E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Wolf Märchen
Gender: Male
Age: 16 (
Born 25 Nov, 1931)
Bloodline:Pureblood/
Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Eponine & Drake Märchen (npc’d)
Residence: Black Forest - Baden-Württemberg, Germany (originated)
Swansea, Wales (migrated, c. 1938)
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:Felix Oliveroot-Leontine, Azrael Albear, Nikolaus Kinsinger, Deimos Straka
Biography: (100 words minimum.)Once upon a time, there was a boy who was born under a ghastly, cursed moon. And, unsuited for beautiful words, his story wrote itself in language primordial: bruised knuckles, wooden splinters and bleached bone, the delicate veils torn from ladybug wings, fragile things crushed beneath the heel of his hand.
(Curb it, she tells him, That beast inside you, that you let walk in your skin.)
Toothsome dreams, with big, beguiling eyes and pliant skin. Prayers for solace, all for naught. He burned. He hungered. He was doomed, to a frenzied nature unfurling slowly across the years in one long, ragged howl; a lacerating war cry. The boy reveled in this savagery. And dreamed of savage revelation.
(Whose afraid, whose afraid? I’m not, she says.)
This boy, untamed though he remained, did learn. Aconite, belladonna, and cicuta made for an early alphabet, alongside digitalis, elderberry and flaxseed. Root and stem by rote, worked deep as the dirt beneath his fingernails. Wood paths long wandered, and all the secret ways down which one might stray. The boy walked with the wild. He hunted.
(You're a liar, she declares. Words heavy as stones in his empty belly, that hunger. But I'm not frightened of you.)
The ways of men, as the tales tell us, are the most beastly of all, for they're the only creatures whose dreams birth monsters and terrible myth. This, the boy never needed to be taught. And other children, those trespassers who he could not frighten, he fought. But from what cannot be fought one must flee, and so the boy crossed an ocean from the feral forest where he lived, to the shores of Swansea.
(Cry wolf, he taunts, And see what happens. The line of trees recede, planes drone overhead.
Wolf, she says. And smiles.)
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:The horizon stretched under the sun's shrewd gaze, coloring its canvas in unusually attractive colors, most unlike the typical, dreary weather. There was even a touch of warmth to it, settling like inquisitive fingers on the back of his neck and shoulders. Both of which were hunched, head craned towards the sky – as if he resented even the suggestion of an intrusion.
"John, I said wait up!"Eyes rolled slightly at this little shriek, but otherwise Wolf ignored the little girl who was, quite literally, far below his attention. This was fixed on the line of brooms streaking across the sky, which he studied from where he sat in shadowed, squint-eyed skepticism.
Flying had never particularly been his forte, given the proliferation of canopy where he'd grown up. And just thinking about being that high off the ground... his nerves balked, bristling with a dread more instinctual than fear, but so akin as to, perversely, fascinate him in the same breath. For long minutes, he fought silently to categorize it.
Unnatural, he finally decided,
to have your feet so off the ground. Fingers curled into the grass, feeling the dirt swell coolly against his knuckles. Teeth grit, a crueler bite into the stem caught between his teeth. In heightened consideration, the tilt of his head sharpened its angle.
At least that bloody high.He was almost tempted to—
"You!"Scowling, the level of his gaze flattened, now overcast with umbrage. What on earth had given her the impression he'd be a good volunteer to pick out?
Perhaps she had realized her mistake, for her tone seemed to soften.
"...Do you want to play?"His brows raised, fingers with mottled bruises along their backs coming to pluck the blade of grass from between his teeth. All the better to smile at her.
"Sure."
The line of his shoulders and neck gone taunt, and the pause that followed was tense, almost baited. He moved slowly, knotted limbs pulling themselves apart. Legs unfolding, back straightening. An arm stretching...
"Let's play."
Abruptly, he made to snatch for her broom.
OTHERHow did you find us?
A good fairy.
