E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Erin Clarke
Gender: Female
Age: 13 (22/7)
Bloodline: Pureblood/
Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Larissa Clarke (NPC)
Residence: London
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)? n/a
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: Marilyn-Rose Wilson & Co.
Biography: (100 words minimum.) Erin Clarke was not in herself average.
She'd always known this, as a child whose hands were constantly stained by the chalk that she used to draw on the pathways of their high rise, who's socks had always fallen down at inopportune angles, skewed and frustrating. She'd eventually given up with those white socks that inevitably ended up stained with the pastels, and had stopped wearing socks. It was far easier, and meant there was much less laundry to be completed. Plus, they were basically useless between the flitting weather (both the sweaty heat and sloppy rain) which soaked them through-- it was not her fault that puddles had always been a vice. Though it had been years since she had happily jumped into one, or danced in the rain (an activity encouraged by her mum, who had long since given up trying to reign her into normality and instead warmed up some towels for her) without an umbrella, the socks never returned to her feet and the chalk never left her pocket. It had (maybe embarrassingly, she was never fully sure) not been years since she’d drawn on the floor with chalks.
Her mum who, although hating the dust that stained all of her pockets, had never stopped loving the decorations that she had left in front of the door, which meant that Erin was encouraged forcefully to continue. Not that she minded. Anything to make the grey world– and the flat was grey, so very, very grey, as was the whole block– a little brighter would be good. She herself always tried to contribute to the very principle of
bright is best! whether that be in her outfits (usually clashing colours, as many as possible, her wardrobe a streak of neon), furniture (an oasis of rainbow), or chalk art– and thus, much of the laundry thanks to the brightly coloured powder that constantly lined her pockets and stained her hands.
Though, it wasn’t her obsession with the aesthetic of colour that made Erin Clarke unaverage (though, there was a strong case to be made for it), but rather that she was magical. Being a witch had always separated her from the other kids in her block, though not enough to stop her from making friends. Though, her Mum’s obsession with maintaining the statue of secrecy (sure, kind of important, maybe) meant that she had never gone to a muggle primary, something which had always left her a little further out than most. Not that it mattered, she’d always made up for it with sheer amount of friendliness (and the beaded friendship bracelets that littered both her arms, and those of every child, adult, and limb of anyone who had ever encountered her on the block) and her accidental magic had always kind of helped when they needed to get a football from over a fence, or on a roof where it had ended up somehow (read: a bad attempt at headers from Harry who insisted that he could ‘get it’ every time), making her a crucial asset to the team. Plus, she was a pretty good striker, which always helped (she thanked the aerodynamics of her sockless legs). Muggle kids thought she was weird (she knew this because they’d told her and she thanked them because, all in all, it was a pretty cool compliment) for her brightness but she was not outwardly disliked at all, more treated like some kind of weird cryptid, and her attempts to beautify the complex had always been met with cheerful laughter and slight headshakes. Not even the rain that washed them away in a stream of hues could stop her.
It wasn’t exactly her magicality that made her so unaverage, because being magical was also pretty average for non-muggles. It was the fact that Erin had always occupied the liminal space between muggle and magical, as her Mum (a student under Hexenreich) forbade her from attending Hogwarts, instead preferring to homeschool her further. Especially as after the death of her Dad, a man she couldn’t even remember (not that she’d ever tell her Mum that), they’d gone incognito– moving into the complex that she still remained in, and avoiding the magical world forever. After the fall of Hexenreich, though Erin supposed she’d never know how her mum knew that they fell, came a prophet subscription– their only tether to the Magical world as Erin was further forboden to go into Diagon Alley alone and strongly encouraged (read: banned) from talking to any wizards or witches lest they were pro-Hexenreich, even other teenagers. Not that she had minded all that much, lessons at home, even if they were mostly theory, were far more relaxed than her friend’s strict schooling (maths lessons sounded like they sucked) and she was allowed out to explore as long as she didn’t go near Diagon Alley.
