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Author Topic: Clementine Pope // Elsewhere Adult!  (Read 147 times)

* Clementine Pope

    (04/04/2017 at 03:40)
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Clementine Pope
Gender: Female
Age: 24
Blood Status: Muggleborn

Education: 
Slytherin ’42

Residence:
London.

Occupation
Waitress, for now.

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?
Nah.

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Serena McCormick and Co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Her earliest memory was one of her father. She was supposed to be at a piano lesson, but father’s job was demanding and he needed to make pitstop with Clementine in tow. She remembered the snow on the ground was grey and sludgy in front of the biggest building she’d ever seen. She remembered her new coat, buttoned up to her neck, was very pretty but it was itchy. Her boots pinched her feet, but she wasn’t allowed to wear the soft old ones anymore.

She remembered the big office on the top floor and how the view from the spacious windows made the city look tiny. Up there, she was big. Bigger than the ants on the streets below. She remembered the stiff-backed chair she had to sit in while her father consulted with the man in the fancy suit.

She remembered that when her father spoke to the man, that the man listened. She was too young to comprehend what they said, but it didn’t matter. Her father wanted something, and the man was going to give it to him or pay the price.

Yes, she remembered the triumphant and fierce look on her father’s face when he collected her from the chair with a curt, “Come along, Clementine.”

But, as she was tugged from the room, she glanced back at the man in the fancy suit. And the look in the man’s eyes before he disappeared behind a cloud of tobacco smoke was what she remembered most vividly from that day. It was a look of pure unfiltered fear.

And her father’d done it with words and power alone.

That sort of mentality followed her to Hogwarts and, while it didn’t make her the most popular girl in her year, she was respected. Or at least feared. With a tongue made of acid and thorns, the young girl was sorted into Slytherin. Shortly after her magical education began, she fell in line with a group of friends. All rich. All powerful in their own ways. She felt bonded to them unlike any other. Friends, she would call them eventually. And it didn’t stop at Hogwarts. As they graduated and moved onto their own, she kept in close touch with them. They’d travel the world together.

Clementine wasn’t worried about getting a job. Young and riding on a heavy pocketbook, courtesy of her wealthy family, at age 18 she hardly saw the need to pay attention to the responsibly that the ‘adult world’ kept wafting her way. The future was a hazy thing that she was hardly worried about. Everything would work out fine.

It always did.

But Clem didn’t live in a fairytale.

At the age of 23 she found herself, living alone in Mexico, surrounded by her few possessions. Sunk down on the ground, still in her waitress uniform, she stared, brows furrowed at a picture. Clementine was not overly sentimental. But if there was one thing she ever cared about, it was the people featured in the photo. Friends. Her and her friends. The photo was backdated, taken just after they’d arrived in Mexico. They’d since moved on, but here she was, working a dead-end job, alone.

Alone.

They’d left her.

And from the day she found the photograph, she began picking up shifts and saving ever knut she earned. Every bit of her money went towards her going-home-fund. She was determined. And when she was determined to do something, it got done.

Finally she was able to move back to London. To the place she once upon a time called home. Just like that, she was back.

Maybe it was a fairytale, after all. 

But she certainly wasn’t a princess. She certainly wasn’t the hero of the tale.

Maybe she was the villain.

And villain’s never won. But they always had the best time..


Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

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:
Clementine was never a fan of crowds. She was selective about the company she kept, and being forced to share the street with a bunch of other people, each on in more of a hurry than the last, was borderline agonizing. But there were things she needed to get done today that couldn’t wait.

Readjusting to her life back in London wasn’t exactly the easiest thing in world she’d ever done. But Merlin knew she’d been through worse. Her family was furious that she’d been gone for so long without even a word. But there was little she could do about that particular problem at the moment.

She took a long drag from her cigarette before tossing it aside to step back into the crowd, butt of the cigarette crushed beneath her feet as she went.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” A voice, right in her ear called out.

Taking a step away from the woman in distress, she frowned in her direction. Now that she was stopped again, she tugged another cigarette from the pack and lit it between her teeth as she surveyed the woman who’d apparently broken her heel. Honestly, if these women were incapable of walking in heels, why did they insist wearing them?

“You’re a witch, ain’t you?” she puffed smoke from her lungs, not caring if it happened to be in the woman’s direction, “So fix your damn shoe. Or’s your wand just for decoration, princess?”

OTHER
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* Calypso Ross

    (05/04/2017 at 14:09)
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Accepted!
but i've got a blank space, baby
and i'll write your name

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