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Adults & Children / Rowan Newry
« Last post by Rowan Newry on 17/09/2019 at 10:48 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Rowan Newry
Gender: Male
Age: 34
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education:
Hogwarts, Ravenclaw House, Class of 1941

Residence:
Portree, Isle of Skye

Occupation
Wandmaker and shop owner

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?
No, but I plan to make a wandmakers shop

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: 10
  • Divination: 6
  • 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?
Ash Newry. Because they are father and son.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Ash Newry (application pending.)

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Rowan had been a second year student at Hogwarts when the Time Warp happened, and for all the upheaval it caused he was left relatively... unscathed. One of a four children, born to an old and respected Pureblood family, the Ministry legislation requiring Blood testing and Blood Status Badges had little effect on the Newry family, other than limiting the clientele that they could sell too to those who were from old and proper wizarding stock.

Being that the Newry family had operated their wand store, 'Newry's Wands' in Knockturn Alley for generations, it hardly made a difference. No muggleborn would have dared to enter the shop in any case.

During the upheaval that proceeded to engulf the wizarding world Rowan largely stuck to his studies, determined and perhaps a little bit pressured, into making sure that he learnt enough that one day he would be able to continue on with the family business, and become a maker of wands like his parents and their parents before them. Rowan's school years flew by at a rapid pace, the only real distraction he had from his avid study of all things wands and magic being the occasional Quidditch games and Quidditch practices he attended as the Keeper for the Ravenclaw house team. While not an amazing flyer, Rowan was blessed with quick reflexes and quick thinking, and was able to serve his house team well throughout the years that he attended Hogwarts.

Finally graduating from first his OWL's and then two gruelling years later from his NEWT's, Rowan proceeded to take a year off from study to explore the magical world and learn more about his craft as a maker of fine wands. While the Newry family maintained a shopfront, most of their business came from custom orders and from all manner of unusual and on the rare occasion questionably legal purchases, using materials that were perhaps not strictly allowed to be used.

It was three years after he graduated from Hogwarts that his parents were killed, fighting in the war and not long after that that he married and gave birth to his only child, Ash Newry. Now a responsible adult and with a whole business resting on his shoulders, Rowan rarely finds time for pleasure, though he does make a point of taking the time out of his day to play Quidditch with his kid and go to the occasional game.

Roleplay: 
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:
For the life of him, Rowan Newry could not say why he decided to stop and help the girl who had fallen and broken the heel of her admittedly far too tall heels, what with her parchments and quills flying everywhere, but for whatever reason he couldn't help himself. Maybe she just reminded him of a friend he had back in his school days, but that was largely besides the point.

He had been on a lunch break and was on his way back to his own shop and another no doubt dreary afternoon spent trying to fulfill the order he had been left by some rich snoot from the Ministry, who had wanted their wand made in a very specific way. Sometimes Rowan wondered if these wizards didn't forget that it was the wand, or at least the materials in his experience, that chose the wizard and not the other way around...

Pulling his wand from his sleeve, he waved it towards the bundles of parchment and spilled ink surrounding the unfortunate woman, quickly gathering them up before muttering a quick "Reparo" to fix the broken heel.

Sometimes witches and wizards were all to quick to forget that magic could solve these kinds of problems, with little more than a flick of a wand.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Rowan asks, one eyebrow raised and one of his work worn and splinter coated hands held out to offer her a hand up.

Noticing the title of the article she had obviously been writing in the stack of parchments, Rowan lets out a small snort. "Perhaps you could come back to my shop, and I can give you a real story?"

OTHER
How did you find us? Google
2
Adults & Children / Ash Newry
« Last post by Ash Newry on 17/09/2019 at 09:48 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Ash Newry

Gender: Male

Age: 10 (born 25th of February, 1947)

Bloodline:
Pureblood

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Rowan Newry (Yes, alt character).

Residence:
Diagon Alley, London

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
Diagon Alley.

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Yes, with his father Rowan Newry.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Rowan Newry (application pending.)

