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Topics - Isabelle Valentine

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1
Elsewhere Accepted / Gérard Monceaux [Elsewhere Adult]
« on: 12/10/2014 at 02:31 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Gérard Monceaux
Gender: Male
Age: 48

Education: 
Beauxbatons (Humanities - Philosophy), class of 1912

Residence:
Residential Wizarding London

Occupation
Department of Magical Accidents & Catastrophes (Obliviator)

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: 11
  • Divination: 9
  • Transfiguration: 10
  • Summoning: 12

(Levels = admin approved!)

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
IzVal, Leon "I'm Smarter Than You Monceaux", Daphne B, Horace "Crankypants" Stufflebeam, Dorian "Big D" James, Ophelie "How Shady Can I Get" Lecuyier, and Joséphine "I Should Have Been Retired Two Years Ago" Delaveau. Oh, and Poppy.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
"It is an opportunity, Gérard," said the woman across from him. "A little unorthodox, perhaps, but it is an unparalleled opportunity."

She was right, of course. It was truly the opening of a door, but somehow the premise felt wrong. Gérard Monceaux was not necessarily above wrong (although he preferred to refer to it as a circumvention of the system), but he would need to be convinced. The proposition was not what he had expected.

"I think," he replied slowly, as he swirled the brandy snifter in his left hand, "that what I struggling with is...'ow you say?" Gérard had been a resident of Wizarding London for the last fifteen years, at least, maybe more, but his French accent was deeply ingrained. It took him a moment to search for the word.

"Logistics." He smiled slightly, having chosen correctly, and sipped his brandy.

The woman nodded and drummed her nails on the arm of the chair in which she was sitting, right leg crossed over left. "Yes. I cannot pretend it won't be tricky, Gérard. Merely acquiring the...materials in sufficient quantity presents a substantial challenge in and of itself."

Gérard pursed his lips. Of course. He had been in business long enough to know that, in negotiations, the word challenge often equated to financials. He waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, of course, you will be compensated 'andsomely."

The woman leaned forward and smirked. "I expect so," she replied. "But money is not the only challenge. In fact, it is the least worrisome of our problems, as it is the easiest to fix."

There was something about her that made Gérard uneasy, but he couldn't put his finger on what, exactly, or why. Perhaps that was what unsettled him. He was not used to taking direction from a woman - let alone a woman about twenty years his junior. A long pause lapsed as he studied her. Finally, he asked, "What is it you need?"

The woman blinked, then held his eyes. "Complete control."

Gérard's head spun, and he fought hard to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. "Absolutely not!" he growled. As he responded, his body lurched forward slightly and his brandy sloshed in its glass. He would not be dictated to by this woman, or by any woman.

"Careful, Gérard," the woman cooed. She had not moved from her spot, and her right leg bobbed up and down as though she were idly killing time in a waiting room. "Think very carefully before you respond. Consider all of the doors that will open to you. Consider all of the respect that you will garner. Think, most of all, of the minimal effort required on your part."

He sat back, nostrils still flaring. Once again, she was right. It was simple. He merely had to let go. For a long, interminable time - it could have been minutes, or hours, though probably not days - Gérard sat in his chair and considered both the woman and the offer.

Finally, he sighed.

"Agreed."

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:
Gérard had markedly little patience for holidays, on a personal level. It didn't seem practical to celebrate them, although Amie certainly liked to put on a party. The holiday season was really more her show; Gérard merely smiled and nodded and went along with the festivities because it was good diplomatically, and his colleagues did seem to enjoy a proper fête.

It was not, he supposed, as though they could not afford it.

That having been said, Gérard did not take his time as he walked toward his home, as so many of the others did. He did not stop to gawk at the decorations in the square, or to incline his head at the spectacle of the three in the center of the street. In fact, the throng of holiday merry-makers was one of the primary reasons that Gérard had no patience for holiday celebrations: they made it considerably more difficult for him to get where he was going.

"Coming through!"

Ah. A perfect example, he noted with some degree of amusement.

"Coming th--- arrrgh!"

