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Topics - Corentine Thorne

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1
Suggestions & Questions / Face Claim
« on: 28/07/2014 at 06:23 »
So I'd like to change my character's FC by making a double claim and I have informed the owner of the original claim. Unfortunately, the owner has not been online for the past 2 months.

2
Suggestions & Questions / Extension.
« on: 04/06/2014 at 12:49 »
I might not be able to finish my application as quickly as I'd planned. ):


I've caught a fever and the medicine is messing up with my brain. </3

3
Elsewhere Accepted / Corentine Thorne {Adult;COMPLETE}
« on: 01/06/2014 at 14:05 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Corentine Thorne Zalander{ Pre-Warp: Sofi, PTSD amnesiac}
Gender: Female
Age: 20

Education: 
Hogwarts {11-13}
Self-practiced, multiple sources of tutelage {13-current}


Residence:
Zalander Haus, Sweden, when she feels like it.

Occupation
Contractor
{Wizarding and Muggle-world: Mafia Consigliere}


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?
St. Mungo's, she visits her sister.

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

  • Charms: 10
  • Divination: 10
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 6



Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
With Caspian Koenig, she acts as his personal aide for his discreet businesses.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Caspian Koenig etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Corentine Thorne walked, her steps firm and full of power, her stride filled with the menacing strength that resulted from years of hard training, combat and post-alcoholic endeavors for violence. Her slender muscles taut beneath the sheath of coarse wool sleeve, her eyes sharply kept vigilance as she surveyed her surroundings. If one is so unfortunate as to invest attention so much as to raise Corentine's own, they will realize that one of the tubular sleeves floated airily in the wafting wind with cold by its edges. Her stiff shoulders seemed to carry a burdening weight that is shapeless and unseen, the dreary blur of early British morning brings no positivity to lighten a new day.

Her shoes clicked as her sulking, black shadow shattered the gray monotony that was the lifeless streets of Wizarding London before the it wakes from its drowse with loud roaring throngs of its citizens.

Corentine's thoughts were slowly emerging from the sea of her unconscious, clearing and sharpening as if the rising day. She planned her route systematically, arranging her goals and objectives according to importance, as she always did. A low growl sounded in her stomach, but Corentine paid it no heed. She had once been accustomed to long stretches of starvation, the acids in her abdomen corroding away were a much more bearable pain than the constant assault she received just to fight to sate the hunger that plagued her.

It has been long since those traumatic experiences, but each passing moment of it was imprinted deeply in the recesses of her mind. Corentine still rouses from their persistent haunt in the night.

Her steps waver once she is reminded of her sister, but resume their previous precision almost instantaneously. Corentine's chin was always lifted at an angle that neither denoted arrogance nor modesty, there was a mixture of pride that bends to no force and something other that found no accurate adjective.The angle was intimidating, the notion was dangerous, the message was promised violence if offended.

She had a reputation fueled by blood and fear to prove it.

A bell tinkled at the indication of a newly found customer. Most of the tables were empty of its usual occupants, the eerie absence of stereotypical chatter and gossip unbalanced its subtly cheery choice of furniture. Corentine slid a chair backwards and took a seat in front of an equally misplaced customer in the gleeful room.

Even though it has been many years since Corentine has first set eyes upon Caspian Koenig, he has never since aged or changed. It seems that time had graced both her employers with all the benevolence it could muster, but from Corentine's rudimentary understanding of their history, it was safe to say that fate never blessed any of them, including herself.

They had settled into a mutually agreed silence, Corentine dipped her head back to drink in the canary yellow ceiling, an antique fan twirled as if a flower in bloom. There was the subtle clang of chinaware.

"Well?", her sultry voice echoed in the hollow cafe, hollow of any perceptible emotionality.

"Well what?", Caspian's voice was smooth and faultlessly innocent, with the standard accent of Oxford English. A calculated smile played on his lips, perfected by rigorous and harsh practice.