Biography: (100 words minimum.)
Ash was born as the first and only child of a loving father and a doting mother on a wizarding farm on the outskirts of the tiny seaside town of Portree on the Isle of Skye, deep within the Scottish hinterlands. While normally such an inauspicious place of origin would point to a childhood steeped in the mundane and the simpler things in life, for Ash this was certainly not the case. The Newry family, after all, were a long established Pureblood family and one with a unique distinction from many of their contemporaries. The Newry's were a proud and well established family of wandmakers. While certainly not the most prestigious practitioners of their arcane art, Ash grew up surrounded by old and archaic books, haphazard piles of wandwoods and all manner of magical beasts, kept for the strength of their various hairs, feathers and venoms that are useful as wandcores.

While the family home in Portree is where the wands are made, they also keep a small shop in the somewhat disreputable Knockturn Alley. As a child, Ash would often end up being brought along to the store with his father and left in the back room with instructions to 'be quiet, not annoy the customers and above all else to Not. Leave. The. Shop.' Naturally these instructions often fell on deaf ears, though through the years Ash developed both a love for good books and an almost innate ability to keep out of trouble and keep from being noticed.

Ash's father, Rowan Newry, was an often busy man and the principle wandmaker in the family following the death of Ash's paternal grandparents during the war. Both of Ash's parents are followers of the old Pureblood traditions and while not as strict as some, he has certainly been raised as a proper Pureblood along with all that that entails.

When he was five, Ash first exhibited accidental magic. His mother, who had been cooking dinner at the time, was shocked to discover that her child was levitating bits of ham off of the chopping block in the kitchen to eat. While initially angry, eventually she had calmed down and was thrilled to learn that her child was definitely magical.

Growing up in such a remote place, Ash has few friends his own age and most of the other children he interacts with are various cousins and the children of his parents friends, when they go to visit other parts of magical Britain. Ash is homeschooled for the most part, and learns about Magical Britain and about writing from his mother and father, along with the basics of their family craft. At first Ash had begged his parents to be allowed to go to the nearby Muggle school, until one day when he had been playing outside a group of older Muggle boys chased him and threatened him, calling him all kinds of names. Ash was saved when he managed to climb up into the boughs of a Sycamore tree on the edge of Portree and hide until they left.

It was here, in an ancient Sycamore, that Ash finally found his first and only friend. Standing barely six inches tall, and initially terrified of the big human invader of its home, Ash and the little Bowtruckle he as a seven year old intelligently named Stick quickly became all but inseparable. As the child of a wandmaker, his parents were not surprised in the least, as the Newry family had a long history of forging bonds with the small guardians of the various wand wood bearing trees.

Now as a ten year old, Ash is impatiently waiting to be allowed to go to famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it is rare to find him without either his nose buried in a book, playing Quidditch with his dad and his cousins, or out in the yard with his mother learning all that there is to know about the various magical creatures they keep, and pestering her with questions about her years at Hogwarts.

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 trudged 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:
Ash was decidedly unsure which he was more between scared out of his mind and excited at the possibility of getting to play Quidditch. His parents had dragged him along to the home of one of their acquaintances for some reason or another and promptly proceeded to dump him outside with a gaggle of other children as company. This would be all fine and dandy, if those other children hadn't been, well... rowdy boys, who were bigger than him and who already knew each other.

Stumped for what to do, Ash had reluctantly hidden himself under a tree with a fat book that proclaimed itself to be about the '101 Uses for Acromantula Silk' all the while trying to keep his Bowtruckle friend Stick from chasing after the Kneazle that was lounging in the sun under the porch.

When one of the other children, a little girl whose name eludes him, yells out to him and startles him from his reading by asking him to come play, Ash is momentarily stuck for words.

"Umm. I suppose? Err, do you want to play Quidditch?" Ash eventually responds, face still half hidden by his book.

Picking himself up from the grass, he grabs one of the brooms that has been left out, for him he guesses, before heading over to where the other girl is with a hesitant smile.

Maybe today wasn't going to be a complete waste of a sunny afternoon after all.

OTHER
How did you find us? Google
3
Adults & Children / Isla Lamont-King
« Last post by Isla Lamont-King on 16/09/2019 at 04:57 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Isla Lamont-King
Gender: Female
Age: 32
Blood Status: Pureblood

Education:
Hogwarts - Gryffindor '38

Residence:
London

Occupation:
Journalist

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?
Daily Profit

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: 10
  • Transfiguration: 8
  • Summoning: 6
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Circe&Co

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Life in Dunoon at the Lamont Estate was never going to be enough for her. From a young age she yearned for a world to explore to be let out of her gilded cage and run free. Always wanting to do whatever her older brothers did. Wanting to prove that she could be an adventurer and a girl. Her father was okay with this at home, but in the public eye she needed to remain poised and proper. A proper little lady that could beat all the boys... She just wasn't allowed to prove it.