The man - who was not, it appeared, an insipid tourist, but a courier of some sort - had gone arse over teakettle, as they say, and so had his package. Gérard groaned with the force of the impact, and found himself covered in black and red tinsel. Gingerly, he peeled a strand of the red off of his coat lapel.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

"Quite alright," Gérard replied, his tone cool and imbued with a congeniality he did not especially feel. "Though you might do well to find another way to carry your cargo, my good man."

OTHER
How did you find us? I live here. In the cupboard. Under the stairs.

2
Shop Permits / Shops & Subforums: FAQ
« on: 30/03/2014 at 18:53 »
shops and subforums
Frequently Asked Questions

what does it mean to own a shop?
Basically, it just means that you're creating a location that's available for other people to reference when they RP. Each shop lives in one of the districts of Elsewhere: Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, or Knockturn Alley.

why don't all shops get subforums?
There are two reasons: one is cut down on clutter and unused forums on the Elsewhere boards. In our experience, a lot of shop forums are requested and rarely - if ever - used, which makes the Elsewhere board look very intimidating to new players. The second reason is that, by charging a nominal fee for shop subforums, you're helping to support the costs of keeping the site running. Anyone who owned a shop with a subforum prior to March 2014 will be grandfathered in and will not be required to purchase a subscription to keep their shop running.

what does a Shop Owner subscription get me?
Shop Owner subscriptions cost $2.00 USD, and are valid for one year from date of purchase. They are separate from account subscriptions in that they don't affect the number of subaccounts that you can have. However, they do allow you to have a dedicated shop subforum on the Elsewhere board, which will remain for as long as you choose to renew your Shop Owner subscription. Your shop will also be linked from the Marketplace directory for each district. Additionally, you are not limited to one Shop Owner subscription - feel free to purchase as many as you'd like!

what happens if I don't renew my subscription, or if I want a shop without buying one?
You can still own and RP your shop without a dedicated forum! All shops, regardless of subscription status, will be listed in the Marketplace directory for each district. Everyone is free to RP any applied/played shop; you'll just need to indicate the setting in your post so others know where you are, just as you would in any other post without a dedicated subforum. All shops without subforums can be played inside the Marketplace forums!

how do I sign up for a Shop Owner subscription?
The same way you would for any other subscription! Just head over to the subscription-ordering page, select the Shop Owner subscription, and follow the instructions here. When you've made your payment, go ahead and submit a helpdesk ticket letting us know - be sure to tell us the name of your shop, what district it belongs in, and a short description!

3
Archived Applications / Leon Monceaux
« on: 03/08/2013 at 03:29 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Leon Borealis Lecuyier Monceaux

Birthday: 8 August, 1928

Hometown: Watford, England

Bloodline:
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): Second, first

Biography:
If you are applying to be a first, second, or third year, your biography must be at least one hundred words long.
If you are applying to be a fourth year or above, your biography must be at least three hundred words long.


Leon swirled the beaker in front of him. He’d been mucking about with his toy potions set, mainly because his parents wouldn’t get him real ingredients; for now, reasonable facsimiles would have to suffice. “I don’t care about times tables, Mother. Can’t you see this is more important?”

Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots. Not one of them understood the way in which a Vanishing Cabinet worked, for example, or paid attention to the exact fashion in which the light from a street lamp was sucked into a Deluminator. None of his teachers as Watford Wizarding Prep were especially concerned with what gave Felix Felicis its gold color, and his parents weren’t even the least bit curious about what imbued the Invisible Ink formula with its Vanishing properties.

(His stupid cousin Roberta might have cared, Leon reasoned, but he decided that she didn’t count. Squibs, in general, didn’t count.)

Instead, they were all on about what time tables he’d learned, and the Time Warp, and blood status, and whatever else adults prattled on about. He didn’t see why they cared; they were pureblood anyway, and that meant they weren’t restricted. What else did they need to know? It was at this point in the discussion that Leon typically tuned out the chatter and returned to the blueprints and schematics developing in his head for his latest experiment.

Leon Monceaux felt that his potential was being wasted by formal schooling, and could not understand why his parents did not agree. His parents were wealthy, intellectual people - the Monceauxs had been one of France’s premier wizarding families. For heaven’s sake, his mother, Amie, had been a Lecuyier prior to her marriage.

