E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Imogen Miranda Renard
Gender: Female
Age: 5
Bloodline:Halfblood
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Birth mother, deceased. Birth father, unknown, likely deceased.
Gabrielle Renard (adoptive mother - yes, she's played). No adoptive father. Anybody want me?
Residence: London, England
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?Mmmm. Nope.
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? No, thank you.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Gabby Renard and co.
Biography: (100 words minimum.)I remember her face. Seeing her the first time. Being held by her. Those kind eyes. That kind voice.
I remember the first time I crawled. Towards her. She looked happy. Saying nice words. It felt nice.
I remember when I first walked. She cheered me on to get to her. And I did. After which, I collapsed in her arms. It was still difficult back then.
I remember my first word. Momma. She was in the kitchen, fixing dinner. I was sitting on a baby-stool next to her. She nearly fell over in surprise. I giggled.
I remember seeing Grandma the first time. And the rest of the family. And Momma's nanny. She looked a bit scary. But she's ok. I like her.
I remember kids on the street playing. I wanted to play too but they were a bit too big for me.
I remember the sun. The green grass. The flowers. The Hogsmeade Lake.
I remember so many things. Because all I have left now is these images in my head. Ever since that day in Diagon Alley ... when that mean man threw something at another man. And it landed at my feet instead. Then white light. And then ... Nothing.
I am blind. And this makes me very scared. That I will never see any of those images in my head with my own eyes again. And I just have one thing to ask that man.
Why?
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:She had learned all there was to know about Quidditch. From Mother. Mom. Mommy. Gabrielle. Gabby. Any of those names were acceptable with her. Bit weird, but OK. Imogen wasn't going to argue with that. Why should she? It was like her Mom was her best friend. And she was, as far as Imogen was concerned. Until Imogen would have her own best friend in a classmate or a neighbor or something. Mom looked so young too ... like a teenager, almost. Even though she was 30. Almost.
Unfortunately, things had changed. For the worse. Mom kept blaming herself for what had happened. But Imogen didn't want to hear about it. It definitely hadn't been her fault. Not one bit. Just that mean man. The last person Imogen ever remembered seeing, before everything had gone dark. Now she could see nothing. She had to rely on her other senses. Mom kept saying that.
Learn to depend on what you hear. What you smell. What you touch.Because they weren't sure if this could be fixed. This sucked. She might never be able to do what she wanted to do.
"You!" "...Do you want to play?"Imogen looked in the general direction of that voice. Rather mean. It was unlikely that the girl would understand the meaning of those sunglasses that Imogen wore. Or the little white stick that she was carrying. But perhaps she would understand this.
"I'm sorry. I would like to, but I can't."
Pause.
"I can't see."
OTHERHow did you find us?
Been here since the time of Ezboard.