That changed when she was put in Gryffindor at her first opening feast. The house of red and gold that her family didn't approve of, but never made it a big deal in her presence. During the school year she was allowed to go on as many adventures as her heart desired. She knew she wanted to travel the world. Scotland was too small.

People at school were insufferable talkers, which she loved. Everyone was willing to give information if she asked the right questions or even more so if she flirted in the right way. Rumors, a few she started, grew like fiend fire. The way that information spread through society interested her more than the boys that were supposed to be her suitors picked by her father.

That life was ultimately for her.

After graduation she hopped on a ship and traveled. Her first adventure. Getting to know people from cultures and regions she didn't even know existed. It ultimately lead her to becoming a freelancer for a paper no one read. She stayed at that paper for awhile until she got her big break when she was twenty four. Uncovering that a mysterious disease that had overcome a village in the Sudan was due to an old magical artifact that had been forgotten for hundreds of years.

A few husbands had passed and she decided it was time to go back to the UK. She had made a name for herself unlike most of her siblings. She had gone out and made her own money, and that was something they couldn't take away from her... Granted some of the money had been divorce settlements. The rest was all her. 


Roleplay: 
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:
London was a place she came back to at least once a year, but now she was living there. It was sort of boring even though it felt right. Nothing really interesting happened there.  London was just London.. Too many laws to allow for the gritty of the world to show up on the surface. Below the surface was a different story, but that thought was for a different day.

Without much to do she sat at a little cafe sipping tea and people watching. People watching was probably one of her favorite things to do. She could pretty much guess what most people were going to do, unless they were excellent at controlling their body language. The language most people forget exists.

Right then she laid eyes on a young woman trying to get people to ask questions. It made her laugh a bit. It wasn't everyday one finds what could have been them ten years younger. Was she that annoying when she was young? She really hoped not.

Then the lady's heal broke and Isla decided to step in. Grabbing her jacket she made her way through the walking crowd. "You're never going to get people to answer your questions." She said with a smile and held out her hand for a shake. "I'm Isla, and it looks like you could use some help in-" She paused for a second looking down. "-more than one area."


OTHER
How did you find us? Google
4
Adults & Children / Re: Aloysius Dyre
« Last post by Aloysius Dyre on 15/09/2019 at 22:04 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Aloysius 'Doc' Beauregard Daegan Dyre
Gender: Male
Age: 39
Blood Status: The purest

Education: 
Hogwarts, Slytherin

Residence:
Dyre Stronghold, Durham

Occupation
Family patriarch

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?
No.

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: 16
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 10
  • Summoning: 10
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Bracken Thomas, Jackson Carmondy

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
There is an isle in the North Pennines, bordered on three sides by a slow, wide river and the last by sheer rocky incline, reachable only by bridge. Muggles dare not approach; to their eyes the bridge is sundered, and the ever present wall of fog whispers of horrors long past and faded from memory. Among the acres of isolation are seven large manors. Centered at the end of the main road stands one that dwarfs the other six. This is the stronghold of the age old Dyre family, Steadfast, or to some outsiders, Den of Teeth.

Such is the dwelling of any good-standing Dyre family member, Aloysius Beauregard being of the most current examples. Because of a generation without sons, Aloysius' mother claimed the head seat of Steadfast at the premature and unexpected passing of her father, former head. With her husband they produced first a glorious son, Torin, followed by two daughters, Bathilda and Clarette, and two more boys, Aloysius and Garrick. All were given the family name, for Dyre Endures.

Many-a-relative through reaches for power across the sands of time tangoed publicly with violence, thereby sealing cruelty with the name Dyre. But right away Aloysius seemed different from his ancestors. A softspoken builder of bridges. Always a tension hung over his siblings like stormclouds; who would be best groomed for the head seat? Who would worm their way around the others into power? Never did Aloysius earn an eye, though, culling fights instead of igniting them.

Sent off to his education at Hogwarts, the expectation was such that he would, like the countless before him, be welcomed into the resourceful house of Slytherin. The general belief, however, purported that he would fall into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff with his strong work ethic and reasoned ideas and mediating of conflict. The entire estate needed a second look at his garbing in green.

