Emélie d'Acquitaine-Berlot

[Eve Hallows]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Emélie d'Acquitaine-Berlot
Gender: Female, I should hope
Age: 26 as per the 5th of August, 1936

Education:
L'école Conservatif (de Madame Morseau), Class of '21
L'Academie de Magie Beauxbâtons, Class of '27


Residence:
Intern Alley 1, Room 22a
London

Occupation:
Flirt

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Pas du tout

Requested Magic Levels:

• Charms: 6
• Transfiguration: 6
• Divination: 12
• Summoning: 8

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Pas du tout

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Eve H., Adam J. et al.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
"So you are French?"

A giggle cracked the silence like egg shells, and the bell rang. An apologetic shrug heaved up in her shoulders and raised eyebrows whisked away the young man. She didn't care to check if he was looking back after her.

"Hello."

Dark voice, steady confirmation of authority. Turning to let her eyes wander over him, wander, not flit, because a man of authority did not need another bird in a cage, bones too fragile for fight, too quick for flight. At this point, she was a mature woman, for the previous giggles had seemed to fill the void between her and the former victim, but it had never, as he may have imagined in a fit of vanity, reached across the boundaries of their vicinity.

A nod, for it didn't need to be mysterious, but it held the potential to be, and his dark eyes, combed hair and burly constitution stood sharp in her later recollection. Comme papa.

Daddy issues.

"What is your name?"

Shoot first, ask questions later.

"Emélie."

"Emily what?"

Commanding. Everything but her language. Connection both strengthened and hopelessly diluted, but he would like a cool woman. A conquest. In 2 minutes and 10 seconds, when their time was up, she'd move on and he'd never forget her face.

Mama would think her beyond the reach of maternal salvation, should she ever find out how she was squandering away her present time, looks and charm. Perhaps that was why Emélie was sitting in that exact spot, her back cushioned by a tacky display of red velvet against the glitter of her moonlight dress, her hair exercised in intricate design, with hairpins and curls in abundance.

"Ah-ah-aah." A finger was wagged admonishingly, but not beratingly, just enough to catch the glint in his eyes.

"My turn."

The smile that stole across her features was entertaining and mirthful, and the lumberjack across her raised an eyebrow and leaned in, unconsciously. It was almost too bad. He simply reeked of Muggle.

"Do you think you would be good for me?"

Emélie was a girl with a mission and a reason to stall. The Gaskells were a far-off consort of relatives, and she had been burdened with the heavy call of settling down the brother. Marlen. A professeur. She could have done so infinitely better than that, but family duties were the glue that held their society together, and Em, a girl of many masks, was now to bow out to her last performance.

Just one last piece of fun.

The bell rang, and another flush of faces went by, the second to last visage swimming into view.

However handsome he may have been, she saw his suit first. Pin-striped, neatly pressed, a long, oblique form bulging out from one sleeve. Slowly, interested, her gaze clawed its way up to his features, tamed into a lazy smile, peppered with befitting stubs down his jawline.

Wizard.

Finally a challenge.

He was simply sitting there, stoically calm, and she hid a smile in the palm of her hand, nothing like premeditation.

Then, leaning in as to confide, watching him mirror her actions, she looked him in the eyes in playful ardour and said, "Do you know who I am?"

Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

It was impossible for Dianne to stay out of trouble. It wasn't that she was looking for trouble, it's just that trouble always managed to find her. Today she wished she could find something equally familiar but more comforting.

The five-year old girl hugged her puffskein closer to her and brushed her face in its soft fur for comfort. She had named him herself and he was always her special pet. No she was certain she had never gone down this side street before. Her anxiety increased every second as darkness fell as she walked down the road. A loud noise came to her left and she buried her face in her pet's fur completely. The scared girl bolted the opposite way slamming the both of them into the wall of the nearest building. Tottering back a few steps she found a door a few feet to her right and ran to open it. What light there was inside spilled out into the darkness and she spilled into the room.

Once in, she was caught between the impulse to curl her cloak up more tightly around her and loosen her grip on it. She wasn't alone anymore but she was now among strangers instead, which was nearly as terrifying. Her puffskein had recovered from the shock of the wall and now was purring contentedly as the girl hugged it, causing a mildly calming effect on the girl. Gathering her courage, she marched up to the nearest person, pulled on the nearest clothing hem and blurted out in a loud voice:

"I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."

She paused to draw a breath in her nearly never-ending sentence, "He misses my and his mommy."

To explain the scared girl held up the custard-colored puffskein. Sambundeakin the puffskein, however simply purred as if nothing on earth was wrong in the world.

Roleplay Response:
Clinks of glasses and a murmur of reprieved conversation rose from the booths of classy decoration and silent appraisal ran along the outskirts of her gaze, long-held by a gentleman by the bar.

He could be no less than 30, and yet she found him as youthful as herself, as childishly indulging as she could ever have wished for.

It smelled trouble.

As he sat down with a couple of glasses of wine, she did not allow for a glance at the red swirl that was so elegantly put before her, for he was taking up the majority of her conscience, and she did not mind.

"You are staring, ma cherie," he commented, his own gaze long lost in the finery of the French Bordeaux.

"I am aware," she responded, "I have command of my own eyes, my darling."

He was so delightfully British, and she so coquettishly French, and she stared more to squeeze out a drop of uneasiness, but he took it with calmness and candour, and she almost laughed.

Finally finished with feigning interest in the alcohol before him, he leaned forward to prop a single elbow on the surface of the table, something she directly noted, something he directly smiled at, knowing.

Just about to open his mouth and flood the scene with the freshness of new conversation, however, the door opened, a bell tolled, and Emélie lost her concentration.

In waltzed an element of surprise, and she scrunched up her nose. A second later, the girl was at their doorstep.

He seemed to listen with amusement and a flash of concern, but Emélie simply stared dully at the frightfully unfit child. What was she, seven? And she hadn't even proposed where they might find her mother, where she lived or disclosed any helpful information yet.

When it finally stopped rambling, the discourse was certain.

Snapping once, Emélie raised her hand.

"Waiter, if you please!"

OTHER
How did you find us? Google

[Anneka Ivanova]

Accepted!