Then they’d moved to Britain to be closer to some strain of the family or other (whatever side the Squib came from, and there it was Leon’s turn not to understand), and they’d mucked everything up. Leon had been enrolled in Watford Wizarding Prep, and felt he’d learned all they could teach him by the time he’d reached the age of nine. Never mind that his early Divination marks were rubbish; no self-respecting wizard relied on that shlock anyway. No, what counted were his elevated marks in his preparatory Conjuring, Summoning, and Potions classes. Leon had managed to convince himself that with his intellect and his family breeding, he could someday run a school.

(“No, that’s not right,” he muttered, jotting down notes as the liquid in the beaker turned green. Leon frowned. It was meant to turn red, and perhaps smoke a little. What he done wrong? He consulted his notes and the instructions that came with the toy Potions kit, then added a few drops of something yellow to the mix.)

Some days, a school was too small. On those days, he aspired higher - to lead a town, to govern a city, to rule an entire country with nothing but his brain and his shrewdness.

What Leon Monceaux’s brain and very inflated ego had not accounted for was the fact that a great ruler needed to win the favor of his subjects. Where he excelled in academics, Leon lacked sorely in social graces. His proclivity to correct his classmates, even in casual conversations into which he was not invited (which, in all honesty, were most of them), and his tendency to flaunt his high marks had not earned him many admirers. It mattered not, for someone who was going where Leon was going could afford to hire minions.

(“That’s it!” he shrieked, as the yellow liquid reacted with the green, and the beaker began to bubble and shimmy. Smoke puffed out the top, and the contents of the container turned from an acid green to a ruby red. Now, where was Roberta? He needed a test dummy.)

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

House Request: He’d probably fit best in Slytherin or Ravenclaw.

Personality: Leon is very literal, and too smart for his own good. He often takes long way around and overthinks because he’s too cerebral to see the simple solution - he might go halfway around the castle to find a classroom that’s around the corner, for example. His ability to see how things fit together do make him something of a Potions natural. Leon’s intelligence, does not, however, explain his irrational phobia of buttons.

Appearance: Leon is a bit small for his age, and of lanky build - he’ll be quite gangly as a teenager. He’s rather palely complected, and has light brown hair and hazel brown eyes. More often than not, his expressions are serious, and he often appears to look through you rather than at you, as chances are good that he’s not listening to a thing you’re saying.

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

Option 1:

Nitwits everywhere, the lot of them, carrying on about Quidditch and quaffles and Hogwarts upsets, and all of them interrupting his lunch. Leon didn't care about the school's upset; he only cared about his own, and right now, he was very upset.

Another table broke into some kind of primal war screech, invariably extolling the virtues of whichever team had won the bloody game - and Leon did not care, because sports were stupid and useless. The only sport that meant anything was duelling; that was a thinking man's game. Quidditch, as far as he was concerned, was a bunch of overgrown troglodytes knocking into each other, in pursuit of some tiny infernal ball.

There was no finesse there.

Suddenly, a boy at his table stood up like a shot and stormed his way toward the exit. Well, at least one of this crowd had some sense. Leon had half a mind to follow him, except that Monceauxs did not huff and puff like animals. They carried themselves with more decorum. Still, leaving didn't seem a bad idea. Leon gathered the remains of his lunch and exited the Great Hall the same way as the boy with the indecorous feet.

Suddenly, the huffy boy whirled round and addressed him directly.

"WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before?"

Leon snorted derisively. "As a matter of fact, I've seen plenty. More than my fair share just in the last ten minutes, actually."

"Why don't you just take a picture!"

He blinked, his expression blank, then yawned to indicate his sincerely boredom with the situation. "You flatter yourself," Leon responded coolly, "if you think I am interested enough in your inane life to concern myself with your whereabouts beyond - and in fact, during - this conversation." He waved his hand just slightly at the other boy, as though to say, Off with you.

Leon Monceaux was not impressed.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Izzy V, Daphne B, Ophie L, Crankypants Stufflebeam, and Big D.

How did you find us?: I live here.