Softspoken, and impossible to catch. Builder of bridges, for avenues towards his own agendas.

His education proceeded without much public incident. Often he was recruited to step between the wicked duels of his bickering elder sisters, for through the entire castle only Aloysius might subdue their tempers, and out of such the little epithet Doc slowly began to replace his first name. He studied hard so that, by his seventh year, he could have his twisted fun in private; Obliviate became a specialty, the hidden gem of his masterful Charms abilities, and the perfect vehicle for covering the dark magic that his family on the Isle shared with him.

Upon graduation he became an ambassador for the family, earning himself one of the coveted six peripheral manors on the Isle thanks to timely passing of elder relatives. Dutifully he married the woman whom his parents had arranged for him at age 25. They functioned together, although the union was bereft of love. A sequence of events over the two years following forever sealed his fate. Sickness struck down his father, withering away at the man's mental capacity. His mother, whom Doc believed actually loved the ailing man who had never expressed a gentle touch for her, resigned from her familial throne. Torin had proven himself a natural leader, and no doubt this played a substantial role in her decision, for he ascended into her place. Shortly thereafter Torin earned an assassin's victory. Hired by the men whom he made behind-the-curtains business with, or by his own wife who surely displeased of Torin's copious other women strewn across the country, no one knew. He was buried all the same.

A patriarchy, the succession should have gone then to Aloysius. But his mother convinced the familial council to consider Bathilda instead. The passion of their ancestors flowed in her veins, along with the instability. Perhaps because of the latter, or by some suspect meddling, she shockingly declined the offer. Now Clarette was cast off of the Isle before Aloysius even graduated for her degrading associations, so finally the quiet boy that never won consideration took up the mantle passed down by his brother, from his mother, from his grandfather, and so on.

For the past fourteen years he has maintained it with stringent order, along with being inducted to fatherhood. His wife gave to him a daughter four years ago, and he's never loved anything more.

Coinciding with his ascent to the family's peak began Doc's persecution of muggles and their sympathizers, a great exhibition of the Dyre family legacy of asserting blood purity. Quietly he has undertaken the prerogative, kidnapping, maiming and sometimes murdering his victims, otherwise reliant on practiced memory charms to maintain his works. It's even become fun to direct the foul muggle corpses at the snap of his fingers, a small but growing collection of inferi ready to further the agenda.


Roleplay: 
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:
A woman spilled upon the street like the spray of dung from a decrepit dragon, hair red like streaks of blood mixed in. The oaf tumbled a dangerously close distance to a pair of polished boots, a single one of them worth more than the meager contents of such a pity's entire Gringotts vault. The binder within the confines of pale hands jolted in unison with their master almost as violently as the musings of a nearby imagination.

Doc's eyes flashed. After picturing her screaming even louder hanging upside down in a pretty little dungeon, then proceeded thoughts to the upcoming conference which now hinged upon the minute hand. The permits were of utmost importance to negotiate for his racing endeavors, though he could not be so transparent about the urgency of his underground tastes. Yet to arrive less than adequately early, or worse scuffed by a beggar wench so lame as to be unfit for navigating the streets, was to portray the exact contrary and jeopardize the bid.

Before he had even a moment to collect himself another body in the crowds tossed its unsavory matter into his elbow and WHOOSH there went the files. Two hypothetical Cruciatus Curses zapped from Doc's eyes to the maker of his aggravation. Restraint unbound stayed his wand from directly aiming at her, instead summoning everything back into his arms. For good measure he shot a spell at the murderous shoe in question, hoping to send it spinning off even further into the sea of careless plebeians dawdling about the Alley.


OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation via Lia Ayres



Admin approval for both potentially horrific plotlines and for extra levels.
5
Character Classifieds / Re: Darcy and co. adoptables!
« Last post by Clara Darcy on 15/09/2019 at 20:42 »

Courtland Hill
Father: Silas Darcy (1915); Gringotts; backstabbing; distant; fav: Alex
Mother: Magnolia Darcy (1917); Socialite; motherly; cunning; fav: all

adoptables

flora darcy
19/1/1949 | Summer De Snoo | slyth | OPEN

wicked. vain. mischievous. spoilt. girly. superiority complex. bold. brave. cunning. sly. quick thinker. brilliant liar.

