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Messages - Cal Hartt

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Elsewhere Accepted / Re: Cal Hartt
« on: 03/04/2014 at 12:53 »
Hello hi!

Sorry if it was a little vague! Yes, Cal has never done any magic until he was kicked out when he turned 17. And yes, he's only ever read the books, and stared at his wand, but never really did anything about it. He's gotten better at it after eight years (I hope, at least, ahaha).

Thanks very much!

- Cal.

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Elsewhere Accepted / Cal Hartt
« on: 02/04/2014 at 13:25 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Callum Inigo Stormheart-Azuriah Hartt
Gender: Male
Age: 25 (b. 01 February 1916)

Education: 
Homeschooled (by mother, till age 11; self-taught, from age 11 onwards)

Residence:
Somewhere in the UK, maybe London, or maybe Scotland?

Occupation
Odd jobs, Stealing, whatever gets him money.

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?
Can he live (secretly) in the Shrieking Shack?

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 9
  • Divination: 7
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 9
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Deidre Sable-Vaelbe, Yvonne Dechavez, Nilo Allares, Crimson Stormheart, Ronan C. Winter-Stormheart, & L Azuriah

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

He had only ever been allowed out of the building once.

Cal remembered.

It had been a week after he’d received his Hogwarts letter a week after his eleventh birthday. He’d celebrated with Cat and the other cats, by scratching each of their chins after each of them had dropped a dead rat in front of him. Mom had had a trunkful of books and a small pouch. He’d heard his father still screaming at her from downstairs. Probably because she’d been using magic. Cal’s hands had started to sweat.

Mom had dropped the trunk with a thump, ignoring his father’s voice, and passed him a small bag containing exactly seven Galleons. She’d told him to go out and buy a wand, and then left.

It had been almost summer, but there had still been patches of snow here and there on the streets, on the rooftops, on the window panes. The ground had crunched under his shoes. The sound had made him jump and flee back into the building, breathing heavily with the door solidly at his back. He could hear his father grumbling in the next room. Cal had taken a deep breath. It had been many minutes-that-felt-like-hours later when he’d felt brave enough to venture out again.

The ground had crunched under his shoes. He’d flinched. He’d kept walking, one hesitant step at a time. The darkness of the Outside was different from Inside the building, he’d noted. There were more people too. He’d kept walking, heart pounding.

The wand shop had been... different. The wand shop had... the wand shop had magic.

That had been his first, and last, time he’d stepped out of the building when he was a child.

It had been amazing, in the wand shop, but he didn’t regret going out. He was scared, though, because if his father saw him doing magic, Cal wouldn’t know what to do; Outside still scared him. He would never be able to get away with it. But the wand, though, how could he hide it?

Which was why, when he’d got back home that day, and his father had demanded from the other room to say where he’d gone to, for the first time in his life, Cal had lied. Cal had lied and said he’d been told to buy something but he’d been too scared and went back. His father had snorted. End of discussion.

That had been the day he'd felt his own magic was actually at his fingertips, but still didn't dare mess with it, afraid of the consequences.

That had also been the day he’d last seen Mom.

Cal didn’t know where she went, but she never did come back. He didn’t understand, and the fact that he didn’t understand frustrated him more than the fact that Mom didn’t come visit anymore. He’d (foolishly) tried asking his father about it, but all that got him was angry shouting, something breakable aimed at his head (which he’d ducked from just in time), and still no idea where Mom was.

His father seemed, somehow, happy about it, though. “Thank Merlin she won’t be coming back again, that damned Italian,” his father had said. Cal didn’t understand that either; Mom was half-French, not Italian. He supposed that was close enough to it, for his father.

Cal decided he wouldn’t look for her. She probably didn’t want him looking for her, anyway. So Cal had slinked back into the attic (not ‘his room,’ never ‘his room,’ because he was just renting it; post-payment) and read his books and practiced his magic.

He never thought he’d ever have to go out of the building ever again. (Because he’d never willingly go out again, of course.)

He’d worried that he’d be kicked out, of course, but he never believed it would actually happen – until it did.

It had been the day of his seventeenth birthday. He’d celebrated with Cat and the other cats, by scratching each of their chins after each of them had dropped a dead rat in front of him. Mom still hadn’t come since two weeks after his eleventh birthday. His father was quiet, as he always was whenever Mom wasn’t around. Cal smiled when Cat rubbed her head against his hairy leg.

Then, for the first time in his life, his father had come up the stairs and gone into his room. Cal froze. Cat and the other cats scattered and hid. His father growled at Cat and the other cats. Cal kept still, cross-legged on the floor, shocked.