4
Elsewhere Accepted / Leon Monceaux
« on: 29/06/2013 at 14:25 »

E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Leon Borealis Lecuyier Monceaux

Gender: Male

Age: 11

Bloodline: Pureblood
Pureblood/Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Gérard and Amie Monceaux (not played)

Residence:
Watford, England

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

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:
Izzy V, Ophie Lecthing, Daphne B, Crankypants Stufflebeam, Big D, Poppy Malthus, Joséphine "Almost Retired" Delaveau

Biography: (100 words minimum.)
Leon swirled the beaker in front of him. He’d been mucking about with his toy potions set, mainly because his parents wouldn’t get him real ingredients; for now, reasonable facsimiles would have to suffice. “I don’t care about times tables, Mother. Can’t you see this is more important?”

Idiots. He was surrounded by idiots. Not one of them understood the way in which a Vanishing Cabinet worked, for example, or paid attention to the exact fashion in which the light from a street lamp was sucked into a Deluminator. None of his teachers as Watford Wizarding Prep were especially concerned with what gave Felix Felicis its gold color, and his parents weren’t even the least bit curious about what imbued the Invisible Ink formula with its Vanishing properties.

(His stupid cousin Roberta might have cared, Leon reasoned, but he decided that she didn’t count. Squibs, in general, didn’t count.)

Instead, they were all on about what time tables he’d learned, and the Time Warp, and blood status, and whatever else adults prattled on about. He didn’t see why they cared; they were pureblood anyway, and that meant they weren’t restricted. What else did they need to know? It was at this point in the discussion that Leon typically tuned out the chatter and returned to the blueprints and schematics developing in his head for his latest experiment.

Leon Monceaux felt that his potential was being wasted by formal schooling, and could not understand why his parents did not agree. His parents were wealthy, intellectual people - the Monceauxs had been one of France’s premier wizarding families. For heaven’s sake, his mother, Amie, had been a Lecuyier prior to her marriage.

Then they’d moved to Britain to be closer to some strain of the family or other (whatever side the Squib came from, and there it was Leon’s turn not to understand), and they’d mucked everything up. Leon had been enrolled in Watford Wizarding Prep, and felt he’d learned all they could teach him by the time he’d reached the age of nine. Never mind that his early Divination marks were rubbish; no self-respecting wizard relied on that shlock anyway. No, what counted were his elevated marks in his preparatory Conjuring, Summoning, and Potions classes. Leon had managed to convince himself that with his intellect and his family breeding, he could someday run a school.

(“No, that’s not right,” he muttered, jotting down notes as the liquid in the beaker turned green. Leon frowned. It was meant to turn red, and perhaps smoke a little. What he done wrong? He consulted his notes and the instructions that came with the toy Potions kit, then added a few drops of something yellow to the mix.)

Some days, a school was too small. On those days, he aspired higher - to lead a town, to govern a city, to rule an entire country with nothing but his brain and his shrewdness.

What Leon Monceaux’s brain and very inflated ego had not accounted for was the fact that a great ruler needed to win the favor of his subjects. Where he excelled in academics, Leon lacked sorely in social graces. His proclivity to correct his classmates, even in casual conversations into which he was not invited (which, in all honesty, were most of them), and his tendency to flaunt his high marks had not earned him many admirers. It mattered not, for someone who was going where Leon was going could afford to hire minions.

(“That’s it!” he shrieked, as the yellow liquid reacted with the green, and the beaker began to bubble and shimmy. Smoke puffed out the top, and the contents of the container turned from an acid green to a ruby red. Now, where was Roberta? He needed a test dummy.)


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:
Leon had never been a fan of the park. Too much sunshine, too much dirt, too many children squealing and gamboling about. But Mother had insisted, and the only way to get her to stop talking at him was to take his book and sit outside.

He wrinkled his nose, and felt the tightness developing in his skin. Sunburn. Wonderful. He cast his eyes upward to evaluate the angle of the sun and determine whether or not he should relocate.

Then again, perhaps if he got a sunburn, Mother would stop sending him outside for fear he'd develop a skin condition. Leon smirked. He could endure a little discomfort if the tradeoff was in his favor.

"John, I said wait up!"

A small girl trudged along, tugging violently on the front of a toy broomstick. Leon snorted derisively over the top of his book. She was trying to get the thing to hover, from the sight of it, but those toys weren't made for flight - and for good reason. Nits like this little cretin (and his stupid cousin Roberta, who was born of good magical stock and couldn't ride a broom if her life depended on it) were bound to fall off and fracture a rib or four. Can't have that.