fauna darcy
19/1/1949 | Summer de Snoo | huff/ravie/slyth | OPEN

loyal especially to her twin but also to her family. quietly stubborn against anyone but her parents. highly intelligent. observant. hard working. serious. mature.

alexander darcy
 3/9/1947 | Leonardo DiCaprio | ??? | OPEN

charming. spoilt. natural leader. mean in the way mischievous little boys are but harmless really. troublemaker. proud. fatal weakness is a pretty girl

nathaniel darcy
14/10/1944 | Cory Gruter-Andrew | huff/ravie? | OPEN

sweet. kind. privileged. will silently judge you. can be very snarky. respect must be earnt. highly intelligent. hard worker. curious. doesn't like being first born


coded by ifr
6
Character Classifieds / Re: Darcy and co. adoptables!
« Last post by Clara Darcy on 15/09/2019 at 20:34 »

Thornhill Estate
Father: Elias Darcy (1908); Quid team owner; hard; cunning; fav: Alastair
Mother: Marilyn Darcy (1911); Socialite; obedient; gossip; fav: Alastair



adoptables

lydia darcy
26/4/1934 | Victoria Lee | ravie | TAKEN

quiet. meek. gentle. obedient. piano. curious. intelligent. used to be bubbly, stubborn and disobedient. notices things. engaged to Caspian Fedorov

oliver darcy
21/12/1932 | Benjamin Eidem | gryff | disowned | OPEN

reckless. adventurous. troublemaker. irresponsible. short tempered. rebellious. cocky. flirt. completely accepting towards muggleborns/muggles

alastair darcy
 3/1/1931 | Hunter Parrish | Slyth | OPEN

serious. cold. intelligent. ambitious. control freak. loyal. level headed. workaholic. ministry. lonely. eldest and heir


coded by ifr
7
Character Classifieds / Re: Darcy and co. adoptables!
« Last post by Clara Darcy on 15/09/2019 at 20:32 »

Seyridge manor
Father: Alfred Darcy (1910); Wizengamot; distant; never home; fav: Clara
Mother: Marilyn Darcy (1914); Socialite; harsh; short temper; fav: Sophia


adoptables

clara darcy
 23/7/1945 | Gabriella Wilde | Slyth | TAKEN

competitive. confident. intelligent. bossy. stubborn. ambitious (wants to be MoM). feminist. doesn't get along with almost all of her family. harsh

theodore 'theo' darcy
7/2/1943 | Connor Finnerty | slyth? | OPEN

cocky. competitive. quick witted. silver tongued. judgemental. flirt. cares a lot more about his family than he's willing to admit. surprisingly smart

sophia darcy
17/6/1941 | Olivia Holt | slyth/ravie? | OPEN

poised. elegant. ladylike. cruel. sharp tongue. manipulative. girly. backstabbing. cunning. selfish. intelligent. boy crazy. curious

Edward darcy
21/3/1938 | Alex Pettyfer | slyth? | OPEN

vain. petty. selfish. silver tongue. irresponsible. reckless. cunning. loyal. father thinks he's a disappointment so they don't get along well.


coded by ifr
8
Adults & Children / ACCEPTED: Josefina Soto
« Last post by Calypso Ross on 14/09/2019 at 18:27 »
Congratulations! This application has been accepted.

http://hogwarts-school.net/sortinghat/index.php?topic=8801.0
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Elsewhere Accepted / Re: Josefina Soto
« Last post by Calypso Ross on 14/09/2019 at 18:27 »
Accepted!
10
Elsewhere Accepted / Re: Josefina Soto
« Last post by Josefina Soto on 14/09/2019 at 17:09 »
Oops, just an accident!



E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Josefina Soto Guzmán

Gender: Female

Age: 9

Bloodline:
Halfblood

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Ricardo Soto & Elisa Guzmán

Residence:
New York, US Norwich, UK

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
N/A

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Valencia Salvatierra & co.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

“Your family should just adopt me. Then we can finally be sisters. Then I won’t have to move to England.”

Josefina whimpered, curly hair floating in the summer heat. As the sun beat down on the sidewalk right in front of the Soto residence, Josefina rested her head on Antonia’s shoulder—not even two seconds later, she collapsed pathetically into her friend’s lap.

Toni had never seen sensible, strait-laced Josefina Soto cry before until now, not even when she dropped her ice cream or got a bad grade from Miss Hall. She might have been the most sensible, strait-laced girl in all of fourth grade.

