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Messages - Caledon Angelus

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Archived Applications / Re: Caledon Angelus
« on: 27/03/2017 at 22:47 »
Please delete! Accounts have been appropriately switched :)

2
Elsewhere Accepted / Caledon Angelus
« on: 27/03/2017 at 22:46 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Caledon Aldric Angelus
Gender: Male
Age: 38
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education: 
Hogwarts, Slytherin '31

Residence:
Helspur Manor, South of England

Occupation
Healer - Specialist Surgeoun

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

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: 8
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 9
  • Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Not especially, no.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Arminia Meadowes, etc.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
He was bored.

The majority of Caledon Aldric Angelus's dissipated into meagre attempts at seeming vaguely interested in the cares and worries of those who took up space in his life. His parents, Xander Angelus and Moira Lemay, did what they could to teach him the proper value of feelings. He was kept away at parties. He saw them scarcely, for inspection, for dismal family events which required his presence. An only child. No use for others.

He wouldn't have wanted a sibling anyway.

Caledon grew up in the expanse of Helspur Manor, his family's ancient home, spending his time riding his father's selection of prize horses and reading volumes from the library. It was here Cal discovered the one thing that managed to capture his wandering fascination. The dissection of the human body. It muscles and bones. How they could break and shatter and still be healed. He poured over magical medical diagrams and spells with an obsessive vigour not shown to any other thing.

The medical profession was appropriate and tasteful.

When he arrived at Hogwarts at age 11, the Sorting Hat barely skimmed his head before declaring "Slytherin". It pleased his parents. Cal hardly cared. While he nursed his ambitions with appropriate classes and the adequate offerings of the library, he easily passed his exams and tests with little effort and much annoyance. His professors remarked on his natural intelligence. He thought they were fools for being surprised. Somewhere in his third year, he realized that he was exceptionally attractive. Girls would stare. Some boys would too. The power that gave him, though he cared very little about the gratification it created, warped in him the vanity his parents had been ensared in their whole adult lives. He could use people up. He could absorb their every thoughts without giving many of his own. And even when he hurt them, it seemed like they liked it.

And he liked that too.

Graduation brought quick internships and labs that passed faster than the expectations or guidelines of those in charge of him. For Cal, they were tedious and dull. He just wanted to start performing surgeries. To dissect and inspect and learn.

The war offered much opportunity for the young surgeon to expand his vivacious appetite for the atrocities that interested him. Blood and guts and mangled limbs and irreversible spells challenged what he could do. He didn't care about his colleagues. He didn't care about which side won, so long as he could work.

The war wasn't boring.

But life after the war was a much different story.

Both parents dead from heart attacks left Cal with exceptional wealth and only three distant cousins to indulge in familial ties. Only the best and most expensive of things are enough for him, and he takes pleasure in donating to research and advancement in his own field. Women and men come in flocks and hoards. He never wanted an attachment. An attachment would only expect the unexpected of him.

And something dark eats at him. Though he could not say what - nor care enough to indulge it entirely - the war taught him that he much preferred seeing pain and anger than the alternatives.

They weren't boring.


Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option Two -
The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.

And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there. 

Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.

"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.

Roleplay Response:
He hated the damn weather.

Chunks of white ice floating down, soaking onto coats and heads, creating accidents. Injuries he may be called in to fix. Cal blinked lazily, his hand holding his wand upwards while he projected an umbrella charm above him to keep the snow off of his onyx wool coat. It was expensive. Cost him 15 galleons from a higher end shop in Diagon. An investment. Beautiful, it cut an attractive silhouette on his frame.

He'd left Mungo's to get a stack of cigarettes. The only retailer who carried his favourite blend sat in the middle of Knockturn Alley. It made obtaining them tricky, but he was able to do it without anyone saying a word to him.

No one would.

The temptation to alight one for his walk back into the building held strong. Only a minute's walk. To straighten out the flurry of those apparating into E&T. Too much of a possibility for a fuss, had been the official regulation.

It was annoying.

Cal stared ahead, pale eyes focused on the ever-moving doors of the hospital. Always people. Especially with the damned snow. No one seemed to use common sense when the weather changed. As if several weeks obliviated all memory of weather prior to then. Even the damned rain.

Ridiculous.

Shouting. A vague disturbance behind him.

Then, someone and something tumbling into his back, knocking him off balance and sending his arm down. Wet slops bled onto his oiled hair. Ran down his neck. Assailed his shoulders.

Cal steadied his feet. Rage burned. He spun round to glare at the problem.

A tail of red tinsel fell from his shoulder and onto the clumsy good-for-nothing with a spill of boxes and holiday around him.

"For Merlin's sake!" he muttered, pushing himself up through the onslaught of snow. The idiot only looked up after caring for his cheap, knickknack of a coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

Pale eyes narrowed.

"Bloody ridiculous," Cal growled, turning back to the entrance. Cold. Wet. Irritated. "Absolute fool."


OTHER
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