"Don't play a fool, Koenig." succinct and terse.

"The Russians were completely and utterly angered by your splendid little performance. They were haranguing about your arrogance. They said that you were volatile. Uncontrollably wild."Corentine could've spat a mouthful of bitter bile into his cup of sweetened tea, but she couldn't be bothered to do so.

"As well as they should be." Remorseless.

"The Pakhan said that you were insolent and he loved every bit of it. He believes that your conceit is entirely deserved. He even volunteered to relieve me of the headaches you possibly bring, offered to have you occupy a fatal vacancy left by your little incident." Caspian's voice was a lazy drawl, as if a casual comment on fine weather.

Upon catching his words, Corentine's head snapped forward to scrutinize Caspian, who was completely unperturbed by the intense vehemence in her unrelenting gaze.

She broke into a maniacal fit of laughter, but fell silent soon after the outburst.

“Marvelous scheme he has. Sends his traitor to me, without giving him any substantial knowledge or warning. Has the idiot anger me, and in my anger he hopes that I will take care of his garbage.” Corentine's voice was flat, monotone and stolid. “The idiot brings his entourage. His little clique. The Pakhan knows there's many rats deserting his ship, and he sends them to me so help him get rid of his pests. I deliver, he uses this as ploy for dispute, asks for compensation.”

Caspian was as calm as always, his manor showed no sign of discomfort or awkwardice, nor anxiety.

There was a dangerous glint in Corentine's eyes.

“You knew.”

“I've always known.”

 Caspian commented, procuring a velvet box from his coat. It was rectangular,  subtly colored but from Corentine's brief glance she knew the fabric was exclusive luxury for that select circle.

“I'd be wasting my breath, but you should be more.....”, Caspian brushed his coat, “Alert.”

Corentine understood that she was one of the best the Mafia world could offer. She was pure violence under human skin. That was as humble she could get.

She outstretched her only hand to snatch the velvet box, never sparing Caspian a glance. In one fluid motion that was too fast of a blur to catch, her once hollow sleeve was now equipped with a hand. Corentine flexed her repaired prosthetic limb, the feeling was alien but ironically familiar.
She swiped a butterknife, and in a fleeting moment Caspian's empty cup was diced to shards.

Corentine pursed her mouth, “Not bad.”

Caspian placed the handle of the destroyed chinaware on its saucer, “It's been reinforced.”

Corentine rose from the squeaking stool to leave the cafe without indecision,  her words to bounce off the walls.

“Thanks.”

"I assume you will take matters into your own hands, as usual."

"I will."

"Information of their whereabouts shall be sent to you shortly."

"Ah."
 
There was the quiet slide of the door on smooth tile.




















 


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

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:

It was a particularly placid morning for Corentine, the pills that she swallowed earlier had proven to calm her nerves and relieve her of any immediate impulse. She had two hands, one warm while the other cold, in the pockets of her black coat.Dots and flecks of snow found refuge on her shoulders and in her rich hair, decorating her like Christmas Day ornaments.

She was going to check on the brats today.

Corentine tried to not light a cigar she had received graciously from the Russian bratva that had convened a meeting last week. She was revered, and mostly feared in her circle and her name rocked all the other echelons higher than her own.

If there were.

Yet, Corentine couldn't laugh at her own pathetic pun because obviously someone had decided to intervene and create an even better one. She never did like red and gold.

With a deadpanned face, Corentine beheld the apologizing stranger, and slowly picked off the tinsel from her shoulders with her warm hand, and gave it back to him. Corentine coldly shouldered past him, she knew the man had shuddered at some point as he looked into her eyes.

Stringent effort to restraint her prosthetic hand in her right pocket from falling under her subconscious murderous impulse showed in her taut jaw, veins in her temple surfaced. The magical prosthetic arm's writhing became subdued, as Corentine slowly left the vicinity of the strange older man.
 


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