"You!"

Leon rolled his eyes. Perhaps he shouldn't have snorted so loudly; now the little brat wanted to engage him. "I?" he replied, as sharply as she had.

"...Do you want to play?"

Again, Leon made a sort of disgruntled noise. "Of course I don't want to play, can't you see I'm bus--" He paused, mid-tirade, and considered. This child was young enough - and obvious dim enough - that she might be of some use. "On second thought," he continued, his tone now saccharine sweet. "Yes. We can play. But it's awfully hot, isn't it?"

He paused long enough to attempt to smile at the girl, though it may have looked more like a half-deranged grimace. Leon Monceaux rarely smiled.

"First, why don't you trot off and fetch me-- er, us a treat from the ice cream witch, hm? There's a good lass." He kicked back with his book and waited to see if the girl would take the bait.

OTHER
How did you find us? Google | TopSites | Recommendation | Facebook | Tumblr | Other I live here.

5
Archived Applications / Joséphine Delaveau
« on: 01/12/2012 at 03:20 »

Application for Beauxbatons Academy




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Joséphine Delaveau

Birthday: January 15, 1960

Hometown: Rambouillet, France

Bloodline:
Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one):
Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination

Year (pick two): 3e, 2de

Biography:
If you are applying to be a first, second, or third year, your biography must be at least one hundred words long.
If you are applying to be a fourth year or above, your biography must be at least three hundred words long.


“You clipped that one, Joséphine. Bring him back around and try again.”

With a weary sigh, Josie clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and tugged on the reins to pull Smoke back towards the jump. He didn’t bend as well as he should have, didn’t duck his head enough, and Josie wondered how long it would take for her instructor to notice.

(She had been raised with everything. The Delaveaus were fairly well-off, and they’d sought to give their daughter the best. Violin training, riding lessons since she was six. Her own horse, when she was eleven. The best schools. Private coaches. Everything.)

Setting up for a jump required a strange mixture of concentration and fluidity. The right angles needed to be hit, the right amount of lead time was necessary for a sufficient takeoff. Simultaneously, her hands needed to be light, her back pliant enough that her body gave a little when Smoke’s front legs rose forward.

(She had been raised to be a lady, whether she liked it or not. More often than not, she didn’t like it, but she was a good girl. She played along.)

Instead of setting up immediately, Josie took a lap of the ring, sending Smoke into a slow trot and taking their time. As with most things, she was cautious. What had she missed on the last pass? Had she not measured the distance properly, asked Smoke to jump too soon? Whatever mistake she’d made, she shouldn’t have. She had been trained better than that.

(She had been so busy working, training, that she missed out. She missed her parents, had not spent quality time with either of them in what must have been years, outside of being shuttled to and from lessons, or lectured about some aspect of propriety or another.. She didn’t know her parents anymore, except that Papa was a professeur of literature at the university, and Maman was an event planner, the best in the business, or so Joséphine had been told. And she doubted that they knew her, aside from which scales she struggled with on her violin or how many rails she and Smoke had knocked over at their latest riding lesson.)

There. That was it. Her opening. Joséphine caught sight of Smoke’s hoofprints in the ring dirt, just a few centimeters off center. Again, she clucked her tongue and tugged the reins, following it with an almost imperceptible motion of her opposite leg, nudging her gelding over just slightly to lay a new set of correctly aligned prints, overlapping the old ones in places. A few strides back from the oxer, and another gentle squeeze with her calves sent Smoke into a smooth canter.

A rare smile cracked the girl’s features. They were going to make it.

(She was tired. Tired of being a lady, tired of doing what was expected.)

Up and over, and Josie looked down to make sure they would clear the rails. That was her first mistake. She felt herself start to slip.

(She wanted out. She wanted more. She wanted to be don--)

With four soft, separate thuds, Smoke’s feet landed safely on the other side of the oxer. With a louder, singular thud, Joséphine landed to the left of the jump, breeches and shirt tinged orange from the cloud of ring sand she’d created in her wake.

