E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Zephyr Miles Stormont
Gender: Male
Age: 11
Bloodline: Pureblood
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Aeolus Stormont and Abigail Stormont (NPCs)
Residence: Godric's Hollow
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: Charlie Kedding, Reggie Graham, Robert Oliveroot, et al
Biography: (100 words minimum.)The Stormont family name is centuries old. Magical prowess hewn from a storm. A family tree so large it’s branches sag. There’s little doubt of at least some semblance of realation with any other blood-touting dynasty. A pureblood family proud to puff out their chests and strut among the community, stepping across anyone they deem lesser. They like to claim their line extends as far back as Merlin, though the evidence is murky at best. They are the kind of family that oozes wealth and slings the word Mudblood around like it was going out of style.
And, you should know, Miles is nothing like them.
Miles has always been a rebel. In fact, his very first word was a clear and rebounding, ‘NO’, as his mother tried to shovel a spoonful of peas into his clamped-shut mouth. His father affectionately called him strong willed, reading the paper and puffing a cigar. A true Stornmont through and through. His mother, knee deep in creamed peas, just thought he was a terror.
By the time he was seven every forbidden corridor and cavern of the massive Stormont manor had been thoroughly investigated. Every strictly enforced rule was broken. Every minute of being grounded was spent plotting up the next big way to get into trouble. There was something so enticing about hearing his mother screech into the sun about his poor behavior while his father downplayed it to strong-willed, childhood rebellion.
As he got older, the anarchist attitude lost its novelty in his father’s eyes, but Mile’s quick-thinking helped him get away with much more as the years went on. Thankfully, he was sandwiched between siblings that kept attention, and he learned the delicate art of minding his business and keeping his toe from going too far out of line.
But it was more than a simple childhood rebellion, a minor urge to go against his family. It wasn’t just that Miles had a knack for mayhem and chaos and insatiable curiosity. It was an all-encompassing dismissal of what the name Stonemont meant. Even down to dismissing his name. If you call him Zephyr, be prepared. “No, call me Miles.”
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:Bored.
So bored.
Dark brown eyes began to slide to a close when a sharp rap to his side pulled him out of revere and back to the present. The day was crisp and perfect, but Miles was stuck seated at a park bench, the book open in his lap idle on a single page, the same it had been stuck on for several minutes. He'd been forced in place by his mother for something he'd allegedly done. He couldn't remember what it was, and when asked she chidded him with the staple, ‘If you don’t know what you did-’ that meant it had been something particularly heinous. It was a common occurrence.
His mother's sharp gaze caught his wandering attention, and he snapped back to the page, turning it without having read any of the words.
But, as it was, his attention was quickly pulled away when a shrill shout pierced the quiet air. Miles looked up just in time to see her stomping towards him. Her blue eyes shared an intensity with his mothers and he was immediately staring at her, hair on his nap on end, even if she was just a pipsqueak.
At the question, a smirk played over Mile's face. He folded the book in his lap and slid it back to the park bench. His mother was distracted with her own reading, and adjusting her hat so the window wouldn't sweep it up. "Yeah- sure, kid. I got a real broom if you want to try it out."
OTHERA long, long time ago. In a galaxy far away.
