Student applications are open!

Author Topic: Eleanor Xero [Photographer - Domestic/Politics]  (Read 247 times)

Eleanor Xero

    (14/08/2013 at 20:00)

Character Name: Eleanor Olivié Xero
Gender: Female
Age: Just turned 18 (b. June 16th, 1921)

Beauxbatons Academy of Magic – graduate of ‘39
        • École: Studio Arts (Lycée: Photography)

Primary residence used to be in France, but due to recent personal decisions and job requirements she’s relocated to an apartment in Wizarding London.

Applying to be: (select one, see here)

Department of choice: (select one)

Why did you request that particular department?
”Why travel so far when all the entertainment is right under our noses?”

Despite what she says, her first choice would’ve been the Foreign bureau. Eleanor loves traveling, she loves knowing she has no boundaries, and wanted to be able to disappear for months at a time then come back and be able to blame her absence on 'work issues'.  However, with most of her family relocating to London and the whole WiSA business, she’s decided to go for a job that keeps her close to home. Domestic/Politics provides her with access to the political happenings in the British spectrum of the Wizarding world, something she’s always been denied. (And she’s hellbent on proving, mainly to all the domineering males in her life, that females aren’t made to just sit around and gossip all day.)

Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)
  • Charms: 11
  • Divination: 6
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 9

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Lucille Hopland

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
They’d kicked her out of the room as quickly as she’d walked in. “No vistors,” they’d said. No visitors? It was her mother in there. She was her daughter. She wasn’t a visitor.

Her tiny form was shaking terribly, be it with nerves or in anger, and the hand clutched within Edmund’s tighten even more. The healer’s words rang through her mind. What did she know? She was her daughter! They deserved to be in there beside her; they deserved to know what was going on.

Her brothers too suffered the same fate of waiting when they were caught trying to sneak inside the room. Unlike her, however, they stood outside calmly. That irked her even more.

“Don’t you guys care that mother’s hurt?” She’d shouted at them. They only gave a stern look, one that didn’t quite fit on the face of a child, and her hand a painful squeeze.

“Be calm, Eleanor.” She wasn’t listening enough to hear which one of them was it that said this.

“Mom needs us, though!” She couldn’t fathom the idea of them just standing there while their mother was suffering so.

“Nell be quiet.” Edmund.

“But, mom…” She pleaded again.

“She’ll be fine Eleanor. I promise.” She missed the look both boys shared over her head. All she could think about was the lifeless face of her mother staring back at her; her crumbled body lying in a heap on her bed.

They’d left her out again. Locking themselves inside father’s study and taunting her through the door. Her fists banged against the wooden material separating them, pleading for them to open up.

“Edmund! Auren! You always do this, let me join!” The hid themselves from her frequently. It was a constant game of cat and mouse with them. Except the cat was Eleanor and the mouse was their acceptance. They never allowed her to join them and it was frustrating. It was always Edmund and Auren, Auren and Edmund. No Eleanor’s allowed.

The first couple of times they did this she went crying to her father. It was unlike her to cry for anything as her father always believed her over them, but their teasing drove her crazy. That was her first mistake. Now, they did it relentlessly.

“Guys, open this door right now! Or else.”

“Or else what? You’re going to go crying to dad?” Auren was always the one to call her out on things.

“No!” Yes.

“What’s he going to do, open the door? So what? We still won’t play with you.”

They laughed and laughed and laughed, knowing the more they did the faster she would run off, and the faster they could go back to playing ‘Ministry for Magic’. It was a silly game where they sat on father’s things and smoked imaginary cigars like important men did, then they’d run around pretending to cast spells at each other. It sounded dumb but to an only girl in a predominately male household it was all she had. The boys would rather die than be caught playing ‘house’.

“Fine, I’ll just go play in your rooms.”

Their angry shouts rang throughout the whole house.

Auren had long since moved out, Edmund was getting ready to move to London to work for the Ministry, and there she was, still sitting in her tea room listening to her father drone on and on about irrelevant Pureblood families.

If she heard the words ‘Prothero’ or ‘Edevane’ one more time she was going to snap. She loved her father dearly, yes, but he hung onto old traditions with an iron clasp. And his adamance in tying up loose ends would be his downfall. She was sure of it.

