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Messages - Sepia Mallow

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Did I just put 2015 in the bio...? Oh dear. Whoops! Let's pretend that says 1946...

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Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name:
Francisca Milada Mallow.

Birthday:
05 November 1932.

Hometown:
Boston, Massachusetts; USA.

Bloodline:
Complicated and debatable; depends on one’s definition of ‘Pure’. Muggleborn? Halfblood? Pureblood-y Squib-born?

Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Charms

Year (pick two):
Third, second, fourth.

Biography:
The Mallows were something of a discrete family. They were perhaps best known for their predilection for doling out disownment like birthday gifts, complete with sumptuous stationery decorated with overly ornate words:

Dear __________________,

Thank you for your time as a member of the great House of Mallow. Unfortunately, you have been disowned for the following reasons:

[   ] Intimate relations with Muggles and/or Mudbloods
[   ] Opposing viewpoints
[   ] Irreconcilable differences
[   ] Posing a threat to the House of Mallow
[   ] Bringing great shame and disgrace upon the House of Mallow
[   ] Other: _____________________________

We kindly ask that you no longer use the great name of Mallow. For the sake of posterity, please state your preferred surname here: ____________

Please fill out and return the attached documents by: ___/___/______.

Signature: ______________________

Thank you for your time.


(It was common practice amongst the disowned to, in subtle retaliation, change their surnames as little as possible. This was the case for such infamous cast-outs as Angus Mallowe and Charmaine Mellow.)

Perhaps it was cruel of the Mallows to do so, even hypocritical. (Indeed, the Mallow clan itself did not exist until Cearbhall Malloy IV fled to America in the 17th century upon his exile from Ireland.) The Deserters, they were called. But such was tradition, and so the Mallows continued.

It was therefore quite understandable that patriarch Abner Mallow’s decision to officially declare his Squib of a son Francis as the new head of the family sparked a great deal of outrage. And it was, of course, perfectly reasonable of the new patriarch to pull his beloved daughter out of Salem in these strenuous times and send her off to England, where such delicate matters would not worry her pretty little mind. After all, their precious darling would only be away for a month or two at most, right?


 

18 January 2015
Mallow home
London, England
Morning


Breakfast in the Mallow household on the eastern side of the Atlantic could hardly be qualified as a quiet or peaceful affair on normal days. Yet today held a particular clamor, for one Miss Francisca Milada Mallow had just received a very bad piece of news indeed.

“What do you mean I’m not returning?!”

Cisca nearly choked on her toast. Her voice was little more than a panicked squeak as incredulous chestnut eyes stared across the table. Uncle Boris appeared hesitant to respond, and swallowed another mouthful of eggs before finally disclosing, “Fraxinella, dear, it’s… a delicate situation that we are in.”

For a month she had been confined to the dreary streets of London, and all because some silly little threats had spilled from a Castoff’s mouth. Cisca had never been a patient girl, and every day had seen her longing for her return. She couldn’t just be stuck here, could she?

“But I can’t stay here forever! Not-Aunt Charmaine’s already been arrested! Why can’t I – “

“No, it’s just – Hexenreich is – well, this is a political matter, you see, and I only wish that your father had had the foresight to…” the man trailed off, a troubled look upon his face. An unreadable expression shadowed his eyes. “Trust me, dear, I’ve tried my very best, but, you cannot go home. Hexenreich will not allow it. I would never lie to you, would I?”

The truth was so very dreaded that she could hardly believe it. Yet she had never known Boris Mallow to be a liar; if he said that her return was impossible, then surely it was.

Protests faded to indignant mutters as the girl stabbed her fork angrily at her muffin.

(It did not occur to her that her uncle was, in fact, a very good liar indeed.)

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

House Request:
Gryffindor, methinks; Cisca’s pretty daring and impulsive, and has a fairly strong moral code. If not, then Hufflepuff, probably, as the dear has a bleeding heart and is quite well-intentioned. She’s not a very good fit for Slytherin, as she has never been one for ambition or duplicity.

Personality:
Thirteen, for many, is an intermediate age that marks the beginning of the transition to adulthood. For Cisca, it has been the year when she essentially had to put her life on hold. Separated from the influence of her friends and peers, she has managed to evade growing up for the year she has been in Britain. Cisca remains a blithe, naïve child, and many would characterize her as somewhat immature. She is blunt and honest, and trusts too easily because she expects others to be the same.

