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Messages - Isla Haywood-Lowe

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Elsewhere Accepted / Isla Haywood-Lowe | Elsewhere Adult
« on: 01/05/2015 at 23:28 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Isla Aveline Haywood-Lowe
Gender: Female
Age: 18
Blood Status: Pureblood

Private tutors until the age of eleven; was Sorted into Slytherin and attended Hogwarts from first to seventh year.

The Haywood-Lowe family estate, Wizarding London.


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?

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 8
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 10
  • Summoning: 8
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Calypso Galanis et al, Addie Ross.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
age 7, the Haywood-Lowe estate.

"Jared, Mummy said you had to let me play with you."

That was, in fact, a lie. She'd said nothing of the sort, and had instead vaguely brushed Isla aside as the girl had tugged on her mother's skirts. Isla had taken that to mean that it was perfectly acceptable for her to follow her brother and his playmate up the stairs and into Jared's room. Unfortunately for Isla, he didn't look too pleased to see her.

"Out!" he ordered, and promptly shoved his younger sister out of the door and onto the carpeted landing. He didn't quite manage to do so before she caught a glimpse of his friend, however, and Isla stared in awe at the other boy for several seconds before the door was abruptly slammed in her face.

Seven year old Isla Haywood-Lowe's heart beat ever so slightly faster as she thought about those chocolate brown eyes that had met her own hazel ones.

She didn't know the boy's name, but she wanted to.

age 12, Hogwarts - Great Hall.

Theodore Litchfield.

She knew his name well enough by now. He was three years older than she was, and far too preoccupied with girls his own age to do anything more than acknowledge his friend's younger sister with the occasional nod (sometimes accompanied with a grin that made her insides melt).

She'd look back on these awkward early teenage years with embarrassment one day, but for now, the Slytherin was only capable of blushing furiously as she peeked over at the Gryffindor table for the seventh time and accidentally caught the boy's eye. Swiftly averting her gaze in the hope that he hadn't really seen her at all, Isla busied herself with heaping some more carrots onto her plate.

"I heard that they help you see better in the dark," one of her housemates chimed in, attempting to strike up a conversation. Isla threw the girl a disbelieving look (though she managed to reign in the derisive snort that had been about to accompany it), and rolled her eyes.

"That's ridiculous. They're carrots, not magic beans."

And with that dismissive remark, Isla turned away from her fellow Slytherin, speared one of the carrots onto her fork, and began to eat.

age 17, Hogwarts - Divination Tower.

"Professor Litchfield?"

It sounded far too formal to be calling him that, Isla thought yet again as she hovered by his desk. The rest of the class had already run off to lunch, but she had other things on her mind. And by other things, she meant other people. Or, more specifically, one person. And he was sitting right in front of her.

"I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I bought you something."

The last lesson before the holidays was, in her honest opinion, the perfect time to give Theodore Litchfield a gift. As somebody who wasn't very used to spending money on someone other than herself, Isla was feeling extremely proud of herself.

One hand extended towards him, the little white box balanced on her palm. It was decorated with green and red ribbons, which might have seemed Christmas-themed, but her intentions were really less innocent. The green and red represented their respective houses and, by association, herself and Theodore.

(She didn't care what her brother said, her crush was not unrequited, nor was it obsessive.)

"Maybe we'll see each other over the holidays."

A small smile slid onto her lips, and Isla set the little box on his desk. Offering him a little wiggle of her fingers in a wave, the Slytherin turned and made her way out of the classroom, leaving him alone.


Option One -
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:
It was too busy for Isla's liking.

Diagon Alley was best when it was quieter, the blonde thought to herself as she edged past a cluster of middle-aged women who were gossiping loudly about the latest cookery book that had graced the window display of a bookshop. Merlin help her if she ever became one of those. She doubted her mother would ever forgive her, and quite frankly she'd probably never forgive herself either.

As she stalked through the crowds of wizards and witches, trying desperately to avoid bumping into any of them - not for their sake, but for her own; she didn't want to get her clothes crumpled - a cry for help resounded through the street.

“--my heel is broken! Help!”

Isla hesitated. She had better things to do with her time than to help silly women who'd managed to lose their shoes. She wanted to go and buy a new dress, and stopping for some woman that she didn't even know (nor did she care about) was cutting into her shopping time.

But another part of her was sympathetic to the stranger's plight. There were very few things worse than breaking a heel, and if she'd been in that position, she would've very much appreciated someone taking the time to help her. So, at great personal sacrifice, Isla turned towards the fallen girl and held out her hand.

"Here, take my arm," she announced, well aware of just how good a citizen she was being and taking pride in that fact. "I can't help you if you're all the way down there."

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