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Messages - Eoin R. Kelly

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Elsewhere Accepted / Eoin R. Kelly
« on: 22/05/2014 at 14:27 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Eoin Raleigh Kelly
Gender: Male
Age: 28 (b. 30 September 1913)

Hogwarts Gryffindor Graduate '31

Used to live with his dad in Armagh, Ireland; has been renting a flat in London, UK since he graduated.

Junior Healer, Emergencies & Triage at St Mungo's

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?
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 10
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 10
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No, thanks~

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
L Azuriah, et al.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
He steadied his cup of tea and heaved a soft sigh as he plopped into a chair, ruffling his hair with a free hand before tucking it inside his pocket. This war was just what he needed. Plenty of people getting injured, but usually really heightened in numbers when something as big as the Blitz from a year before occurred. This was the dream. His dream, anyway; being called on to save someone’s life and actually saving them was the best thing ever. And he got to do that pretty much every day.

He was probably being selfish, but thank the gods for this war!

Thank Merlin for Hogwarts, actually. If he hadn’t received that acceptance letter, he would probably still be that little kid who itched to single-handedly plan out, organize, and carry out an event wherein someone was in danger and he was conveniently just passing by just in time to save them. Sometimes (well, more often than sometimes – alright, it was most of the time) it involved saving someone from a fire (which he definitely did not start, and nobody could prove otherwise).

It’s not like he actually wanted them to die, obviously. The whole point was so he could swoop in and save them and be dubbed as a Hero.

A Hero Who Saved People.

But there wasn’t much one could do in a small, safe, basically uneventful town. Thus, the staging. (He’d once tried living with his uncle, in the outskirts of Armagh, but decided he didn’t like being so far away from civilization.)

His father would be proud of him (had he known he’d been staging those ‘lucky’ incidents, which he didn’t). Eoin hadn’t had that itch in years, and his Wonderlite hadn’t been used since he was seven (he’d been using a Zippo lighter since); there was plenty to do in St Mungo’s.

Maybe he should enlist as a Healer for the MOD?

A furry head poked his palm, and he looked down as he drew out his hand just enough to see his sugar glider peer out at him with his paws on his palm. He smiled.

He wasn’t sure he could be a Healer for the MOD. He would have so many opportunities to be the heroic Healer, yes, but he couldn’t be sure how safe Shanks would be. The sugar glider was, after all, reaching the end of his lifespan. (He’d read up on sugar gliders, unlike when he’d had those pet rats and mice back when he was still a student.)

And he wanted old age to be the reason Shanks died. Not because of getting eaten by a larger animal or something about the war. He was going to be there for him till the very end –

“Oi, you!”

Eoin tucked his hand (and Armitage Shanks) back inside his trouser pocket, and looked up.

“Yeah?” he asked, taking a calm and completely innocent sip of his tea.

“Quit slackin’ off, we got a patient in Room –”

“On it!” He eagerly tipped his cup higher and drank all the tea down as he got to his feet. He plunked the cup down on his desk before rushing after the man. “Tell me about 'em on the way!”

The best part about St. Mungo’s was that he didn’t have to stage anyone dying or in deep peril, anymore. Those days were over; thank Merlin for magic and Hogwarts.

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:
Another fulfilled day, another cup of tea.

Eoin ruffled his hair as he looked up at the sky, assessing. It didn’t look like it would rain. He dropped his hand to tuck it back inside his trouser pocket. Shanks nudged at his palm and he glanced down to smile at where the sugar glider was approximately at.

Shanks was turning eight years old in a few months. That was the potential lifespan of a sugar glider in the wild, but in captivity, it was a few more years.

He was pretty sure his uncle had kept the mother – er, the entire family as pets, which meant Armitage Shanks would probably live longer than a wild sugar glider would. Probably. Hopefully.

He didn’t want to get a new pet rodent (though technically, sugar gliders were marsupials, or so the books had said). Shanks had been with him since he was nine weeks old and he hadn’t had a pet for this long before (it wasn’t his fault; rats and mice just had really short lifespans, sadly). He wasn’t ready to let go.

He rubbed his thumb against the top of Shanks’ head, in his pocket, keeping his eyes ahead so he wouldn’t trip and potentially hurt Shanks or worse –

“- Help!”

He spun around, blue-grey eyes wide as he stared towards the direction of the voice.

He jogged towards the distressed woman, making sure not to actually joggle the sugar glider in his pocket.

“What’s the matter, miss?” he asked once he neared, eyes big and soft, full of concern.

How did you find us? Unicorns~*:・゚✧

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