“…Now what’s the status of your engagement with—“

“Excuse me?” Tick… tick…

“The lad, Henry Edevane. When are you two—“ Tick, tick…. Boom!

“Father… Father, please. For the last time,” She paused and leaned forward in her seat, a deep scowl marring her features. “There. Is. Nothing. Between. Myself. And Mr. Edevane. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He was impossible. The old man had officially lost his bearings, and if he thought for a second she was just going to sit around and let him dictate her life – well then, it was high time she followed in her brothers’ footsteps.

“Eleanor Xero, where do you think you’re going.” He didn't say it like a question; it was a statement and she knew that voice well. It was the voice he used on all his business associates when they proposed something he didn’t like and he used it on his children when he wanted them to cooperate with his demands.

She ran a hand through her newly cropped hair and stood up, already through with the conversation. “I’m going to London, father. And do you know where you can put Mr. Henry Edevane and my supposed 'engagement' to him?”

Reply as your character to the following:
Jim hated Mondays.

He had always hated Mondays, really; that cursed beginning of the week, that day where it still should have been the weekend and yet there was work to be done - deadlines to be made - stupid lunch meetings to attend.  Even when ‘lunch meetings’ had been just plain lunch; ‘work’, homework, he had despised the start of classes and - all at once - the next five un-fun days before the weekend started up again.

Now, cloudy October morning, Jim hated Mondays more than ever.

His desk filled with the wide-open arms of the Sunday Prophet, he scribbled furiously over sections with a bright red ink.

All the new graduates with their impeccable NEWTs and superb teacher recommendations had come in last month, only too eager to start preaching the truth - their truth - to the whole of Wizarding Britain.

Jim’s train of thought was bitter, but he smiled wanly, for he had once been one of those recruits themselves.

Most of their dreams should have been been smashed in the first week, from the first time people like Jim had told them to fetch the group some coffee. Day after day, hour after hour, that was what they now said to their youngest colleagues, as their older counterparts had told him years before: At some point everyone has to fetch us our drinks.

Almost every year, the new recruits sat down and took it - and fetched the group some coffee - and maybe it was just the age or the nostalgia, but Jim was fairly certain that they deserved it all.

They did not deserve to publish half-coherent drafts with way too many adverbs and completely unmodulated opinions.

Jim threw down the quill in disgust, ink splattering onto his button-down shirt as though it were blood.

Smartly, he piled up bits of paper, and then, still angry, face marred by an unhappy Monday, deposited the pile in front of his door before reaching out to grab at the first person he saw.

What happened to this paper?”

Roleplay Response:
Eleanor was one of the newest interns in the office - intern, recruit, slave, whatever you wanted to call it – and it was awful. She by no means traveled this far only to be treated like someone’s servant. The older workers here were annoying and needy, and they complained about every little thing – starting with the salary. When she was at their level she swore she would never degrade herself by—

Wait a minute. When she was at their level? No, no, it was more like if she made it to their level. She was about ready to rip apart every tiny cubicle she passed, but like any other sophisticated female she couldn’t show it.

The only thing that gave her a peace of mind was she wasn’t the only intern suffering under all this abuse; although, she definitely got the worst end of the stick. It seemed the older you were and the longer you’d been working for the office the more reason you had to be a slave-driver.

The man she was shadowing was nearly fifty, smelled like spicy jalepaños and coffee constantly – it was sickening – and had made her remake his coffee six times. Six. By the third cup she was ready to toss it all over his shiny bald spot. Maybe then it’d quit shining into her eye.

It was on her way back from the kitchens, with her temporary boss’s sixth coffee in hand, that she was jostled from behind. She felt a hand grab her elbow – thankfully of the arm not carrying the coffee – and pull her around. She’d barely managed to gather her wits when an angry voice and even angrier face scolded her from an office doorway.

”What happened to this paper?”

Her eyes took in the red ink stains dripping from his hands, shirt, and the torn up newspaper on the floor, and cocked an eyebrow.

“Excuse me?”

How did you find us?

Alastair Grimm

    (15/08/2013 at 05:34)