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Messages - Angel Winsday

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Elsewhere Accepted / Angel Dumont
« on: 23/01/2012 at 21:02 »

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Angel Dumont
Gender: Female
Age: 19
Birthday: December 13th, 1953

Education: 
Graduate of Beauxbatons, class of '71.

Residence:
Diagon Alley. Specifically, she rents an apartment above the Warbling Rogue.

Occupation:
Heiress. Musician. Bum. Waitress.

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (example St Mungo's, the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Her first cousin (Xalvador) owns the Warbling Rogue.

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 10
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Divination: 8
  •    
      [li$i]Summoning: 6
    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:
    Juniper Kedding

    Special Phrase:
    Tibbles beard of power.

    Biography:

    Do this. Do that.
    Don’t do this. Don’t do that.

    Day in and day out, Angel Dumont was little more than a slave to her selfish parents. Her birth was a bitter disappointment to a family who hoped for a male heir. Instead, they were given a girl who was as flat as a boy (even puberty failed to correct this problem). The only thing that gave Angel any worth in their eyes was her precious blood. She was not to have an opinion. She was not to think. She only needed to do as they decreed. Children were to be seen and not heard.

    By the time she had been shipped off to Beauxbatons Academy, Angel had decided enough was enough. She did not want to be a prima ballerina (her mother’s idea) or a sensitive water color artist (Angel preferred the works of Warhol). She enjoyed music, but not of the classical variety. A bass guitar and raspy rock vocals were preferred over a harp and pompous soprano. Her parents were displeased.

    Of course, that was only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. While her grades were quite good, she had developed certain “behavioral problems” that frequently landed her in detention. In fact, she was proud to claim the most time spent in detention for her graduating class. It was with gusto that she often wrote her favourite cousin, Xalvador, of her endeavors. (In French. French was so much better than the Queen’s English.) She idolized his rebellious nature and tended to mirror it. (If only her parents had allowed her to attend Hogwarts rather than Beauxbatons, she might have humored them.) Not to say that she couldn’t behave herself; Angel could put on sophisticated airs as well as any other pureblood when it served her interests.

    Graduation was met with mixed feelings. On one hand, she was glad to be done with the farce, but on the other…well, her parents seemed determined to dump her onto whatever poor pureblooded fool they could manage to wrangle into a betrothal. Wanting nothing to do with that, Angel decided to skip town (more specifically the country of France). A good portion of her time was spent traversing the world and playing in various wizarding bands whenever the mood struck her. However, her parents had decided to put their foot down. The black sheep needed to be taught a lesson. After all, what else was there to do when there was a dead branch on the family tree but to cut it off?

    Her assets were frozen. Stubbornly refusing to bend to their will and return home to beg for forgiveness, Angel turned to the only person she had any sort of kinship with…Xalvador. Surely, he would be willing to help out his favourite first cousin in her hour of need, right?   

    ROLEPLAY
    Reply as your character to the following:

    It was impossible for Dianne to stay out of trouble. It wasn't that she was looking for trouble, it's just that trouble always managed to find her. Today she wished she could find something equally familiar but more comforting.

    The five-year old girl hugged her puffskein closer to her and brushed her face in its soft fur for comfort. She had named him herself and he was always her special pet. No she was certain she had never gone down this side street before. Her anxiety increased every second as darkness fell as she walked down the road. A loud noise came to her left and she buried her face in her pet's fur completely. The scared girl bolted the opposite way slamming the both of them into the wall of the nearest building. Tottering back a few steps she found a door a few feet to her right and ran to open it. What light there was inside spilled out into the darkness and she spilled into the room.

    Once in, she was caught between the impulse to curl her cloak up more tightly around her and loosen her grip on it. She wasn't alone anymore but she was now among strangers instead, which was nearly as terrifying. Her puffskein had recovered from the shock of the wall and now was purring contentedly as the girl hugged it, causing a mildly calming effect on the girl. Gathering her courage, she marched up to the nearest person, pulled on the nearest clothing hem and blurted out in a loud voice:

    "I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."

    She paused to draw a breath in her nearly never-ending sentence, "He misses my and his mommy."

    To explain the scared girl held up the custard-colored puffskein. Sambundeakin the puffskein, however simply purred as if nothing on earth was wrong in the world.

    Roleplay Response:

    Boring.

    That was the only way to describe the current events of the evening. London was such a miserable town. Miserable weather, miserable people and miserable music. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as she idly traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. It was anyone’s guess why she had chosen to stop off at the Hag’s Head pub tonight. She could have just as easily gone to the Warbling Rogue, but no, she had chosen to situate herself here for the night. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t quite ready to face Xalvador? Angel didn’t make a habit out of asking for...favors. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. The state of her finances was looking rather grim and it would only be a matter of time before she ran out of galleons. This was the lesser of two evils. Asking her cousin for assistance was a far better option than skulking back to her parents with her tail tucked between her legs like a disobedient dog.   

    “Ah…?” A tug to the hem of her shirt caused the Frenchwoman to turn her head in the direction of her assailant. However, she found that she had to lower her eyes quite a bit to spy the wee person. Unfortunately, no sooner did the thing start to blubber than Angel found herself regretting her poor luck. It was a child. A terrified, cowering little girl to be exact. Angel hated children. They smelled. They cried. They ruined figures of women everywhere. “Je suis désolée, mon petite fille. Je ne parle pas anglais.”

    A lie. She had no qualms fibbing to grubby little children. She could speak perfectly proper English, but she just preferred not to. Her shoulders lifted in a shrug as she shook her head from side to side and flashed the child an apologetic smile. Of course, she had to wonder what sort of mother let their offspring roam about Knockturn Alley. Perhaps they were hoping to lose her permanently? Smart parents. Kind of. They weren’t all that brilliant for having children in the first place, but most especially not when said child was now roaming about and bothering her.

    Angel would have turned around and gone back to her drink had it not been for the soft sound of purring. While the child’s plight had fallen on deaf ears, the rumbling of a puffskein had not. It was so…cute. “Zhat poor thing.” Bollocks. Why did she have such a soft spot for animals? It was probably because her parents had never permitted her to have a pet. Well, unless, of course, she counted her younger sister. “Lizzen, leetle girl.” Her accent was thick. She liked to exaggerate it when speaking in English to strangers. “Talking to zrangerz eez not so zmart. Zomeone could zteal your leetle puffzkein.” Forget about the girl herself being kidnapped. She didn’t matter. “Now, where eez zee lazt plaze you saw your mère?”

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