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Topics - Russell Mallory

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Elsewhere Accepted / Russell Bruce Mallory
« on: 10/08/2015 at 04:54 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Russell Bruce Mallory
Gender: Male
Age: 21 (b. 25 December, 1923)
Blood Status: Muggleborn

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – Gryffindor ‘42

Currently unknown. Listed as M.I.A. in the MoD registry, presumed taken prisoner or killed.

Prisoner of War

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
Merlin’s Order of Defense

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 12
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • 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:
Lucy Hopland + co.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Christmas Day, 1937

James was growing quicker than he expected, much quicker than he had at that age.

And Ignatius. He didn’t say much, but the look in his eyes was enough for Russell to know he’d be alright--both of them actually--with or without him.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing, ma? They’re gonna be lil’ terrors soon enough.”

And he couldn’t wait for it.

Balancing on the balls of his feet, Russell remained crouched beside the rickety bunk bed all three of them shared, one hand propped around his cheek as he looked on fondly at the two boys. He was smiling the kind of smile he gave James whenever he stole more from his plate at dinner, or when Ignatius forced himself to keep up with his older brother, inevitably injuring himself in the process. It was patient and humored, because their actions kept him grounded.

As the oldest he had responsibilities many kids his age wouldn’t dream of burdening. Everything he did he had to take into account how it would affect them. If he had to, he ate the least and slept the shortest. If he had to, he stole for them, though not nearly as often as he had to when they were living on the streets, but still. Desperate times were abundant.

And sometimes, when the fatigue and embarrassment and stress caught up to him, he cursed his situation to hell. He cursed at everything. He cursed the fact that his parents had mysteriously disappeared and had left them mind-numbingly alone in a strange world completely unlike their previous; the fact that he’d been stuck with two children to raise and not a smidgen of an idea on how to; the fact that he couldn’t be young or reckless because they were always looking up at him with those wide-eyes, and, by Gods, he hated it when they stared at him so innocently--

Ignatius coughed in his sleep, stirring Russell out of his thoughts, but otherwise remained dead to the world.

The eldest Mallory unclenched his fist; chuckling at the sudden turn his thoughts had taken and shifted his hand to rest under his chin for a more contemplative position.

If he really had to admit it, he also wouldn’t give it up for the world sometimes.

“It’s annoying, but I love you guys.”

As if responding to his words, James flung an arm over the side of the bed, and Russell took his little fist in his own much larger hand, shaking it lightly as if swearing on a promise.

“And I know I’m gone most of the time but,” It wasn’t his fault per se, not that they’d understand the benefits of an education just yet. James had reached that age where doing homework was the equivalent to taking a bath, disgusting and unnecessary, and by default so had Ignatius. “-duty calls.”

If it were up to him, it’d be to hell with his education. They needed him more, and he couldn’t be here protecting them when the Orphanage treated them like shit while also running rampant at Hogwarts. It killed him, it really did.

But he had to be the mature one here, so, again, quieter he added, “Duty calls.”

Finally, with a deep sigh betraying the joy and Christmas cheer decorating the walls around them, a sigh belonging to that of a boy way beyond his years, tiredly, Russell came to rest his forehead in the little crook of space between their two pillows and brought his brothers in close for a moment, only a moment for the day was just starting, the sun peeking over the horizon, and he had duties to do before breakfast; he prayed that although they’d be separated at times, may they never be far from each other.

“Happy Birthday to me.”

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:
It'd be a cold day in hell before Russ allowed the lunch rush to beat him.

He’d left the Hospital with fifteen minutes to spare for this exact reason and upon merging into the growing crowd lining the Alley’s streets, the ex-soldier couldn’t help but groan aloud. Apparently, the lunch rush changed day to day and that day’s luck was not on his side.

Neither had it been on the side of one pretty ginger screaming about in the middle of the road.

(Ah yes, Karma worked in mysterious ways.)

Sensing a change in his luck that day, Russell parted the sea of bodies as promptly as he could, wincing slightly as the occasional aggressive crowd-goer shoved against his bad leg.

The nerve of some people still astonished him even after years of being targeted for death in the war.

“Damn. This-“ He elbowed aside a particularly plump office worker (he knew how to pick his victims) as he made it to the last stretch of space before the fallen woman, hand extending outward to scoop up her precious shoe, “-certainly’s the first time I’ve seen a shoe fly away from someone.”

How did you find us? Google

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