And honestly, without any experience of the Magical world, she wasn’t really missing out on much, plus, she’d always been happy in her own little world, with her chalks and cheerful determination.
Plus, she’d long since learned that there was no point protesting because her Mum’s fears of Hogwarts were unstoppable and had been proven right by the chaos of the Monster (or was it a werewolf? A poisonous werewolf?), the death, and the trial. In fact, Erin distinctly remembered how vindicated Larissa Clarke had felt when that Marquis girl (Athena?) had been sent to Azkaban. She had tried to ask whether that meant Hogwarts was now safe enough for her to go to, something which had been cheerfully shot down, and so, the homeschooling continued.
Not that she minded, life was so fun and so bright with her mum and all the pictures of Hogwarts were always so dreary and grey.
(Plus, now that the whole poisonous-monster-werewolf thing happened, her Mum had figured that Hexenreich was on a steep decline and whilst Hogwarts still wasn’t safe, it was safe from those extremists, which meant that she could go into Diagon Alley unattended– bonus!)
Roleplay:Reply as your character to the following:It was not nearly as green as she had expected.
In fact, for a magical park– a place full of witches and wizards to-be, Hogwarts' future best and brightest, and the closest thing to freedom she had tasted in a long long time– Erin had been expecting brightness everywhere, from the sky to the grass (which was not a deep lime, or bright apple, or vivid pear, as expected) but was rather, merely green. Green was undeniable, but the park didn’t seem to stand out how she’d expected it. It was not the vibrancy of chalk on a pavement, it was just
pretty.
Nonetheless, she supposed, the main attraction of such a park was not its level of green. The attraction of such a place was the reason that she had structured a long debate with her Mum, one that concluded with a rather lengthy haggling session. Now, she prayed, that this taste of magicality would be worth the sacrifice she had made to convince her Mum to free her from the depressingly grey block in which they lived. And sure, she was a teenager still being supervised by her Mum, but there were no evil figures in cloaks going around killing people, nor were there any werewolves, or poison– at least not in sight, which meant that she was pretty safe, and this was undeniably a step in the right direction.
Her foot tapped the ball, holding it near to her as her eyes gazed over the surroundings of the park, still not entirely used to the magical being so embraced. Broomsticks, she supposed, made sense in the mythology of witches and whilst she objectively knew that they were a thing that non-muggles had used for centuries, seeing children zip about on them still made her jaw a little bit slack. She held it closed, keeping the grin on her face.
The brooms, in the sun– lemon, bright yellow, she could always trust the sun to bring the shades she wanted– and the sky, looked almost picturesque. Erin could sense her Mum’s head flitting about, looking for any sign of threats, wand concealed within her sleeve, ready to fight at any given time. She ignored the paranoia, and instead turned back and gave her Mum a thumbs-up– a not so subtle signal that she was okay, and that the world was not collapsing around them, even as her worldview itself seemed to shatter. This mind blowing event only made her grin more, as the blonde established her goal– just between those two trees, over there.
She ran back, ready to make her shot.
It was whilst she was running towards the ball that she heard it, the loud voice, turning from the ball (she knew where it was anyways) Erin spotted the last person, she expected such a snapping order to come from, one that practically bit at her heels. It was a little girl, a tiny one even, at least relative to the size of the park, not so relative to the size of Erin. At this exact moment, another realisation happened, that Erin Clarke in fact had not kept track of where the ball was, and the bright coloured girl felt herself hit the floor, beads protecting most of her from injury, but the the telltale crack in her pocket reminded her that chalk was, in fact, not durable in the slightest.
Wrapped around her ball, she looked up at the girl, a wicked grin still on her face.
"...Do you want to play?"She didn’t even have to look back to know that her Mum was shaking her head vehemently, in case this child was another poisoner in sheep’s clothing. She hadn’t died yet, which meant that she would probably be fine.
Probably,
hopefully.“Sure! Do you know footie?”
