E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Atlas Undergrove
Gender: Male
Age: 11 (19 April 1952)
Bloodline:Pureblood
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Apollo Undergrove
Willow Undergrove
Residence: Virginia Water, Surrey, UK
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:Timothy Winchester
Edmund Whiteclaw
Christopher Beckett
Biography: (100 words minimum.)Atlas Undergrove was born as much out of necessity as he was desire. His parents wanted a child, but they needed one just as much as they wanted one. They needed to ensure that their name, their status, their position in the upper class world of Virginia Water would be retained long after they had ceased to be a part of the world of the living. Atlas fit the bill perfectly, being born a healthy male. His destiny was written from the moment he took his first breath, though he would not know his significance for many years, and he would never quite come to care.
Atlas was raised as most privileged purebloods were. Learning to walk, talk, read, and think in the long and winding corridors of the Undergrove’s manor, Evermore, he was brought up to value his blood and value the name his family carried. He attended his first soiree when he was two, saw the inside of his parents’ cavernous vault at three, and received his first top of the line broomstick at the age of four. However, much to his parents' chagrin, Atlas expressed no interest. No, he found himself far more interested in his books, in his pillow and blanket forts, in napping in the window sills of the giant vaulted windows, and climbing up the ancient tapestries that hung all over the manor to see what little pictures were tucked away at the top of the artist’s work.
His parents worry deeply for their son as he is far from the social creature that most respectable purebloods are. They simply cannot see him sitting on the Wizengamot one day, or standing to deliver a toast in front of a party, or speaking to a government official to ensure the family interests would be retained. All they could see him doing was blending in and living a quiet life, and it scares them deeply. But Atlas remains oblivious to their fear.
Atlas lives most of his life in his own head. His books have helped him to build an entire world in his mind where he is a character in an ever expanding adventure. He daydreams from the moment he awakens to the moment he goes to sleep, and then he dreams some more. His comfort with where he is now has left him uninterested in Hogwarts. His parents have insisted he prepare as it is every upstanding wizard’s duty to be educated, but Atlas remains skeptical of the ancient school. He is going along most unwillingly and does not look at the seven years that lay before him with any shadow of fondness.
Atlas’ solitude has never been a problem for him before as it has been a self imposed exile. Moving into a castle full of life and activity is the opposite of the life Atlas has imagined for himself, and he has not quite figured out how to swallow such a bitter pill. No amount of daydreaming can remove him from the prison of the castle and no amount of trying will allow him peace and quiet and solitude.
Hogwarts may be ready for Atlas Undergrove, but Atlas Undergrove is painfully unready for Hogwarts.
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:Godric Park was a great escape for most, but a prison for Atlas.
What interest should he have in a place so overrun with throngs of people making such
noise? He couldn’t even think, let alone focus on the adventure that rested in his hands pressed between two worn covers. He was not here by choice, that was for certain. No, he was here because his mother’s get together with her old school friends at the swanky little cafe was running far beyond the promised conclusion time. She’d sent Atlas off to “play” so as to not bother them or stifle their conversations. He of course had a book in hand and had every intention of finding a hidden place to read, but no such place existed. Everywhere he looked was occupied by some slump talking much too loud, saying nothing worth hearing.
He took a seat on a bench in the park in a huff, unsatisfied but with nowhere better to be. He’d opened and closed the book at least half a dozen times but not a word had been read. Something or someone always broke him from the small bit of concentration that he’d managed to procure for himself. He was giving the book another try when the barking, demanding whine of a nameless source called out in his direction.
”You! Do you want to play?”Atlas stared at her for a moment, no words even approaching the cusp of his lips. He
wanted to tell her to shuffle away back to where she came, but he could not form the words in his throat. She expected an answer, and he simply didn’t have one. So, he met her in the middle and shook his head no. He was not about to get roped into playing
Quidditch with a bunch of rough housing older boys and a stuffy, huffy little girl.
Who did they think he was?
OTHEROriginally found you on Google!
