E L S E W H E R E C H I L D
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Pandora St Oswald
Gender: Female
Age: 9, born July 3rd, 1947
Bloodline:Halfblood Pureblood
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Poseidon St Oswald (yes)
Residence: London
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? //
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Alice Swan
Biography: (100 words minimum.)Who said you needed two parents to run a family when one was just enough? A mother's love was powerful enough to fill the obvious gap in Pandora's life: the lack of a father. The few questions she'd let slip about her father were hushed, ignored, or answered with heavy ambiguity, which was the equivalent of having no answer at all. She only knew one thing about her father: his last name. Because it was hers as well.
She had asked once why his and not hers. It was the only question that her mother answered: "For him to realize the consequences of his actions"
And he would. Because at seven years old, Pandora had to leave the comfort of Paris and be dragged to England to be thrown in his care.
Pandora didn't understand what her mother had. The doctor had explained everything thoroughly, kindly using kid safe words for her to follow along his explanation. Out of the medical gibberish, she latched on to one thing:
maman was slowly dying.
She never forgave herself for leaving her mother to rot in a stupid hospital bed with its stupid white walls and the stupid nurses who didn't know how to do their stupid jobs. It was stupid that she had to be sent away to live with another relative because her mother, the one who had tended to her needs her whole life, could not physically and emotionally support her daughter anymore. It was stupid that she had to leave her life behind. Everything was stupid.
It was on a rainy day in June, precisely one week before her birthday, that she and a gentleman she could not remember the name of knocked on her father's door. When he appeared, the man who escorted her started his explanation. Pandora had cut him short. "I'm the consequence to your actions", she told Poseidon St Oswald, looking at him straight in the eye.
Next thing she knew, she was living with a man she didn't know. A man she couldn't bring herself to call her father. She didn't quite understand his business ("Yeah, he's a pirate. We have a lot of rusty looking stuff at home") but she helped around the shop, nevertheless.
Not only did she not understand his job, she didn’t understand
him as well. There was power in her name, that she knew. He had explained, once, that it was the reason why he had to play around in important papers. Changing something from ‘Halfblood’ to ‘Pureblood’ or whatever that meant. Was that really important?
Back in Paris, everyone knew her mother. She was kind, sweet, generous, sociable and outgoing. Pandora wanted to be like her. Maybe she saw some of her kindness in Poseidon. But Pandora didn’t want to admit it just yet. She was still mad at him, and at the world.
Yet after almost two years living with Poseidon St Oswald, she felt closer to the man she now felt comfortable calling
papa. Their relationship required work --
he needed work as well as a parent -- but they were fine.
They were doing just fine.
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:It was too beautiful outside to stay cooped up in an old antique store with gizmos that were 10 bazillion gazillion years older than she was. Pandora knew the layout of the store by heart and could recall where every single article in the store was located. It didn't mean she knew what their purpose was. Even if her father had described them many many many many times.
Pandora skipped along the road, her feet kicking gravel with each bounce in her step. She hummed a melody nonchalantly as she made her way down to nowhere specific. It was then that she heard a voice that made her stop in the middle of her jig.
"Play? Of course!" Pandora rushed over to the girl, ignoring the harsh tone that was used to call her over. She loved meeting people and playing! Who didn’t?! "Whoa, what happened here?", she pointed to the broomstick planted in the earth. "Let me get that for you!"
Pandora hopped over to the broom and meant to place her hands on the handle until she twirled back to her new friend. "Sorry, I forgot to tell you my name! I'm Pandora St Oswald. Papa says it's important that we give full names. I don't know why". She still didn't comprehend the power of her surname. "What's your name?", she asked with a bright smile as she extended her hand for the girl to shake. OTHERHow did you find us?
Google
