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Messages - Quincy Carlisle

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And, Quincy is accepted.

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Edited it in. Sorry about that ^^;.

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Merlin's Order of Defense

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Quincy Astor Carlisle
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Blood Status (choose one): Pureblood
 
Education:
Hogwarts - Gryffindor '33
 
Residence:
An Apartment in Residential London, but rarely is found there
 
Division:
54th Brigade - Circe's Wolves
When it comes to fighting, Quincy has never been the sort to back down. He has been competing in a Quidditch professionally since he had graduated from Hogwarts. He likes action and movement,  in Circe's wolves he definitely will find that. Graduating from Hogwarts as a Gryffindor he will show his courage even as the odds start stacking against him. Quincy is the sort to fight until the end, and also with a certain sort of humor that you need to stay sane in the war. He also does not want anyone to think he is joining the war simply to sit in the gentleman’s club and do nothing.

 
Rank:
Lieutenant - Quincy comes from a prominent family and has the ability to lead. Calling out strategy on the quidditch field and working with his team and trusting them, he has experience in high stress situations. Of course he knows that war is different than the quidditch field, but he is the sort that does not run away from the fight, even if it means he may lose his life (and others). He also does not want a position that makes him sit around on his rear all day and just give orders. If he is going to give orders that may kill men, then he will also be there with the same chance of dying.
 
Specialty:
Reconnaissance Officer - Quincy growing up had to learn to be light and agile on his feet. Especially since he did not like standing still for too long. He was not the sort that sneaked around too much but he was the sort to be running through the hall ways and if he was not careful would be scolded for whatever he broke in the Carlisle home, and place of business (Auction House). He has always had a good sense of people and their actions while growing up. While at Hogwarts he paid attention to his divination skill, thinking that it would come in handy on the quidditch field, and it definitely is advantageous to have in the war.
 
Requested Magical Levels:
  • Charms: 12
  • Divination: 15
  • Transfiguration: 9
  • Summoning: 7

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Thomas Sincade et al.
 
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Summer 1938
He was going to meet her for the first time since the decision had been made. Talks between his father, and hers had been going on since the beginning of the year, and now it was finally decided that this was going to happen. His throat felt dry as he waited for her to come down. Nervous even though, he knew he should not be. It was something that happened every day, and even then it was not like he despised her. They had known each other at Hogwarts, somewhat.
 
He tried to bring to mind Eirwen Medraut when she had been in the school uniform, and a blue tie around her neck. His eyes closing as he leaned against the banister of the stairs and arms crossed over his chest. She was at least three years younger than him. Only a fourth year when he had graduated, and he only saw flashes of her, of brown hair and stark blue eyes in the library. Eirwen Medraut had been a girl he knew because of family ties, but not much more than that at the time.
 
He had seen her once or twice after that, parties where they were supposed to attend, and then of course when talks of an arranged marriage was spoken of. He had tried to talk to her, but he felt like he was forcing it. In the end retreating with a smile and an excuse that he was needed somewhere else. He remembered a few days before talking to his brothers about her. How Edward called her a girl, and yet as he imagined her now she was not that. She had grown, and so had he of course but, that should not matter. He tensed his jaw, giving a glance over at the doors where his father and the head of the Medraut family were. His lips pursing before he turned brown eyes as he suddenly felt like he was not alone anymore. Eyes turned up to look at her as she began to descend the steps. Pushing himself up, he willed his self to calm down as he nodded his head and offered his arm for her to take.
 
They were going to get married.
 
He had to win her over somehow.
 
He did not know how though.
 
January 1939
 
Their father had contacted them in a hurry. Sending out house elves to collect them, and in the end forbidding them to go anywhere after a time. It was quite reasonable for him to be in such a panic after what had happened with the lockdown and all. That the Ellwood-Luxe heir, and Malthus's wife was killed. Of course their father would be worried and upset. The emotions rolling off of them felt by them all as Edward and Byron attempted to calm him with words (and were failing), while Arthur sat there waiting for the talking to stop. Hailee was at Hogwarts, so she was in no danger. Little Samantha probably was kept in the dark, because their father would not want to worry her.
 