The girl is capricious, yet stubborn; she often changes her mind on matters, but will never change it for others. Cisca has never been particularly subtle, and is quite bold and confrontational. Her outlook on life more or less embodies (dare I say it) “#YOLO”, for she lives for the present, bores of the past, and fears the future. She’s impulsive and reckless; though not the best at long-term planning, she’ll try anything once.

Though raised with strict purist family values, her parents’ status as Squibs has left her with a confused, ambivalent view on the matter. She sees the world in dark and light, and struggles to understand all the little shades of gray that make up the in-between. A sheltered American girl ignorant of foreign affairs, Cisca lacks an understanding of all of this “Hexing-Right” business, and would really just like to go home.

Appearance:
Cisca is a lanky, gangling child with dark eyes and a square face. Her dark blonde hair, kept long and curled, has always been something of a bother to her, and its continued existence is often threatened by her love of candles. Despite the lamentations of her mother and aunt, she has never cared much about appearances, and when left to her own devices usually looks rather disheveled.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.

In her jaunty explorations of the castle, Cisca could almost forget why she was there.

From the moment she’d stepped foot into the Entrance Hall, the delightfully confounding halls had presented her with an irresistibly delectable challenge. It hardly mattered that it was just past curfew, or that the dungeons had been darker and more imposing than she’d expected. Francisca Mallow had places to be.

Socked feet (for she’d discarded her flats behind a statue after determining them to be far too noisy for sneaking about) shuffled across cool stone floors. It was honestly a miracle that the girl had not been caught yet, for the toad nestled in her arms was known to be quite a loud and persistent croaker.

“You know, Al,” the girl mumbled  to her companion, “the dungeons could do with some lovely scented candles. It’d brighten the place up, and maybe the stench wouldn’t be so awful.”

She wrinkled her nose at the noisome odor for the nth time, but was promptly distracted by her toad slipping out of her grasp. “Algernon!” she whisper-shouted, running down the corridor after her amphibian friend.

Or, well, she tried to. There were, after all, downsides to running with socks on. Shoeless feet slipped on the too-smooth floor, sending the girl toppling downwards with a mighty thud.

“Ow,” she muttered, silently cursing her pet. At least nobody had been around to witness her incident… right?

“Hello! Is Emma Birch here?”

Cisca froze, panicked, still splayed on the dungeon floor. She was surely doomed – oh. Finally she registered that the voice most certainly did not belong to a teacher, Hexing-Right, or Prefect. A Primary I First Year, perhaps?

She looked up (or as best she could from her position) but could not see the voice’s owner. Really, she thought, what sort of school had a dungeon, anyway? And why were dungeons always so… shadowy?

At last she remembered that the girl’s voice had asked a question, and responded, “No, don’t think so. Who’s Emma Birch, anyways?”


→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous):
None.

How did you find us?:
Google!



3
Hi there!

Francisca did indeed have a rosy childhood free of struggles. World War II did not weigh on her mind much; as a young, upper class girl whose parents did not wish to concern her with such matters, she was not much affected by it. It seemed rather like a distant fairy tale to her, and did not register in her mind as 'real' until she saw a classmate crying about a relative that was killed in action.

So she would definitely notice the presence of these wizards in Britain and think it odd and questionable. However, she would not quite feel threatened or scared at first; rather, she would feel a little curious about it all. She might even wish to go up to them and ask a blunt question or two.

Luckily for Cisca, however, her relatives are considerably more astute, and they try their best to keep her quiet. The conflict is especially heightened in the Mallow household, as her aunt fled from Germany in the late 1920s; her fear and wariness is reflected in the rest of the family.

Despite Cisca's initial ignorance, she will likely notice the tension in her relatives and slowly learn to fear the strange men and women on the streets. Her behavior will be more subdued, and she will start to act less blithely when in their presence. Still, Cisca doesn't know why she fears them; she only knows that they are to be feared.

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Elsewhere Accepted / Francisca Mallow | Elsewhere Child
« on: 27/10/2015 at 11:40 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Francisca Milada Mallow; prefers to be called any possible diminutive over that, particularly ‘Franca’ and ‘Cisca’.

(Um. Could my username please be changed to Francisca Mallow to reflect that? Sorry! I am a capricious being.)

Gender: Female.

Age: 12/13.

Bloodline:
Muggleborn, technically. (But raised like a Pureblood because her parents are both Squibs but her ancestors are all Purebloods?)

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Parents: Francis and Milada Mallow.
Current guardians: Boris and Angelika Mallow.
None currently played.

Residence:
Romping about somewhere or other in England.

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
Uh… no?

