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Elsewhere Accepted / George W. Viggano
« on: 23/09/2015 at 06:42 »
E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: George Washington Viggano
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Blood Status: Pureblood
Education:
Salem Institute
Residence:
Hotel, but looking to rent a room in London
Occupation
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?
No?
Requested Magic Levels:
- Charms: 8
- Divination: 9
- Transfiguration: 7
- Summoning: 8
Nope
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Everyone connected to Quincy Carlisle
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
1923, SALEM
This was not good.
There was a bunch of reasons why this was not a good situation to be in. For one, he had the evidence on him. That of course was the number one reason it was not good. The second reason it was not good was that his accomplices decided to bail on him. That of course was his fault. He probably should have not been the last one to leave the scene of the crime. That of course would be rectified with revenge, but it would come later.
Right now he had to deal with the issue he was in at the moment.
There were good things to this situation of course. He knew he was in trouble and what for. Knowing that helped him to focus on the fact he needed to convince the person that had caught him, that it really was not his fault. So in the end he was going to talk a lot, confuse them, and then in the end lie.
He pressed his lips together, blue eyes looking up at the person sitting across from him at the table. Taking a deep breath he gave a smile and started off quite seriously, “Did you know George Washington never cut down a cherry tree?”
At twelve years old he was able to get off with a warning after being caught out after curfew.
He never got in trouble since then.
Of course, he’d have to get caught.
1929, POTOMAC RIVERSIDE
George took a moment to balance the stone in his hand. Tossing it up and down before pulling back his arm and lobbing it out to plop into the river in front of him. Looking across the expanse he sighed as he debated how long he should stay out here to mope.
He generally did not mope.
There were moments he was disappointed, or did not like the outcome of things, but moping took too much work. For instance, he was simply doing this because it seemed like the thing to do. That was what happened when you broke up with someone after a long time, right?
He never really understood that. Which was why he really was not alone, and at the moment his company was throwing more rocks than him much more excitedly. He probably should not have brought his nephew along to mope with him. He watched for a moment as the dark haired boy was at the moment throwing a lot of rocks into the river. Making George give a light chuckle before sighing as he crouched down on the bank.
“Did you know that George Washington threw a sickle across the Potomac River? He won a bet like that…. Course it was a charmed sickle.”
The boy paused with a bunch of rocks in his hand. Blinking at George before giving a wide toothy grin, “No!” And little Frank Viggano Jr. went back to throwing the rocks in his hand out at the river.
He gave a grin in response before shrugging, “Y’know… I’m not good at this moping thing. Let’s not do it again.”
Frank did not even pause as he tossed another large group of pebbles into the water, “Okay!”
He gave another laugh before standing up and putting his hand on Frank’s head, beginning to steer him away from the water. “Let’s get some ice cream before you fill up the river…”
“Okay!”
1936, VIGGANO LTD WAREHOUSE
He had just gotten back from completing a client’s request. Which had gone well. Sort of. He had been seen but he had not been caught. Which in George’s book was a success. It was not like he was going to be reported by the person that had seen him.
Maybe…
But since he had gotten back he was supposed to report to Robert, who actually handled the really businessy stuff.
“He really liked dogs.”
Robert scrunched up his nose. Frowning at the paperwork in front of him, before sighing and writing something down with one of his pens. He had like three of them, and all of them were moving at the same time. George was always amazed at his older brother’s ability to be so productive. Each of his brothers had their strength, but when it came to multitasking he doubted that anyone could compete with Robert.
“Had about fifty or more during his lifetime.”
Still, his small tidbit of facts did not seem to be phasing him. Which also made him scrunch up his nose, but he kept on going. There was really no point in trying to talk to Robert when he was doing this, but he did it anyways. Sitting in silence was never something he liked to do, and Robert was a teetotaller so there was not any booze in here either.
“So most of them were hounds… I really like hounds. Maybe I should get a dog?”
He looked back up at Robert who did not look up at him, or even make a grunt that he had heard.
“Y’know… You are a real square.”
He gave a groan dropping himself back on the couch. He had to hide a bottle of booze in here. It was the only way he’d be able to survive this boredom.
1937, IN A GOVERNMENT BUILDING IN WASHINGTON D.C.
“Mr. Viggano. Do you know how much trouble you’re in?”
He was in quite a bit of trouble yes. He knew this and yet, he simply looked calmly across at the rather bland looking man sitting across from him. Government salary, so his clothing was not all that expensive. Plain black robes, a tie, and a white dress shirt that had a few stains on it. Nothing too noticeable, but he could imagine what it could have been. He looked at his hands and the cuffs that were placed on them.
“I can imagine,” He said in a blasé voice, a smile and shrug, “I suppose though…I’m not in a cell. So, I can’t be in that much trouble.”
The man across from him just narrowed his eyes for a moment. Glaring at him as he continued to give a look that seemed unperturbed at this situation. Yes, George was in trouble but this was nothing like his worst case scenario he had imagined. The worst case was that he would be in a cell for a very long time with no one to talk to. Then of course prison, and then he’d have to figure out how to make friends in there. George let the smile fade for a moment as the Hit Wizard Agent continued his glare in an attempt to put the fear of the entire wizarding U.S. Government into him, “This is serious, Mr. Viggano.”
“It’s George. You can call me George...I know you have that in your files. You probably even know what I ate for breakfast. Actually… Do you mind making that for me? It’s close to breakfast again right?”
The glare of course was not working. Yet, George waited a few more beats allowing the government agent to try, but George had won when he had heard a frustrated sigh escape the older man.
This was George’s cue as he chuckled, pulling his cuffed hands into his lap, “Did you know that George Washington in the battle of Monogahela, he had two horses shout out from underneath him?” He gave a look of disbelief at this before shaking his head, “Imagine… If their bullets had aimed higher he wouldn’t be around.”
The Hit Wizard in front of him just tensed his jaw before clearing his throat, “Mr. Viggano… However you look at this, you’re in trouble.”
“I mean… This battle was twenty years before the American Revolutionary War.”
The government official just scrunched his nose frowning much more sternly at George.
“He was a real lucky son of a bitch, don’t you think?”
“And your point is?”
George gave a short laugh and a shrug, “Just hoping I’m the same way.” He put his hands back on the table, setting the cuffs down next to him.
“So, what can I do for Uncle Sam?”
Roleplay:
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:
Great Britain.
It had been a few years since he had been here. The war certainly had hampered his ability to travel in certain places, but he had of course gone where he had needed to. If there is one thing his brother was good at, it was taking care of the little details, which was unfortunate sometimes. He really disliked getting shot at, and almost getting blown up.
That was not fun, though he supposed getting shot at was mostly the fault of Uncle Sam. Not his brother...
This trip was going to be less stressful though. He was not in a warzone, and although he was here to work (for both the US and the family company), there was family out here. Little Frankie had invited him out to meet his family, and it had been almost a decade since he last saw the young man. He had been floored at the idea he had gotten married, and had two kids, but as long as Frankie was happy.
Walking down the street, he took a moment to stop and check his bearings. Head lifted up to look over the crowd and that was when someone caught his attention. it was difficult to miss the woman yelling out her distress, and of course George did not ignore this call for help. He jogged over, smiling at the woman as he came up, and tipping an imaginary hat.
He kneeled down to retrieve the heel, before offering his hand out for her to take, "Hi, I'm George. Couldn't help noticing that you need some assistance."
OTHER
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