It had been almost summer, but there had still been patches of snow here and there on the streets, on the rooftops, on the window panes. The ground was hard and made a thump noise when he landed on it, face-first. Another thump, harder and heavier, sounded near his head. He yelled in pain; his trunk had landed half on his arm.

“And stay out!” his father said, closing the door with finality.

Cal dragged his arm out from beneath the trunk, and cradled it in his uninjured hand. Green eyes stared at the closed door in shock. His heart pounded in his ears. Faintly, he could hear noises from the people in the Alley. He ignored them.

“I got kicked out?” he asked, mostly to himself, in a low voice. “B-b-but, but I thought I would live here forever and rot in the attic and keep the cats company and examine them every day and read my books every minute I wasn’t eating sweets and make notes on how many bones a growing kitten gets and maybe sell some of my stuff later to someone maybe I don’t know how to get someone to do that for me – in fact I don’t know how to get someone to get someone to get someone to do that for me because it’s still scary Outside and Sir doesn’t even go outside ever so I can’t ask him and asking him shouldn’t even be an option because he’s the one I need to pay and –”

He paused, took a breath. His eyes refocused on the door.

“S-Sir?” he called out, hesitant. “What about my rent?”

“I don’t care! Just never show me your face again!”

End of discussion.

Meow.

Cal looked down at Cat. She blinked slowly up at him. He blinked slowly back at her, and stroked her head.

A person reached out towards his trunk, most probably intending to steal it.

Cal slammed a hand on top of the trunk and drew his wand, which thankfully didn’t get broken. On instinct, he pointed it at the person, who immediately shrunk back from it.

Cal heaved a sigh and stood, staring at the trunk in his hand. He gripped his wand in the other hand. He waved the wand and muttered a charm at the trunk to make it lighter. The rush of magic made him gasp. He put a hand on his chest, surprised but awed at the sensation.

Meow.

Cal nodded at Cat. “Yeah.”

He walked. The trunk was still heavy.

He stopped, and did the charm again, gasping at the sensation for the second time. A smile pulled at his lips. A smile which widened even after every failure, and which positively beamed when he finally succeeded.

He kept walking, heart pounding. But he had a stupid grin on his face.

Cal never went back to the building. Instead, he kept walking.

He dubbed himself a nomad, for eight years. He didn’t know if nomads stole or not, he hadn’t read much on them. But he did know that stealing was fast money. Not easy, though, since he had to avoid angry people in uniforms. He often wondered if he’d crossed the borders between the Wizarding world and the Muggle world. He probably had, probably often. But money was money where it mattered, and it got him going.

He never stayed long in any buildings.

At least, Cat still hadn’t gotten tired of him. And that, aside from his wand, was one of the important things.

Sometimes, though, he wished he could be able to stay put. He didn't realize a war would be what would make that fleeting wish come true.

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

Option One.

Roleplay Response:

Cal stepped out of the shop, sighing, frustrated.

He’d been here since morning and all he had to show for it was only a few Sickles and a couple of Knuts. He flipped open his notebook and made a note not to come before lunch, because (1) there weren’t that many people there to pickpocket, and (2) –

His stomach grumbled.

“Exactly,” he said to himself.

And (2) he gets hungry.

He snapped his notebook shut and looked around.

Like his stomach had signalled, it was lunchtime. He mentally counted out his money.

Maybe enough for a light lunch. If he got a few more coins, he could probably buy a bit more...

Meow.” A furry head bumped against his leg.

He looked down. “Oh, hi, Cat. Did you eat already?”

Cat stared at him.

He sighed, sad for himself. “Figures. Lucky you.”

Cal looked around again, before joining the crowd. He casually walked around for a bit, a few of the more hurried people bumping into him as he went. Green eyes swept through the crowds, scouting for a target.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

His head snapped towards the sound.

“What have we here,” he mumbled.

He walked briskly towards the direction of the sound, hoping that nobody else had thought to help yet. Because of this, he almost fell face-first on the ground.

He stumbled over something in the path and almost toppled against someone.

“Ah, I’m sorry, excuse me, pardon me!”

The person shoved him off, grumbling irritably, and hurried past. He stuffed the Knut he’d managed to slip from the person’s pocket into his own, as he look back towards the thing he’d stumbled on.

A shoe.

“Ah.”

He scooped it up and looked around.

Amongst the many hurrying people in the rush of the crowd, a woman was looking frantic, but instead of hurrying somewhere, she seemed to be looking for something.

Cal strode over to her.

“Hi!” He beamed at her. “Excuse me, miss, but is this yours?”

He wondered how many Sickles he could make her pay for the recovery of the shoe. Maybe... two Sickles ought to do it?

OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation, a long, long time ago~

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