him being too old. His father would make his way downstairs with a trunk that wouldn't fit in the Floo to New York, before heading upstairs to grab something he forgot.
That future-nostalgic smile returned to his face for a moment. It would be the last time any of that happened, at least for a long while.
Then, it was off for something new.
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 very nice day. As he had come to learn in the few weeks he had lived in the country, that was very rare indeed. London, he had learned, never seemed to have a comfortable temperature, so he nipped a bit of floo powder to 'get away to the country.' Really, the British thought something like Godric's Hollow was rural.
They didn't know what they were missing.
It was not bad. With a woosh overhead, he glanced up to see people actually playing Quidditch. Yes, it was not a full game, but it certainly was a difference from his home. Not worse, maybe a little better, but different. Different was good, staving off boredom.
Shaking his head, he relaxed on the bench, until a sharp shout caught his attention.
You! ...Do you want to play?"
The quick bark, then the more apprehensive second question, caught his attention. His eyes opened, and fell on a very young girl that was puttering on a very small broom. Logan's long legs unfolded, though he didn't stand, sitting upright and looking at her. The girl was certainly brave, and he was not going to admonish her for that.
"I think," he said, a small smile on his face, "I may be a little too old for that." Logan didn't want to brush her off entirely. His eyebrow quirked a little at the broom. "Aspiring Quidditch player, are you? What position do you play?" With a broom like that, she wouldn't leave the ground, let alone catch a snitch.
Children dreamed though, their dreams normally more vivid than the reality Logan lived in. It was a topic he could speak about in earnest with someone who had dreams of flying through the skies with a Quaffle in their arm. At the very least, he could keep an eye on her until her mother swung by to pick her up.
OTHERHow did you find us?
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