He wished he knew what to do in this situation. What to say to assuage his father's worries and allow him to go back to his life and his world. He had always felt the halls of the Carlisle estate were stifling. The halls were long and wide of course, and rooms spacious but he always had to be careful with everything in here. Everything could be broken if too much roughhousing was done inside, he actually had been scolded quite a few times for running and sliding through the hallways with reckless abandon, and breaking quite a few items that were not supposed to be broken. He had jumped at the chance to join the pro quidditch circuit. It meant he would be traveling, and although half the time he had been in cramped spaces and in sweaty locker rooms, he felt more at home there than he did... while home.
 
His mother was the one that found him a few hours later. Calling him to eat, and they sat down like civilized family. Silent and poised, and he felt like he was drowning.
 
July 1939
"I want to join the service."
 
This was a very serious statement, said in quite a serious tone and with a serious face that fit so perfectly on his brother's face. Quincy's response though was not was appropriate for such a statement. As he choked on his drink and suddenly begin to howl out in laughter. His hands wrapped around his stomach as he put his hand on the table to keep himself up, as he continued to laugh violently even as he felt his brother's glare on him deepen.
 
"Why is that funny? I'm serious, Quince."
 
He gave another cough, his eyes watering as he knew he should not be reacting like this, but he had to. Imagining Edward on the battlefield was a terrifying thought. His brother had never been the sort to go out and actively hurt someone. In all the time they were growing up he could not recount a moment in which Edward lifted his wand arm in anger, or even made a fist in which to punch someone. Edward was not a fighter. So instead of screaming out his objection to that idea, he had laughed instead, because any other way and he would worry his brother.
 
Clearing his throat he wiped away the tears, taking a sip from his brother's water glass to help collect himself. Edward was still glaring at him as he waited for an explanation. And Quincy, would give him one. Taking a deep breath he shook his head smiling at his brother,
"You will not."
 
Silence had never seemed so loud in that moment between them. Although they sat in a crowded restaurant everything seemed to be muted and slowed down as he could see his brother bristle at these words. "Why will I not?"
 
"Because you are not a fighter."
 
Edward was bright. He was strong and a capable wizard that could defend himself but war was different. Quincy had never been in one before, but he knew his brother would not survive that. Edward did not know how to hurt someone, or could not hurt someone on purpose. Not counting that Edward was their father's heir, he was not expected to fight or required to. This probably was what frustrated Edward. He did not want to be the heir, but he was and he would be.
 
"Also..." Quincy was not heir material either. It meant more rules, more restrictions, and he definitely could not act selfishly or impulsively. He doubted he could change himself like that for the family. "If I'm left as heir then I think our family would be in serious trouble." Edward in the end would not volunteer because of that statement. He would remember his place as the first born, and even now this statement quieted him. His glare softening before he looked away ashamed at thinking of joining. Edward tensed his jaw, looking back into his glass as he tried to ignore the look on his brother’s face.
He knew saying that was exactly what was needed to deflate him from whatever righteous need he had thought volunteering would do. Edward would not volunteer, but Quincy would. For his brother, he would fight for him and their family. He would not be missed too terribly if he died, and even then he knew he would make it out of this war. He had a reason to.
 
End of July 1939
 
"I forbid it!"
 
Quincy looked down at the grain of the table on his father's desk. He was angry. His usual calm and collected father, head of the Carlisle Clan, was replaced by a man with a bewildered and angered look on his face. Pressing his lips together he listened to his father stalking up and then down the length of the room before stopping to stand in front of him again.
 
"Quincy! Are you listening?"
 
