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Messages - Cillian Galbraith

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Elsewhere Accepted / Cillian Galbraith (Elsewhere Adult)
« on: 30/03/2020 at 00:21 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Cillian Sionnach Galbraith
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Blood Status: Halfblood

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Slytherin (entered 1945, dropped out 1951)

Knockturn Alley, London, England

Reformed Thief

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?
Ministry of Magic

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 10
  • Divination: 10
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 6
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Cedric Galyn, et. al.

To say that Cillian Sionnach Galbraith lived up to his name would be the understatement of the year. His mam named him for the grey foxes she saw out the window the day he was born, and so a fox he became. Mercurial and impulsive, he was wilder than a single, alcoholic mother in Knockturn Alley had the hope to control. She worked all day and some nights as well to provide what little they had, leaving Ciaran to himself most of the time. He roamed wherever he pleased, whenever he pleased, which was useful for avoiding his mother’s more violent moods.

Nothing changed when he was shipped off to Hogwarts. Eleven-year-old Cillian hated the idea of being turned into a good little school boy and set about making himself the unsung terror of Slytherin House. Even when their school fell under Hexenreich control, Cillian was hardly interested in anything as stupid as blood purity or the advancement of the magical agenda. He was concerned only with what he could get out of the situation. He ran rackets, sold test answers he’d nicked from professors’ offices, and generally stole anything that wasn’t tied down. And sure, if he could ‘accidentally’ screw over a Hexenreich goon, that was an added bonus.

Four years later, he decided fifth year wasn’t worth the trouble and dropped out of Hogwarts altogether. Home wasn’t much better. His mother in the meantime had gotten herself deeper into debt and even deeper into a bottle, so it was up to him to provide for them. Being an enterprising lad, Cillian went out and got himself a lucrative job he knew he would be good at – pickpocketing, and running cons. It got him noticed by the right people in Knockturn, and he started picking up business in the criminal underworld. By nineteen, he’d built a network of contacts that went deep enough into Knockturn’s darkest alleys that even he wasn’t always sure how deep it went. He was no magical savant – barely good enough for the standard Hogwarts graduate and a chaotic, disorganized mess to boot – but he was savvy, analytical, recognizing patterns and meaning in things others might not have seen and chasing after them with an ambition worthy of any snake. It served him well, for a short while.

Short while indeed. By twenty-three, he’d been arrested. A break-in gone wrong; a piece of information distorted. Cillian had trusted the wrong person. Yet, the arresting Aurors saw an opportunity. Cillian Galbraith knew people, lots of people – people the Ministry wanted to see put away Azkaban a lot more than they wanted a young thief. He was given a choice, a deal: Go to Azkaban, or pay off his two-year debt by becoming a Ministry informant. He’d heard what dementors were like, and besides which the idea of being confined scared him more than anyone or anything could. No prizes for guessing which path he chose, and for the next two years, he played his part. It made him no shortage of enemies, but the rush of adrenaline his involuntary occupation provided intrigued him. Being on the other side of the law had its perks, of course – no riding solo, even if it felt like people were breathing down his neck. He even liked the puzzle of it, there was always something new and interesting, never a dull moment. He wasn’t sold, not completely. But oddly enough, the Auror lifestyle was beginning to appeal to him.

Cillian Galbraith, Auror. It had an interesting ring to it.

 Roleplay Response:
Ah, Christmas time. Cillian hadn’t much interest in trees and carols and good tidings of great joy, but he was always the sort to enjoy presents. People were more gullible this time of year, of course, more given to handing out their worldly possessions to a poor man just trying to get enough to buy Christmas gifts for his little kiddies, or a doting grandson buying medicine for his sick grandmother, and so on and so forth. And, for those who remained miserly, they were usually more distracted running to and fro from shop to shop and not at all minding their pockets in favor of minding their parcels.

Like this gentleman here, with a stack of boxes higher than he was tall. A prime target, this one. Older, grumpy, distracted, hands full. In the good old days, he’d have had the man’s coin purse faster than you could say ‘Happy Christmas,’ yet the thief had passed him instead without a single straying hand. It was a bloody shame, but considering he was now a changed man—

Quite suddenly, there was a shout from behind, and before he knew what was happening, Cillian was jolted forward hard enough he tumbled straight into a street-side snowbank, followed unceremoniously by the would-be victim and his parcels. After a long moment of indignant sputtering and the realization that he was now entirely covered in golden glitter, he blinked and stared at the older man now apologizing profusely for the blunder.

And then he began to laugh.

“Never mind it, mate, you’re not the first t’ deck me an’ you won’t be the last I reckon.” Privately, he thought it grimly funny that the universe should now punish him for even considering thievery again. Nimbly he half-jumped to his feet, brushing himself off and lifting one of the now slightly dented boxes to peer inside. Nothing but tinsel and holiday décor, enough to deck the halls of a mansion it seemed. “You fixin’ to gussy up Buckingham Palace, or sommat?”

How did you find us? Returning player!

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