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Topics - Poppy Applewhite

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Archived Applications / Poppy Applewhite
« on: 26/08/2018 at 23:40 »
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Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Poppy Applewhite

Birthday: April 8, 1943

Hometown: Hogsmeade, formerly London

Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown

Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): First, Second

She had been floating, it seemed, for the past two years. A fairytale had taken over her life. Part of her suspected she’d died that day with Peter in the alley and this new strange world of magic and funny names and weird creatures was the zany afterlife she’d been dumped in. But then she reminded herself that things still hurt here. She was trapped by adults now stuck in an orphanage. There was no Peter, either. And Peter was dead, she knew that. She’d seen it and felt it and watched herself explode with the knowing of it.

And ever since had been a dream, like it wasn’t her really walking through it all. The little things kept her grounded, the familiar pieces of a childhood on the streets. She still took what she deemed she needed along with precautions to keep it. She still couldn’t do magic, no matter how many times people told her she was a witch and floated something heavy through the air. But that was about to change.

Two years, she’d sat idly by watching other people do things she couldn’t waith a magic stick. Two years she’d slept on cold mattress trying to rearrange everything she’d learned about the world. And finally, at the turn of her 11th year, they said she was finally ready. No more dingy shared rooms, no prim old hags flaunting their abilities in front of her anymore. She had her own wand now and was going off to live in a castle. The whimsical fog of her personal limbo seemed to have been thinning and was now on the verge of breaking.

With the promise of new chapters and the chance to stir her stagnant life, Poppy was more than ready for the next adventure.

Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Leaving it up to the hat!

Poppy is a firecracker hidden in a rubbish pile. She’s easy to look over and disregard with an upturned nose, but set that pile on fire and finding cover would be wise. Despite her quick temper, she is usually happy and energetic, and quick to seek the next adventure. Restless in tight or quiet spaces, she prefers to be in the hub of people unconcerned whether they’re paying attention to her or not. She is hardworking but easily distracted. She makes friends easily, and loses them hard.

Poppy is an average-sized girl for her age, if a little on the scrawny side. She has long, red-brown hair that is normally unkempt and or tied back out of the way.

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option I:

The dungeons. A place eleven-year-old Evangeline had not yet travelled since her arrival at Hogwarts.

A place she really was just fine with not knowing; but it was too late. The dare had been accepted, even if it had been done in fear of being kicked out of Gryffindor, like the older girls had said she would because Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

The air changed instantly when she hit the main corridor of the dungeons. The dampness was almost too much for her and she instinctively took a deep breath to avoid the sensation of being suffocated. There was also a sour burning smell which Evangeline assumed was from many, many Potions lessons.

Further and further she walked, her steps so slow and gentle they made no noise against the stone walls and floor. The feeling that she wasn't alone crept up her spine and raised the tiny hair on the back of her neck. Shivering, Evangeline wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she missed the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room. The fire was always going and it made her feel at ease.

Why had she let those girls talk her into this? She was only eleven, she didn't have to be brave. Surely the Headmistress would not kick her out of Hogwarts for not being brave.

If only she had these thoughts while being dared to search for the ghost of one Emma Birch, whom supposedly haunted the dungeons. It was not, Evangeline had learned, the place where the sixteen-year-old girl's life had ended but as she had been from the house with a snake as its mascot, it was the place her spirit had returned to. That common room was down here somewhere, she'd been told.

Something - the small blonde girl wasn't quite sure what - but something made her stop in her tracks suddenly. There was a low, dull thumping noise. Or maybe that was her heart beating so loudly she thought it was coming from outside her body.

"H-h-hello?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Remembering that she was supposed to be brave, Evangeline tried again.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

The sound of her own words bouncing back at her off the walls made her jump.

It was simply too tempting not to.

Poppy sat braced against the cold, stone wall, hands clasped tight over her mouth so as not to the let the sudden giggle of her epiphone escape. She didn’t have anything against the girl, and she wasn’t doing it to be mean. The fact was, she just had to.

Poppy was not afraid of the dark. It was hard to be when your light switch growing up was sunrise and set, or when you knew there were just as many awful things waiting for you during the day as at night. She wasn’t afraid of tight spaces, either. Tight spaces meant shelter, a place to hide things or find them. She wasn’t afraid of the cold and damp, and until rather recently in her life, she’d never even believed in ghosts.

So when, completely by accident, she’d stumbled upon the wavery calls of someone who was in a dim, soggy dungeon, she’d been struck by the plan and never even considered not following through. The stories of Emma Birch were some of the first older years taunted unsuspecting newbies with, but Poppy had been disappointed from the very first day by their empty lies. Her presence in the dungeons now had been a fruitless last hope. But she was about to turn this wasted trip around for herself.

She could hear the hesitant scrape of footsteps just ‘round the corner, and took one big gulp of breath suppressing the last of her threatening guffaws.

“OO-oo-oO-oooohhh!” she pushed the air through her hollowed throat and mouth so it resonated in the cavernous hall, “It is I-I-I-I! The gho-oo-oo-st of Emma Bi-i-irch!”


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Pax & Co.

