E L S E W H E R E C H I L D CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name:
HalfbloodParents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Edward and Elizabeth Noble, not yet.Residence:
Cambridgeshire, England.Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
No.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:
Caius ThorneBiography: (100 words minimum.)
It was Thursday. As far as Camilla was concerned, Thursdays existed on her behalf. Nobody could persuade her to do anything on Thursdays, not that she spent it in wholesome idle, but Camilla was wont to do as she pleased. There was no justification on her part why this was so.
In the sitting room, Camilla was sprawled on her side; glassy-eyed, cheeks suffused with colour, a skinny arm slung over a bouquet of carnations, 'Pride and Prejudice' standing on its spine, pages fanning out on the floor. She looked like a forest nymph as she reclined on the velvety green chaise, her hair curling across the fabric, her silk nightgown crushed beneath her legs and even the warmth of the fireplace could not warm her feet.
"Miss Camilla, your mother said to fetch you."
A timid maid stood by the fire, waving a hand over Camilla's light-coloured eyes, fearing the child was dead. The dark-haired girl blinked and her lips parted, a sigh escaping her ruby lips. In this coma-like stupor, Camilla seemed more fey than human and the young maid had reason to believe that her ward's head was far up in the clouds and that it would take more than a miracle to rouse her from daydream.
Being newly employed, the maid hadn't known Camilla for very long, but even in the brief duration of her service, she learned a great deal about the young woman. Soft-spoken and reasonably docile, Camilla was one of those be-seen-not-heard types and it would seem, depending on who was looking, she gave a stoic impression, more often than not, most assumed she was just absentminded and a touch outlandish.
They couldn't be more farther than the truth.
Eventually, to the maid's surprise, Camilla sat upright, the bouquet of carnations fell to the floor and toppled the book, her dress pooled on her lap like quicksilver, and without a word, she raised both her arms in the air. The young servant took a cautious breath and stepped forward to comply to Camilla's silent resignation. She was very much a child compared to the other Noble children.
Camilla couldn't stop thinking about Leonard that particular Thursday.
"You're to go to town, so I heard. Missus said to dress you nicely." The soft rustling of fabric comforted Camilla, though her thoughts wouldn't stop whizzing about. She looked up to Leonard quite a lot, he was like an older brother to her and she was quite fearful of what would become of him. She'd heard of the dreadful news yesterday, and she'd nearly choked on her chicken soup when Papa grimly delivered his piece. Leonard's rebellious streak was not something he hid blatantly, you could probably tell from a mile away, a compelling, frightening thing.
Now, Camilla wasn't always as proper as Cecily, nor was she as graceful as Abigail and she feared she'd make a clumsy mistake one day and her family would cast her away before she was even 16. The Noble name came with expectations, and to earn it honestly, one would have to uphold the ideals the Noble family so fervently believed in. Sometimes she thought she wasn't good enough to be a Noble, she tried very hard to do things right the first time round, but that wasn't always the case.
Other times she was compelled to stray from the path, like that one time when Cecily and Abigail came over to play and Camilla had hidden her new tea set on purpose. She didn't want to share and had declared that one of the servants had stolen it. Camilla was afraid that her cousins might want the same tea set, the one with the mermaids and the golden curlicues on the handles, she wanted to be the only one to own it. Nobody else could love mermaids as much as Camilla.
Mother found out eventually, and a sullen Camilla apologised tearfully to the girls, offering her mermaid tea set up for play. And what about her antics in Durmstrang? She couldn't remember how many times her father had to come down to the Headmaster's office. That said, Camilla often learned her lessons the hard way, making her feel terribly at war with herself.
Camilla wondered about Leonard's fate, he was not yet 16 and grievous deeds always had grievous repercussions. Another sigh escaped her lips, and this time, it worried her young attendant.
"Whatever is the matter, Miss Camilla?" Tucking in the last strand into the braid, the maid surveyed her work, it was a neat French braid, very proper, quite unlike her young ward. Satisfied, she pulled the pink ribbon taut and proceeded to pat down the frills on the girl's dress. Camilla liked to wear flouncy dresses, pastel-hued and feminine, and the maid thought Camilla looked very much like a real Alice-in-Wonderland. She was about to secure the sash that went with the dress when Camilla suddenly pulled away, dark brows drawn together in worry.
"I've got to save Leonard." A muffled thanks could be heard as she hustled away from the room, heels clicking urgently in her haste to find her dear cousin. If she could help Leonard redeem himself then maybe, just maybe, her family would remember her goodwill and selflessness and think twice before, Heavens forbid, striking her out from the family tree.
The move to England had proven to be an adventure, at least Camilla seemed to enjoy her new surroundings. Even if it meant losing her old friends back at Durmstrang, the prospect of starting anew in another country was much too exciting for her comprehend; besides, it wasn't like she could do anything to sway Uncle Elliot's decision, him being the Head, of course.
Camilla didn't consider the drawbacks then, but she found Cambridgeshire to be quaint and riveting, and if one were able to dismiss the occasional interruption of firearms, the glum weather, the chill that went straight to her bones, their new home was quite lovely, indeed. And she couldn't wait to go school, she'd heard a fair bit about Hogwarts, it sounded a lot cheerier than Durmstrang, in fact - and they were to be sorted into different Houses and whatnot, Hogwarts promised to be quite an exciting affair. Roleplay:Reply as your character to the following:
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:Camilla watched as three broomsticks whizzed over her head, a tiny smile edging at her lips, charcoal poised over parchment, a half-drawn mermaid waited patiently for her tail to be finished. From her peripheral vision, she could see her younger brother pointing at them excitedly.
When she was younger, Papa used to lift them into the air and make choo-choo noises, and spin spin and spin until she was dizzy and her hair fanned out like a broom. She was much too old and heavy for that now, Camilla mused.
Hearing a little wail nearby, Camilla directed her gaze towards a little girl, gripping a broomstick in her little fingers as if she’d wanted to strangle it. Curious, Camilla stood, abandoning her sketch on the grass by her brother and approached the little girl.
"...Do you want to play?" the girl had demanded, and Camilla thought she was lovely, red-cheeked and angry, like an imp only more adorable. Sometimes her brother would also fall into one of these outbursts, utterly inconsolable until he realised nobody was going to comfort him. Camilla watched the girl, lashes lowered, head tilted to the side, she wondered if the kid was going to call on her Mama.
“Yes,” said Camilla after a while as she knelt by the girl, fingers pulling at the grass tickling her leg. Her English was slightly accented, they spoke the language at home, though she could never manage to pull off her mother’s posh clip. Camilla frowned at the broomstick, as if it had been a very very naughty child, it was similar to the look of disapproval Aunt Charlotte made.
“I can make you fly without a broomstick.” OTHER
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