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Author Topic: Gérard Monceaux [Elsewhere Adult]  (Read 760 times)

Isabelle Valentine

    (12/10/2014 at 02:31)
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Gérard Monceaux
Gender: Male
Age: 48

Education: 
Beauxbatons (Humanities - Philosophy), class of 1912

Residence:
Residential Wizarding London

Occupation
Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes (Obliviator)

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?
Ministry of Magic

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 11
  • Divination: 9
  • Transfiguration: 10
  • Summoning: 12

(Levels = admin approved!)

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nope, I'm good.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
IzVal, Leon "I'm Smarter Than You Monceaux", Daphne B, Horace "Crankypants" Stufflebeam, Dorian "Big D" James, Ophelie "How Shady Can I Get" Lecuyier, and Joséphine "I Should Have Been Retired Two Years Ago" Delaveau. Oh, and Poppy.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
"It is an opportunity, Gérard," said the woman across from him. "A little unorthodox, perhaps, but it is an unparalleled opportunity."

She was right, of course. It was truly the opening of a door, but somehow the premise felt wrong. Gérard Monceaux was not necessarily above wrong (although he preferred to refer to it as a circumvention of the system), but he would need to be convinced. The proposition was not what he had expected.

"I think," he replied slowly, as he swirled the brandy snifter in his left hand, "that what I struggling with is...'ow you say?" Gérard had been a resident of Wizarding London for the last fifteen years, at least, maybe more, but his French accent was deeply ingrained. It took him a moment to search for the word.

"Logistics." He smiled slightly, having chosen correctly, and sipped his brandy.

The woman nodded and drummed her nails on the arm of the chair in which she was sitting, right leg crossed over left. "Yes. I cannot pretend it won't be tricky, Gérard. Merely acquiring the...materials in sufficient quantity presents a substantial challenge in and of itself."

Gérard pursed his lips. Of course. He had been in business long enough to know that, in negotiations, the word challenge often equated to financials. He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, of course, you will be compensated 'andsomely."

The woman leaned forward and smirked. "I expect so," she replied. "But money is not the only challenge. In fact, it is the least worrisome of our problems, as it is the easiest to fix."

There was something about her that made Gérard uneasy, but he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, or why. Perhaps that was what unsettled him. He was not used to taking direction from a woman - let alone a woman about twenty years his junior. A long pause lapsed as he studied her. Finally, he asked, "What is it you need?"

The woman blinked, then held his eyes. "Complete control."

Gérard's head spun, and he fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. "Absolutely not!" he growled. As he responded, his body lurched forward slightly and his brandy sloshed in its glass. He would not be dictated to by this woman, or by any woman.

"Careful, Gérard," the woman cooed. She had not moved from her spot, and her right leg bobbed up and down as though she were idly killing time in a waiting room. "Think very carefully before you respond. Consider all of the doors that will open to you. Consider all of the respect that you will garner. Think, most of all, of the minimal effort required on your part."

He sat back, nostrils still flaring. Once again, she was right. It was simple. He merely had to let go. For a long, interminable time - it could have been minutes, or hours, though probably not days - Gérard sat in his chair and considered both the woman and the offer.

Finally, he sighed.

"Agreed."

Roleplay: 
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:
Gérard had markedly little patience for holidays, on a personal level. It didn't seem practical to celebrate them, although Amie certainly liked to put on a party. The holiday season was really more her show; Gérard merely smiled and nodded and went along with the festivities because it was good diplomatically, and his colleagues did seem to enjoy a proper fête.

It was not, he supposed, as though they could not afford it.

That having been said, Gérard did not take his time as he walked toward his home, as so many of the others did. He did not stop to gawk at the decorations in the square, or to incline his head at the spectacle of the three in the center of the street. In fact, the throng of holiday merry-makers was one of the primary reasons that Gérard had no patience for holiday celebrations: they made it considerably more difficult for him to get where he was going.

"Coming through!"

Ah. A perfect example, he noted with some degree of amusement.

"Coming th--- arrrgh!"

The man - who was not, it appeared, an insipid tourist, but a courier of some sort - had gone arse over teakettle, as they say, and so had his package. Gérard groaned with the force of the impact, and found himself covered in black and red tinsel. Gingerly, he peeled a strand of the red off of his coat lapel.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

"Quite alright," Gérard replied, his tone cool and imbued with a congeniality he did not especially feel. "Though you might do well to find another way to carry your cargo, my good man."

OTHER
How did you find us? I live here. In the cupboard. Under the stairs.
It's time to begin, isn't it?
I get a little bit bigger, but then I'll admit --

I'm just the same as I was
(I'm never changing who I am)
♦♦♦

Torin Cadwallader

    (12/10/2014 at 02:50)
Accepted!

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