How did you find us?: Strawgoh

Elsewhere Accepted / Poppy Applewhite | Elsewhere Child
« on: 25/01/2018 at 07:22 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D


Gender: Female

Age: 9 (DOB: 04/08/1943)


Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 

The Hogsmeade Home for Children

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
The Hogsmeade Home for Children

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:
Pax & Co.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

The old woman across from Poppy scratched a quill--not a pen--across the sheets of parchment--not paper--in front of her. She’d hardly looked up at Poppy for the last half hour, even though she’d had plenty of questions for the little girl to answer. People who worked at orphanages always asked too many questions. She knew this because Peter had told her so. Peter, who had always kept them safe and together, who knew that if adults got hold of them, they’d end up in some sad institution where their lives would be dictated for them, possibly separated, instead of them being able to carve their own way together, as they had managed to do just fine since she was five.

But Peter wasn’t here anymore either. Now it was just Poppy. And Poppy was not as good as Peter had been at getting away from authorities.

“No parents.” The voice rattled across the table. Poppy raised her eyes beneath a wild mane of auburn hair. The woman was looking right at her, hands folded atop the desk, yes the quill was still moving. “No grandparents. No siblings.” Poppy flinched. “Do you have any other family who might take care of you?” There was no comfort in the voice.

The truth was, she didn’t even know. Father dead before she knew him. Only bare, vague memories of a mother. Poppy could smell her charcoal and rosewater scent more than recall her face. The feel of cold, sure hands stood out stronger than a smile. And siblings… no, Peter was gone now, too. As for anyone else, she didn’t know them and they wouldn’t know her. They hadn’t taken care of her and Peter for the years and years they needed someone. They hadn’t sheltered her brother from cold nights that stole poor children. The girl shook her head after a moment, no words, just one sharp negation.

“No matter,” The woman pushed herself back from the desk, the legs of her chair screaming against the floor, “We’ll be taking care of you now. Nine. Just a little more time and you’ll likely be at the Castle most often. We’ve no doubt you’re able. It’s how we found you, anyway.”

Poppy knew what she was talking about. The Incident. When she’d woken shivering and discovered Peter nearby. When people had tried to separate them, hands pulling her away, the sudden screams, and bodies knocked back for no apparent reason away from the frightened, grieving girl. The flurry of light and sound and cloaks that followed so closely after. When suddenly someone grabbed her and with a Pop! and a lurching, sick feeling, she was no longer in that alley but surrounded by people who looked like doctors, but not quite like doctors. And then she’d gone to sleep.

And now she was here. Silent, in an orphanage. A strange orphanage. Being told strange things by strange people until she felt it must be herself that’s strange. That she’d gone crazy, cracked. She was living in some perpetual waking dream, and maybe Peter was trying to get her up to help that pretty Sadie girl sell flowers right this moment.

But no matter how many times she pinched herself, or blinked, or willed herself to see the real world, all that was in front of her were strange things and terrible memories.

She was skeptical of these people, of this orphanage. Resentful even. Peter had told her to be. She didn’t need anyone to “take care of” her!

But Peter was gone now. Poppy was alone. And she could smell hot food. As if the woman was reading her very thoughts--and with these strange people, Poppy would not have been surprised she was--the “Witch” almost glared at her before saying “Lunch will be starting soon. I’m sure you’re hungry. Shall we go introduce you to the other children?”

Slowly, peeking from beneath her wild hair, Poppy nodded, one sharp affirmation.

Reply as your character to the following:

Godric Park.

Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.

Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.

It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.

"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.

Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.

Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.

"...Do you want to play?"

Roleplay Response:
A park was a park. This park was much like many parks Poppy had seen. But only the ones she’d never played at. The ones she’d actually made use of in the past were not as nice. But this one, apparently, she could play at.

Still too young to use magic, she’d been called. She had to be eleven, on her way to “Hogwarts” (what kind of name was that for a school?) in order to get a wand, so she’d been told. Magic. Poppy was a witch, no doubt about it they said. But her power was, for now, forbidden to her. Her family was dead, and anyways, they’d been “Muggles” (what kind of word was that for people?). She’d never had access to magic before, but she hadn’t known about it either. Now, having to stare at it all around her, not being able to touch it was excruciating.

She couldn’t have a wand. She couldn’t have a broomstick. She couldn’t practice spells or brew potions or possess things or make them float. She wasn’t allowed anything about this fantasy she’d been thrust into. The only thing curious enough to distract her from recent tragedy Poppy was not permitted to tamper with.

But a park was a park. She could do that. Sitting on a swing, though, was nothing to the brooms she watched enviously, floating across the sky.

The squeals of a small girl on a much less bouyant broom made her look. The girl had been left behind, and Poppy felt bad. Peter would never have left her. Peter would have given her the first go. Peter…

Poppy hiccuped and lowered her head so her long, red hair draped about her face like a curtain, shielding the view of her tears from the world.

”You!” With a snap of her head, Poppy looked at the girl who was no longer screeching for her brother and had shifted her attention to the lonely girl on the swing. She rubbed the sleeve of her shirt across her eyes, then her nose and focused wide-eyed on the child addressing her. ”...Do you wanna play?”

It was a simple question that didn’t even require words. She could just shake her head yes or no. Instead Poppy stared, unsure, skeptical. Tears dry, her brother tucked safely in a dark spot of memory, she hopped off the swing. Reaching up with the same arm she’d wiped her snot on, she pushed a thick bunch of hair behind her ear.

“Sure,” Poppy said tentatively, “...You don’t happen to have one of those wands, do you?”

How did you find us? Fate

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