The Gryffindor Graduate gave a short laugh and sighed, "Father." He looked up at him at this point, a gentle smile on his face. His father never tried to wrangle him in too much. He had of course given rules, but when it came to telling him how to live his life he had not been told anything. Of course there were unspoken expectations when he left his father's home and entered the spotlight. He was expected to not tarnish the family name, do not get stuck in the tabloids, and of course the family comes first, "Forbidding me, is not going to stop me."
 
Aloysius Carlisle's face hardened at that tone. Eyes narrowing at his child as he wanted to say, something and yet Aloysius knew that was the truth. He took a few steps back, pacing again before giving a sigh seeming to acquiesce. "Fine... I'll get you into the 67th." He went to sit at his desk, taking out a piece of parchment, which Quincy immediately stopped him by placing a hand on top. Brown eyes looked into his father's as he shook his head.
 
"You will do no such thing."
 
Aloysius tensed his jaw again, "Will you not listen to me at least once?"
 
Quincy gave a sigh. He removed his hand from the paper before pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to think of a way to explain to his father what he wanted without anger. This of course was not his specialty. Byron certain had a better understanding of words, and Edward of course knew how to be political about things. Quincy, he just said what he wanted to, and in the end that was what happened.
 
"Listen to me." He looked up at this point, "I will not be stuck with some cowardly, useless, and spoiled purebloods of society, simply because I am the second son." He gave a shake of his head as he headed for the door. "I need to pack."
 
"Quincy! Get back here!"
 
The objection fell on deaf ears as the door of Aloysius's study was slammed shut.
 
That was the end of the conversation.

 
Roleplay:
 
Option 1:
The sounds of the wizarding war were inescapable; even the bunkers were filled with the crackles and pops of offensive and defensive spell casting. Light from the spells bounced and flashed off of every surface, illuminated everything, making hiding hard, eyes sore, and sleep hard to come by.
 
Daniel twisted on the thin mattress he'd been laying on, his hands covering his ears as he tried, somewhat in vain, to block out the shouts of his fellow soldiers, of the enemies, drawing ever closer for the last four days. The last meal he'd had, had been some awfully plain mix of rice and beans and it settled, uncomfortable in his growling stomach.He closed his eyes and thought of Meryl. Of his girl at home, all brunette curls and red lipstick. Her letters sat safe in the pocket of his khaki uniform, by his chest, almost over his heart and his hand flew to them as he wished.
 
"Man down! Move! Move!"
 
A good night's sleep was hard to come by on the front; he had a cruel reminder of this more often than not, and his eyes flew open to greet the sight which was far more familiar than he'd like it to be: Two men, dressed as he was in well-starched Khaki, levitating a fellow soldier, a man, a victim in between them.
 
He sprung into action; Their division knew, by now, to clear space to allow the healer corps to do their work. As he stood, turning to pull away his bedding and leave the surface of his mattress clear, he bumped into someone and fell sideways, spilling a cup of cold, milk-less tea over an important-looking map in the process and his own wand dropped, un-noticed, from his hoister on his forearm.
 
He groaned.
 


Quincy tensed his jaw as he moved the positions of the markers to show what he and his team had saw while scouting the battlefield. “They’re moving in, bringing in heavy artillery from the west…”

"Man down! Move! Move!"

He closed his eyes at the yell. Movement from those moving from their cots to allow the wounded in and to be worked on. His own body itching to move, and do something rather than sit around a table pointing at a map. He had been out there in the fighting. He had seen men die and get hit, but he did not like being in here while there were others being shot at.

Taking a deep breath he opened up his eyes, at that moment a cold cup of tea falling over the map and a wand rolling out as a soldier stumbled from the movement happening around them. Quincy picked up the wand, spinning it in his hand for a moment before offering it back to the soldier. "No use fretting over spilled tea, mate." A gentle smile attempting good humor, even though there was a weariness on his face.

“Should probably keep this by you, never know when you’ll use it here.” He nodded to him before looking at the spilled tea. Picking up the cup and moving to clean up the map as he planned on finishing his report. This incident was a hindrance, but that did not mean the war would stop.

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