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Author Topic: Joshua Mulligan  (Read 499 times)

* Joshua Mulligan

    (26/03/2017 at 04:31)
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Joshua Mulligan
Gender: Male
Age: 35
Blood Status: Pureblood

Hogwarts - Slytherin - 1926 - 1928
Salem - 1928 - 1934

Permanent Residence in Uppsala, Sweden

Beater for the Swedish National Team

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?
Participating in the Quidditch World Cup
I’d like to have him work for Azkaban afterwards (September of 1950)

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 13
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 6
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:
Marina Lamont, Wit Northcutt

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
More than anything else, louder than any sight, smell or sensation, the thing Joshua remembered most about the places he’d been were the sounds.

In Uppsala, in the heart of the swedish winters, the snow muffled everything. A backdrop of reverie in white to the darker interiors of the clubs he frequented, watching, listening as the country acquainted itself with the jazz that he’d known since birth. A luminous soundscape when he
his bat for the country’s Quidditch team.

In San Francisco, where he’d lived alone after his father died, the alto calls of trumpets and trombones through the night his beacon of guidance through grief and fog. The latter purred the baritone undertone to his entire life. The latter played a staccato tune entirely new to him, not quite in harmony with the
rhythms he usually ran to.

On the Fillmore his own notes rang rampant in a sea of song, blending with those of the greatest musicians of the time, muggle and magical alike. His mother had taught him moons ago that all tunes could combine in canon. Joshua acquired his own lot of fame among their ranks, improvising, making magic with but the carrion call of chords on his trumpet, his saxophone, his piano until they were interrupted by a different beckoning. A call back to his old habits
on the Quidditch pitch.   

London hummed a sadder song in its final months, the adagio crescendo to the allegro overture until no more music could be heart. The final note, his father’s last drawn breath, still echoing against the chambers of his memory. His father, every bit the man he’d hoped to meet, yet every reverberation of the man’s actions calling out to some unknown darkness Joshua felt averse to look into. Until the man’s heart beat its last
and he saw it all too clearly.

In Knockturn Alley where the deals went down. Where power thrived and the weaker hearts couldn’t be spared to
another beat.

On the Atlantic waves crashing and percussing against the keel. Him racing toward the man who’d abandoned him, escaping for the thousandth time the soft embrace of the woman who’d loved him through every absence. Her strong arms had once
the monsters away.

In  New Orleans where he’d come home to see his mother stepping to a new drum, playing along to someone else’s song. She’d remarried while he’d been off at school to a man more like herself, less like her son. A man who could barely improvise a tune of brass and strings, let alone a cavatina of wood and feather. Home was not found here; it lurked in the shadows calling to him from across the ocean. So he set off in search of the man who’d loved him less, of the man who’d taught him his first hymns. Leaving behind the women who’d chosen a new
to walk to.

In Salem where he’d fine tuned his wand like an instrument, where he’d honed his beater’s bat like a drumstick constantly upping the tempo as the wind and the roaring crowd sang his praises. He got to dictate the
up until he graduated.

In Hogwarts he hissed louder than his father, noted carried through the wind to his mother’s ears. Too much like a man who’d left her, the sultry squib, unmarried and bearing his child, a bully and an egoist, a smirk glimpsed before it turned away to crawl with other monsters of madness and music. She stole her son away across the sea to raise him before a darker requiem could
her to it.

In London where his bastard heart first

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:
Winters in England were tame in comparison to the northern sting of Sweden. Still Joshua topped his tailored robes with a fine trenchcoat suited to the snowfall and fit his feet with a warm pair of leather boots, the clean soles crunching every time they his the crisp white crust.

He’d received a letter some weeks ago from a vestige of his last visit to his birthplace. A hint that he’d left something behind which he hadn’t meant to. A resonant remnant of a melody he’d composed with someone fairer, someone worthy of sharing his harmonies.

He might not have come. These streets held many memories of a darker time, of temptations best left forgotten. Yet some questions begged for answers and some truths ought to be sought.

Letter in hand, Joshua wove his way through the crowd, eyes intermittently falling from the way ahead to glance back down at the letters scrawled upon the parts of the parchment underlined by its purposeful fold. A name and a location.

Eyes on his emblematic question mark, he did not notice the man behind him, nor were his ears poised to listen to the sounds of voices, crying out all about. Trained ears could filter out the noise and let in only music. In moments like these, it left him vulnerable to unexpected collisions and showers of tinsel and glitter.

Joshua stumbled forward, hand letting slip the parchment as arms flailed to regain some semblance of balance. On his heel he whirled around to face his assailant. Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, ready for confrontation. Not expecting a stuttering old man, his guarded demeanor loosened, tuned itself down to a softer key.

“No harm done.” He muttered, brushing some decorations off of his fine coat, leaning down not to help the other but to reach out for his own fallen letter.

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* Calypso Ross

    (29/03/2017 at 09:42)
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