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Messages - Emilia Isa Narváez

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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Emilia Isa Narváez
Gender: Female
Age: Twenty-eight
Blood Status: Pureblood

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Slytherin 1935

Outskirts of London

Hexenreich Member

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?

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: 13.
  • Divination: 6.
  • Transfiguration: 6.
  • Summoning: 7
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:
Zoella and the gang.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
The past isn’t something the Spanish beauty dwells on. It matters not how she came into this world, but how she intends on staying in it. By any means necessary and that means doing things she once never dreamed of.  Spying, cursing, murdering, sex. All of the things she was raised not to do, not to use in her favor. These are the things she welcomes with open arms. Things that make her happy, almost giddy in a sense.  She isn’t evil, by any means, just a wee bit…undone.

Her family rarely sees her anymore. She spends her time in London, causing chaos to anything in her path. She could be spotted in bars, or even a dark alley, almost always with a man by her side. In this day and age, her open sexuality is frowned up by society, but that doesn’t matter one bit to the raven haired beauty. More times than she can count, her looks get her whatever she wants.  The Spaniard doesn’t feel ashamed, or uncomfortable with this knowledge. She takes full advantage of the men (and women) she can charm, though escapades with women are discrete. It’s one thing to be confident, and uncaring, it’s other thing entirely to commit social suicide. Though she may be sarcastic and cold, once a person gains her trust, they'll never be rid of her.

Being cousins to Diego Santos should hold merit to her, but in truth, it doesn't. He would soon write her off like the entirety of their families, but only time will tell. And she didn't waste time.

Most of the time, Emilia is with Evander. The closest friend she has, even if he still keeps her at arm’s length after their years of companionship.  Their relationship is complicated, and not one she discusses with others. It took her some time to gain his trust, and she doesn’t intend on losing it over petty gossip. Perhaps that is why she never really got along with other females; gossip bored her. There is no fun in it, not for her anyway.

One day, she will make him see how much he needs her. And on that day, her life will be complete. But in the meantime, the woman will have her own fun.

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:
A lone figure swerved through the bodies that filled the streets of Diagon Alley.  An emerald green cloak swayed in the breeze behind her, no doubt a habit from her years of Slytherin pride. It was now diminished, memories of Hogwarts long gone from her mind. The only reason the school came to her thoughts was for the simple fact of infiltration was coming along smoothly. The prospect of becoming a professor was tempting; a whole new audience to toy with brought joy to her mood.

The hood masked the woman’s Spanish features from view, hiding the beauty away from sight. Long, black hair peaked out on the sides; the only indication of the gender, aside from her curvaceous body.  Much unlike the residents crowding the street, her attire was completely unheard of. Denim covered her lower half, accompanied by boots. She was more than aware ladies were not supposed to wear such men’s wear. Who ever said she was a lady?

Certainly not Evander. He knew better. Pretend as she might to everyone else, he truly knew her.

In the distance, a woman called for help.  Black and coal eyes narrowed in the helpless woman’s direction. Seeing the problem was a missing shoe, the woman scoffed. What an imbecile ran through her mind. Her long strides were taking her up the same direction of the cry. Full lips mouthed Langlock as her figure passed the woman on the street.

“Get up and find it, you fool,” the words cold as ice, and she continued on her way to the Hag’s Head.

How did you find us? I'm NOT a stalker.

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