She’d make it someday.

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

Ecole Request:
Humanities

Personality:
Quiet and reserved, mostly from her parents’ training. Sort of gives the impression of being moody, because, for the most part, Josie speaks when spoken to, carries herself well and quietly, and tries to stick to her manners. There’s a little bit (and by that, I mean a lot) of (mostly) deeply-hidden resentment that her parents only view her as a show poodle, so every so often she says or does something...unexpected. She’s torn between a desire to please her parents and do as she’s told - because doing as she’s told brings rewards, and she likes that - and breaking away to be her own person.

Appearance:
Average height and build. Curvy in the right places, or at least she gives off the appearance of being so, because that’s what her mother dictates. Dark wavy hair and dark eyes, but a paler complexion. Hair is usually worn down and pulled over one shoulder, but she’ll put it back in a ponytail if she’s riding or doing something else that’s likely to tangle it. Usually wears a neutral expression on her face; a smile from Josie is rare, but when she does give them, they’re genuine.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to the Sample Roleplay below.

For a school so full of supposedly decorous students, the dining hall was certainly loud and chaotic. Joséphine did not eat there often, only when circumstances dictated or on the off chance that she could not convince her dining companion that there were better places - quieter places - to take a meal. Today she had neither the time nor the companionship to find an alternative location.

With a sigh, she cast a wary eye around the dining hall. Where to sit, where to sit? She wanted somewhere quiet, or as quiet as was possible in here. Not too many other students around, someplace she could read her book. There, that spot on the end table looked good. Josie sat herself down gracefully, plopped her bag down under the table, and set out her tray. There was a brief moment of beautiful quiet before there was a crash and a bang and--

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

Josie shook her head, a little dazed. “No, no, it’s fi--” She looked downward to see...something gooey dribble its way down her knee towards her ankle. Joséphine grimaced. Ew. Glancing upwards, she noticed the girl who had tripped - at least, Josie could only assume it had been an accident; the apology seemed sincere enough - was quite a few years younger than she was. Had she just started? Probably.

“You might want to mind your steps,” Josie offered, struggling to keep her expression neutral. Good girls did not yell, and proper ladies did not make others feel badly about themselves. “There’ll be demerits for untidiness next.” With a guilty expression, she noticed her bag sticking out from under the table. Josie nudged it with her toe to tuck it back into place, thinking that she ought to mind herself as well. There’d be demerits next.

→ ABOUT YOU.
Previous Characters (if applicable): Isabelle Atkinson, Daphne Bennett, Horace C. Stufflebeam, Ophelie Lecuyier

How did you find us?: I followed a unicorn.



(Just a note - reapplying Josie because I didn't meet the BB activity requirements last term, so she couldn't level/post returning. <3)

6
Archived Applications / Joséphine Delaveau
« on: 29/08/2012 at 22:34 »

Application for Beauxbatons Academy




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Joséphine Delaveau

Birthday: January 15, 1960

Hometown: Rambouillet, France

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Year (pick two): Fourth, fifth

Biography:
If you are applying to be a first, second, or third year, your biography must be at least one hundred words long.
If you are applying to be a fourth year or above, your biography must be at least three hundred words long.


“You clipped that one, Joséphine. Bring him back around and try again.”

With a weary sigh, Josie clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and tugged on the reins to pull Smoke back towards the jump. He didn’t bend as well as he should have, didn’t duck his head enough, and Josie wondered how long it would take for her instructor to notice.

(She had been raised with everything. The Delaveaus were fairly well-off, and they’d sought to give their daughter the best. Violin training, riding lessons since she was six. Her own horse, when she was eleven. The best schools. Private coaches. Everything.)

Setting up for a jump required a strange mixture of concentration and fluidity. The right angles needed to be hit, the right amount of lead time was necessary for a sufficient takeoff. Simultaneously, her hands needed to be light, her back pliant enough that her body gave a little when Smoke’s front legs rose forward.

(She had been raised to be a lady, whether she liked it or not. More often than not, she didn’t like it, but she was a good girl. She played along.)

Instead of setting up immediately, Josie took a lap of the ring, sending Smoke into a slow trot and taking their time. As with most things, she was cautious. What had she missed on the last pass? Had she not measured the distance properly, asked Smoke to jump too soon? Whatever mistake she’d made, she shouldn’t have. She had been trained better than that.