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nope.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Nada. I’m new~

Biography: (100 words minimum.)
The Mallows were something of a discrete family. They were perhaps best known for their predilection for doling out disownment like birthday gifts, complete with sumptuous stationery decorated with overly ornate words:

Dear __________________,

Thank you for your time as a member of the great House of Mallow. Unfortunately, you have been disowned for the following reasons:

[   ] Intimate relations with Muggles and/or Mudbloods
[   ] Opposing viewpoints
[   ] Irreconcilable differences
[   ] Posing a threat to the House of Mallow
[   ] Bringing great shame and disgrace upon the House of Mallow
[   ] Other: _____________________________

We kindly ask that you no longer use the great name of Mallow. For the sake of posterity, please state your preferred surname here: ____________

Please fill out and return the attached documents by: ___/___/______.

Signature: ______________________

Thank you for your time.

(It was common practice amongst the disowned to, in subtle retaliation, change their surnames as little as possible. This was the case for such infamous cast-outs as Angus Mallowe and Charmaine Mallo.)

Perhaps it was cruel of the Mallows to do so, even hypocritical. (Indeed, the Mallow clan itself did not exist until Cearbhall Malloy IV fled to America in the 17th century upon his exile from Ireland.) The Deserters, they were called. But such was tradition, and so the Mallows continued.

It was therefore quite understandable that patriarch Abner Mallow’s decision to officially declare his Squib of a son Francis as the new head of the family sparked a great deal of outrage. And it was, of course, perfectly reasonable of the new patriarch to pull his daughter out of Salem in these strenuous times and send her off to England, where such delicate matters would not worry her pretty little mind. Of course.

***

Francisca Milada Mallow was tired of politics. Pureblood politics were messy and complicated and she hated them. They dictated the inner workings of her family, insisted she adhere to all their finicky little rules, picked apart her blood status and questioned its purity. And now, politics were forcing her to leave behind everything.

Being immediately carted off across the Atlantic and placed under her Uncle Boris’ care upon returning home for the winter holidays was unexpected, to say the least. Less expected still was the news that she would not be returning.

Cisca was to be pulled from her Salem classes without so much as a final adieu. Just for a little while, her mother had assured her, but Purebloods were a fickle lot and entirely too fond of their theatrics. It would likely be a while yet before the melodrama subsided and her parents’ paranoia waned enough to permit her return.

But for now, she had nothing but months of cold England weather to look forward to. Oh, joy.

Roleplay:
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:
England was boring.

The week since her arrival had been nothing but rain, rain, rain. It was a wonder anyone managed to crack a smile in this place, with those swirling dark clouds constantly hanging threateningly overhead… Though, it seemed, today the sun had at long last returned from its cowering; warm sunlight shone down from a bright sky for once.

Her trio of weird British-sounding cousins were ushering her about and introducing her to the area… Or, well, they were supposed to. Colette had been all huffy and crotchety until she spied some weird German book in a dubious-looking shop; they’d been unable to tear her attention away from her new finding since. Carlisle had disappeared at some point. (Probably noticed a pretty witch or two. Or a mirror.) Her eldest cousin Carmine was just weird. And more importantly, scatter-brained. It was far too tempting to slip away while the young man was preoccupied with some strange train of thought.

And so she did.

The first place she decided to properly explore was the nearby park. It was a lovely place, filled with the cheery laughter of children playing under the rare sun. Three boys were in the midst of a game overhead, and she was content to watch despite the lack of explosions.

Hm. Their aerial game reminded her of a childhood urge to climb the highest tree she could find, just to say that she could. Her mother had never allowed it, claiming that doing so was unladylike and would only cause injuries. Well, her mother wasn’t here now. And this park had an awful lot of tall trees... Maybe she could –

“You!”

At the call, Cisca dragged her gaze downward. The voice belonged to a younger girl with crossed arms and a frustrated expression; a child’s broomstick impaled the soil by her feet. Huh. The kid was tiny and blue-eyed and adorable in the way only babies and animals could pull off.

“Yeah, what?” Cisca couldn’t help but wonder what she had done to earn the ire of such a cute little child.

“… Do you want to play?”

Oh. Cisca had only meant to linger for a few more moments; distrait though he was, Carmine was bound to notice her absence eventually, and she had precious little time left to properly explore and climb a decent tree. Yet the child did look a tad lonely… (Or perhaps that was just Cisca; her friends remained in America, hundreds of miles away.)

“Sure, what do you want to play?”

OTHER
How did you find us? A Google search in the middle of the night after going off on a weird tangent.

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