CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name:
Bradley St. John SharpeGender:
MaleAge:
32Education:
Hogwarts, Class of 1959 (Ravenclaw)Residence:
Lives on a converted barge on the Thames with Emmett Finch. Sometimes lays about his parents manor, Callisham Hall, in Devon.Occupation:
Obliviator with the MoMDo you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (example St Mungo's, the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
MinistryRequested Magic Levels:
- Charms: 12
- Transfiguration: 7
- Divination: 6
- Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
NopePlease list any other characters you already have at the site:
Daisy Corbridge and everyoneeeeeSpecial Phrase: Tibbles Beard of Power
Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Bradley St. John had enjoyed a pleasant life thus far. He could imagine it no other way, really. He had been born the eldest child, eldest son, fulfilling all his parents' fondest dreams and had pretty much taken things easy from that day forward. He was followed by a succession of dainty and shrewish (to his mind, at least) sisters but they couldn't bother him much. Not when he was to head the family someday.
The problem with this scenario was, oddly, that wizards were a curiously long-lived species. His great-grandfather was still alive, for Merlin's sake, not to mention his grandfather and his father. What was an heir to do?
Fool around, mostly.
Life was a game to Bradley. Some days it was chess. Some days it was whist. Some days he liked nothing better than to sit back with his friends and bet on happenings around them. Acquiring knowledge was a game in itself, and he was not a Ravenclaw for his academic mind so much as for his pleasure in acquiring facts to tuck them away and access them later. What marvelous conversation it made for at parties when one could pluck a salient fact seemingly out of thin air.
Life was all about entertainment.
It was perhaps sad that, born with quite a clever mind, Bradley never seemed to do much with it. He never had trouble answering the riddles that were required to enter Ravenclaw Tower, but then that was because it was a game and it entertained him. Sitting through History of Magic and writing those dratted essays was quite another matter, and he vastly preferred to spend his time in the back of the classroom leaning over his desk to whisper frivolities into the ear of the girl in front of him.
Life was also about priorities.
He was an Obliviator, but that was almost something of an afterthought because the Auror programme (although it sounded far more dashing when dropped into conversation with a girl) was too hard to get into and the Obliviator Squad was less so. It still involved action and adventure of a moderate amount without undue danger and it made him seem like less of a pampered rich boy.
Life was about appearances, as well.
Roleplay Response:
Bradley lifted his long leg and stretched it along the length of the bench. Snugly ensconced in the best booth at the Rogue - the one close enough to the door to provide the best vantage point of pretty girls entering the bar but far enough from the door to avoid drafts - was the ideal way to spend a Friday evening, to his way of thinking. It was just that usually the other guys were here by now.
He sighed, and lifted his hand. The wrist bent with a delicate movement, and sent a card sailing. Ooh. Two points. He watched with profound satisfaction as the card hit the edge of his hat once and neatly dropped inside, coming to rest on a pile of the other glossy cards he had already managed to land. Clubs, spades and hearts lay littered around the other edge of the booth from his less successful attempts. But then, he had the whole evening to perfect his wrist motions.
Emmett was going to owe him a drink if he kept him waiting much longer, Bradley decided.
Bored with the cards already, he reached forward and seized the hat with one hand, a wand suddenly present in the other, and he watched with pleasure as the scattered cards flew from the floor, the bench and the table and assembled themselves quickly with their brethren in the hat. Magic was delightful.
He was ready to order another pint and perhaps bend the ear of the pretty bar girl until Emmett finally showed up, but as he turned to swing his leg off the bench and stand up, a far tinier and younger girl was suddenly in his way. He frowned. She was
touching him. His frown deepened, and he stared pointedly at her hand on his coat sleeve until her words finally sunk in.
"Oh thank the gods above, I thought you were going to say I was your long-lost father," he said breezily, and stood up, forcing her to step back a pace. He wasn't quite sure she was supposed to have a thing like that in a respectable bar, he thought as he eyed her mangy pet, but he didn't intend to be around it too long anyway. "Well, come along," he said, not unkindly, but more in the manner of a distant uncle who was unused to being around children frequently. "I'll hand you over to our favourite bar maid and she'll know what to do."
She might even give him a drink on the house for his kindness towards children, he thought with amusement.