(She had been so busy working, training, that she missed out. She missed her parents, had not spent quality time with either of them in what must have been years, outside of being shuttled to and from lessons, or lectured about some aspect of propriety or another.. She didn’t know her parents anymore, except that Papa was a professeur of literature at the university, and Maman was an event planner, the best in the business, or so Joséphine had been told. And she doubted that they knew her, aside from which scales she struggled with on her violin or how many rails she and Smoke had knocked over at their latest riding lesson.)

There. That was it. Her opening. Joséphine caught sight of Smoke’s hoofprints in the ring dirt, just a few centimeters off center. Again, she clucked her tongue and tugged the reins, following it with an almost imperceptible motion of her opposite leg, nudging her gelding over just slightly to lay a new set of correctly aligned prints, overlapping the old ones in places. A few strides back from the oxer, and another gentle squeeze with her calves sent Smoke into a smooth canter.

A rare smile cracked the girl’s features. They were going to make it.

(She was tired. Tired of being a lady, tired of doing what was expected.)

Up and over, and Josie looked down to make sure they would clear the rails. That was her first mistake. She felt herself start to slip.

(She wanted out. She wanted more. She wanted to be don--)

With four soft, separate thuds, Smoke’s feet landed safely on the other side of the oxer. With a louder, singular thud, Joséphine landed to the left of the jump, breeches and shirt tinged orange from the cloud of ring sand she’d created in her wake.

She’d make it someday.

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

Ecole Request:
Humanities

Personality:
Quiet and reserved, mostly from her parents’ training. Sort of gives the impression of being moody, because, for the most part, Josie speaks when spoken to, carries herself well and quietly, and tries to stick to her manners. There’s a little bit (and by that, I mean a lot) of (mostly) deeply-hidden resentment that her parents only view her as a show poodle, so every so often she says or does something...unexpected. She’s torn between a desire to please her parents and do as she’s told - because doing as she’s told brings rewards, and she likes that - and breaking away to be her own person.

Appearance:
Average height and build. Curvy in the right places, or at least she gives off the appearance of being so, because that’s what her mother dictates. Dark wavy hair and dark eyes, but a paler complexion. Hair is usually worn down and pulled over one shoulder, but she’ll put it back in a ponytail if she’s riding or doing something else that’s likely to tangle it. Usually wears a neutral expression on her face; a smile from Josie is rare, but when she does give them, they’re genuine.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to the Sample Roleplay below.

For a school so full of supposedly decorous students, the dining hall was certainly loud and chaotic. Joséphine did not eat there often, only when circumstances dictated or on the off chance that she could not convince her dining companion that there were better places - quieter places - to take a meal. Today she had neither the time nor the companionship to find an alternative location.

With a sigh, she cast a wary eye around the dining hall. Where to sit, where to sit? She wanted somewhere quiet, or as quiet as was possible in here. Not too many other students around, someplace she could read her book. There, that spot on the end table looked good. Josie sat herself down gracefully, plopped her bag down under the table, and set out her tray. There was a brief moment of beautiful quiet before there was a crash and a bang and--

"Oh! I'm so sorry!"

Josie shook her head, a little dazed. “No, no, it’s fi--” She looked downward to see...something gooey dribble its way down her knee towards her ankle. Joséphine grimaced. Ew. Glancing upwards, she noticed the girl who had tripped - at least, Josie could only assume it had been an accident; the apology seemed sincere enough - was quite a few years younger than she was. Had she just started? Probably.

“You might want to mind your steps,” Josie offered, struggling to keep her expression neutral. Good girls did not yell, and proper ladies did not make others feel badly about themselves. “There’ll be demerits for untidiness next.” With a guilty expression, she noticed her bag sticking out from under the table. Josie nudged it with her toe to tuck it back into place, thinking that she ought to mind herself as well.

There’d be demerits next.

→ ABOUT YOU.
Previous Characters (if applicable): Isabelle Atkinson, Daphne Bennett, Horace C. Stufflebeam, Ophelie Lecuyier

How did you find us?: Google?



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