Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Valentina Altamira
Gender: Female
Age: 21
Blood Status: Pure

Education: 
Hogwarts - Gryffindor Graduate of 1940

Residence:
Aberdeen, Scotland.

Occupation
unemployed battle-ax
Altamira family heiress.

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?
N/A

Requested Magic Levels:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories (less levels can be used if you so desire, but no more than 32). The number of levels on the lowest ability must be at least half of the highest ability.

If you want levels above the usual 32 total, or a significantly uneven distribution of starting levels, please fill out and submit the Special Request form here.

• Charms: 8
• Divination: 7
• Transfiguration: 6
• Summoning: 11

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
N/A

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Everly Spencer & Natsuki Arai.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

Being an heiress had it's perks, but in all honesty, Val was often tempted to just give it all up, if it meant she could have her social freedom. Her father was all about dominion, pretenses, facades...he had to run the show, and if wasn't for the fact that she was probably just as domineering as he was, then maybe she might have been able to tolerate him. Unfortunately, the way her cards had been drawn made that highly unlikely, especially these days. Even so, the thought of an arranged marriage...to put it blatantly, really sucked.

With a sigh, she tossed carefully-curled cordovan tresses over her shoulder, a free hand moving to flatten the contumacious fabric of her vibrant skirt. Examining herself in the glass of her full body mirror, Val offered her reflection a suppositious half smile. Deeming her apparel competent, she maneuvered herself out of her bedroom, allowing her feet to carry her quickly and gracefully towards the parlor, posture phlegmatic and prideful.

After her brother Prospero had abdicated the role of heir, it had been given to Jordi- who, in turn, brazenly jilted it. At the time, Val had been over the moon. It'd been her golden opportunity to shine, her time to rule, take charge of things. Her brothers were complete buffoons, in her not-so-humble opinion, for passing on such a powerful position.

Now she could see why they'd done it.

It was as though she'd contracted her life away. Always Val do this, or Val do that. Greet this suitor, pretend to laugh at what that old couple says. Shake their hands. Frustratingly simple, but so...fake. Phony, bogus, fraudulent. There were probably a million different words she could brainstorm to describe the feeling, but not one could ever properly translate the regret in her heart. Not to her father, anyways.

She couldn't back down now. Her younger siblings weren't old enough to take her place like she'd done for Prospero and Jordi, and even if they were, her father would have theoretically killed her for being so irresolute. It wasn't the absolute worst thing in the world, per se. But not having the flexibility to make your own life choices was...demoralizing.

She'd just have to stick it out.

 

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

Val redirected her steely gaze, moving it to fall on the source of the panicked cry. Her dark brows knit together in a showcase of disquietude. Resisting the impulse to aid the woman wasn't necessarily easy, but she couldn't help but feel that there was something...wrong about drawing attention to herself, even if it was in order to help a stranger.

She'd been brought up amid a family that didn't like to get their hands dirty, didn't like to be seen with those they deemed shameful. And in this case, the woman was...pretty shameful, with her newspapers strewn like confetti and that pesky lost shoe. Val had secondhand embarrassment for her. That fall had been a pretty awful sight.

But despite the lingering cerebral voice that told her to do as her family would and keep pushing through the crowd, she just couldn't obey. The guilt was overwhelming.

Puffing her porcelain cheeks in irritation, she staggered over to the reporter and crouched down, taking careful heed to maintain her ladylike countenance and keep her knees pressed together - she'd always hated that part of wearing dresses. Sweeping the shoe up with her slim digits, she offered it to the woman along with her free hand. With a Spanish accent that tumbled from her lips like molasses, Val spoke, "Let me help you up."

OTHER
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