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Topics - Angelique Summerstorm

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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Angelique Summerstorm
Gender: Female
Age: 28
Blood Status: Half-Blood

Attended Hogwarts in Slytherin


Topmodel and Underground Singer

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?
The Snake Pit

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: 10
  • Divination: 6
  • 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?

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
None. This is my first one.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Born in the sunny city of Saint-Tropez, Angelique was raised by a pair of rather normal parents. Her father Mark Mesverbs was a succesfull salesman in the Muggleworld. Vacuumcleaners. Who would've known that people would be obsessed with wonderful cleaning machines? The best selling periods of the year were usually Christmas and Valentines Day. It seemed that most men saw more worth in the state of their own house than the mood of their own wives. Not that that mch mattered. The money ran in and because of her fathers success, she grew up in a wealthy family. Her mother was an actual wizard, Nicole Gouin. She was beautiful and used to be a regular housewife. But with her husband’s immense wealth she adapted a lifestyle where she didn't have to get anything done. They had enough money to hire a handful of maids to keep things tidy and in order.

After a few years had passed, both Mark and Nicole had grown tired of their sunny life and found that their mansion with four bedrooms, three bathrooms, a big backyard and a gorgeously marble kitchen had gotten way too small for the three of them. Why would you want to swap the wonderful summer sun with a lovely beach for something as a huge castlelike mansion in London? Angelique wasn't sure either as she had been so fond of the rays of light that stroked her cheeks every morning she played in her backyard. But alas. She had no say in this. Growing up in London with her parents grew dull and both her mother and father didn't really care about her dreams. They were happy to see that she ended up being magical, not like they expected anything different, and sent her off to Hogwarts were she got sorted in Slytherin. The redhaired child with extraordinairy lightblue eyes was truly ambitious to become something greater than what her parents achieved together. Being as beautiful as she was, a true headturner with the voice that everyone loved to listen to, Angelique soon came to realise what she wanted to achieve in life. It wouldn’t be easy but she was ready to work for it. As she graduated from Hogwarts, she didn’t reach that high as to become an Auror, but she didn’t reach too low either, to become a Healer. No. She wanted to become something close to a celebrity. A singer. A model. Both would be ideal.
Of course, no one becomes famous in just one day. She looked for jobs, snipping articles out of newspapers, scratching the names that weren’t good enough or didn’t hire her. There were some try-outs in small cafes but the managers just didn’t find her good enough. She was too shy. Too inexperienced. There was one job where she did get hired, but she quit after being sexually abused.After months of looking, the Angel settled to work as a cleaninglady in office buildings. Emptying trashcans, vacuuming carpet floors with the same machines her father had made a fortune with. It was quite ironic. By that time, she had moved out of her parental mansion and lived in a small rundown apartment. It was about living now. Surviving.

However that changed on one night when the offices were empty and she was doing over hours, desperately trying to remove a coffee stain from her bosses office carpet. It had become a habit to her to sing whenever she was certain she was by herself. To pass the time and to kill the silence that seemed more thick because of the textile flooring. It just happened that one had overheard her exceptional voice and had finally decided to even see if her face was just as beautiful. A chance of a lifetime, he had offered her to help her get started to become known. Setting her up with a famous wizard modeling agency, her wonderful features became treasured real quick. Changing her name from Mesverbs to Summerstorm as she didn't want to be associated with some factory that built machines for sucking dust.
Her porcelain pale face, sprinkled with freckles, a pair of ice blue eyes peering at her audience, she became rather wealthy and occupied herself a rather fancy loft in the tops of London.

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:
Type your response here.

Watching her own reflection in one of the shops glass windows, Angelique used the back of her hands to brush her hair in the right position. Big dark sunglasses hid her strikingly blue eyes. The white coat she had picked made her look like some kind of snowmaiden.

‘Dreadfull morning.’

She sighed frustrated.

‘Just had this done and it’s already all over the place.’

Talking about her fresh hairdo of the supposedly ‘’ best hairdresser ‘’ in Diagon Alley.

‘What a scam…’

She scoffed, lightly shaking her head, hoping to fix the disaster that way. From beside her, in the distance, she could hear the voice of a young lady. Trying to fetch someones attention. Angelique slightly pouted her lips, glancing over her shoulder, peering over the white fluffy scarf hugging her slender neck. Truly, she’d rather avoid anything troubling but she soon decided against it as the voice of the lady soon had the sense of dread. Hesitant at first, yet something inside her ushed her over to the fallen lady, making a way through the crowd.

‘Grab my hand.’

Her gloved hand would feel soft to the touch. Just as white as her scarf and coat. Angelique would carefully kneel down and pick up the lost shoe before giving the woman a strong pull, lifting her from her fallen position. Angelique looked slender. She looked fragile, yet there was a firm grip not letting go until they were in a more quiet place.

‘Please, sit down. Oh my, what a crowd, am I right?’

Not aware that the young lady had sat on that same bench before, the redhead had returned her there to catch their breath. And for her to put on her shoe.

‘Are you quite alright, dear? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

The action she had to partake in had made her work up a sweat. Now she was waving her hand gently near her face, trying to cool herself down.

How did you find us? Recommendation by friends.

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