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Archived Applications / lydia graham||elsewhere teen
« on: 07/11/2018 at 01:22 »E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Lydia Wilhelmina Graham
Gender: Female
Age: Fourteen (presumed)
Bloodline:
Unknown
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Eric Graham - Adoptive guardian
Residence:
A small wizarding village in west Scotland, near the sea.
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
Hogwarts, mostly - possible a constant presence with St.Mungo’s psychological ward, too.
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
nop.
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Sirius Cíprio
Biography: (100 words minimum.)
AUGUST 8TH, 1945 - WOLFORD, SCOTLAND
A storm was coming, old Eric Graham could tell.
His feet were tired, but firm on the ground. Wolford’s Village was small but old, 15th century if not older. The old cemetery was older yet - the first stones so corroded by time you couldn't read them. It was also hard, and sometimes dangerous, to reach, being so far in the woods. No matter, for he knew these paths like the palm of his own hand.
The first sign were the trails.
The second, the opened gates.
His brows shooted up, nobody else really gave themselves the trouble to come here.
He remembers the howls he hears in the night, tucked in his home.
He remembers how often strange things have been reported in these woods.
Wand in hand, he decides proceed with caution. Just a little stunt, he tells himself, so while he pays his respects the beast may go away unharmed.
What he finds instead, at the feet of his wife and son’s grave, is a child.
MAY 20TH, 1947 - ST. MUNGO’S, LONDON
Junior Healer Winnie gives up with a huff, cradling her hand to her chest. She was never that good with children anyway.
Healer Anne gives her a pat on the back “Leave her be, she will get out of there when she's ready.”
“What is wrong with her?” her murmur has an indignant tone to it - hardly the sort of thing one should use when talking about the patients of the psychological ward, but, good Merlin, to bitten as if by a dog---
The older woman just shakes her head “Poor thing was found in the middle of nowhere some time ago, has been like that since then.” she motions with her chin to the small figure hiding under the table.
“She stayin’ here full-time?”
Healer Anne makes a noise that is like a bottle of self-righteous indignation being open, the certain prelude to hour-long complaints “Well, she clearly should, for intensive treatment, but ---”
By Morgause, why she always had to ask.
JULY 05TH, 1952 - WOLFORD, SCOTLAND
Despite the heat of summer, Lydia is shivering like a leaf. There's iced tea in the table in front her and Eric is never too far - tired, yes, but not complaining. Always too kind to complain.
Every night, Lydia Graham leaves her house.
She is never waken during this escapades.
For all that matters, she's no werewolf - it might be easier if she were.
But by every morning, there will be tea, treats, and a hot bath.
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:
The sun made her warm, and warmth made her lazy like her bones were made of goo. She wondered if worms and other invertebrate felt like that, too, just all the times - but then, cats seemed to do, so perhaps they were a better comparison. Though who knows, with cats.
A broom zips by up in the sky above where she's lying.
Hogsmeade was --- well, kinda crappish, if you honestly asked her. Too little and alike back home to be anything new, too loud and nosey to be likeable. Eric would always shake his head and give her the disappointed eyes while preaching (sic) ‘how different environments were necessary for a good development’ when she said so, though, so Lydia mostly kept her trap shut.
Not long ago, he would also try to nudge her around other kids her age. After her little episode, they settled on a mutual agreement.
From afar, however, watching human interaction wasn't that hard - even a bit of fun, on a very detached away. Like laughing in front of the TV or from something you heard on the radio. Just --- nice. No flight or fight or fidgeting or not knowing what she's supposed to be saying.
Two more brooms follow along.
"John, I said wait up!"
Talking about cats, older felines usually engage the younger ones on play-like activities, fighting mostly, even pretending to be actually hurt by the smaller ones - to boost their confidence.
On her personal observations, humans do not show the same trait.
”You!”
Her first action is, tiringly always, to clamp up, fists and muscles and teeth clenching at any cause of outer distraction - that could come in the form of an actual apocalypse, or just a slight raised, harsher voice a few meters away from here she was.
It takes a few seconds to let it go. It always do.
“What d’ya want?!” her own tone is a bit vicious, like she's being cornered instead of just talked to. It's also completely stupid because the girl has already said what she want - and she shouldn't be so worked up over one brat in the middle of nowhere, what the actual hell-- “I-- No.” comes out meekly.
Now that's a new level of lame.
