E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter 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.
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