“There, there.” Her hand hovered awkwardly over Josefina’s back. “Hey, it’s okay! We’ll be sending letters all the time anyway, right? It’ll be like you never left.” Determinedly, Toni ran her fingers through the other girl’s brown waves, hoping that it felt comforting in some way or another.

“But it won’t be the same!”

“It’ll be close enough.”

“But I’ll miss you, and Carla, and Amanda, and Rachel, and everyone.” The silence that followed—that suffocating blanket of silence invading every surface of the neighborhood—did little to raise their spirits. Carla and Amanda and Rachel and everyone would miss Josefina in their somber, unsaid ways.

...

Then, with a grimace: “Fina, you’re getting snot all over my skirt.”

“Oh, sorry.” Josefina sniffed and dabbed at her eyes; for a moment, the tears eased from savage waterfalls to gentle streams and that unfamiliar emotion of despair seemed to be put back where it belonged—a place far away from here, far away from Brooklyn, New York. Far away from the nine-year-old tortoiseshell heart of Josefina Soto Guzmán.

-

Despair returned in the shape of the SS United States.

Josefina hugged her coffee-brown suitcase close to her chest, fearing that if there was nothing to ground her, she would be blown away by the salt-and-sweat winds. She had managed to stuff everything in there. Everything that mattered, at the very least.

(Charlotte’s Web, The Secret Garden, Anne of Green Gables, and perhaps most excitingly, an entire box set of The Lord of the Rings series, all shoved in the corner of the suitcase against dresses and baubles alike. Goodness, what if the pages got bent?)

“Mamá,” the young girl choked out finally as she tugged at Elisa’s skirt. The SS United States loomed over New York Harbor and breathed out steam in deep intervals, drenching its passengers in thick, white clouds. Her hair, so subject to the wiles of water and heat, threatened to dance up in the heavy air. “We have to turn back around. We can’t go anymore.”

“Little lady, what on earth are you talking about?”

“I… I’m sick. Fever, chills, everything. We have to schedule an appoint with a physician or something, Mamá, I think I might faint—”

“Darling, you’re acting ridiculous.”

Josefina could have exploded. Her rage fumed red, hot, and as gooey lava in the active volcano, just barely contained for the victims standing nearby. The crowd pushed around her, oblivious to the impeding storm brewing within one little Puerto Rican girl whose fists were balled indignantly at her sides. It took all her will not to scream at the sky. Instead, she became a statue and imagined herself in the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

There could be no winning when it came to grown-ups. Papá had to carry her on board with the rest of their luggage.

-

How dearly Josefina wished to become an adult! How she wanted to make her own choices or know many things or not be the laughingstock of Mamá and Papá’s jokes.

On her first day of school in Norwich, the city still damned with the impressions of the Norwich Blitz in ‘42, Josefina introduced herself to the class.

“Hello, my name is Josefina. HOSE-a-FEE-na, not JOES or YOSE-a-FEE-na. I’m from New York. I like to read. I moved here because my parents got better jobs, and when I grow up, I wanna be just like them.”

Her eyes glowered accusingly at the kids at the room. How dare they not be Toni or Carla or Amanda or Rachel.

“I’m not here to make friends,” she finished off dramatically. “In fact, it won’t be long until my mom and dad let me go back to New York.”


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:

“No, thank you,” Josefina snapped. “No, I would not like to play with you.”

A particularly thick book weighed down her lap, and Josefina prayed that it would keep her there until her parents forced her to leave. There were too many things wrong with their new home: it was English, it wasn’t in New York, and finally, it smelled like what she could only imagine as the previous resident’s unfortunate spoiled milk spill on the oriental rug they left behind. Mamá had yet to have it cleaned.

There were other things that culminated to fuel Josefina’s similarly spoiled mood, such as the meager breakfast she had that morning and the terrible loss of the goodbye card signed with all of her classmates’ names in their quaint, hideous scrawl. Two weeks and she still failed to discover even one good thing about England.

(Except for their funny accents. She and Papá could have made fun of them all day.)

“I’m nine-years-old, you see. Far too old to be playing with… with a girl as infantile as you.” As she continued to ramble to little Janey Hurst, Josefina began to smile—the type children tended to imitate when they felt self-important and smug to their juniors, as if the slight difference in their age was an achievement deserving of a medal.

OTHER
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