E L S E W H E R E A D U L T
CHARACTER INFORMATIONCharacter Name: Dryden "Dodger" Gallus WinboltGender: MaleAge: 24Blood Status: HalfbloodEducation: Hogwarts, Ravenclaw 1928-1931
Dropped out of school to join Puddlemere United Quidditch Team in the fall of 1931Residence: London, EnglandOccupation
Seeker, Puddlemere United Quidditch Team
Captain, Merlin's Order of Defence 33rd Wizarding Infantry
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?
Nope
Requested Magic Levels:
- Charms: 10
- Divination: 5
- Transfiguration: 6
- Summoning: 7
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason? Merlin's Order of Defence; he was drafted in 1940Please list any other characters you already have at the site:Shepard Kedding and that lotBiography: (300 words minimum.)Early November, 1931
It wasn't running if he'd already planned to go.
He'd packed his trunk; his roommates watched with whispers of curiosity, rumors flying through the common room as he floated it down the steps from the tower rooms the night before. Even the raven, affixed over the great entrance to the common room looked suitably shocked that one of its own should be leaving before the term had hardly begun.
Fifth year. It was going to be a bother anyway. All those bloody OWLs, and what good would they do him? He was going to be a Quidditch player.
"Dad will be furious, Denny."
His heart clenched a little out of surprise and he turned to find his sister staring at him, her green eyes arresting and oh-so-very-much like Mum's.
"Alena, go back to bed, the prefects'll catch you out."
Just under four years his junior, the girl scoffed and placed her hands on her eleven-year-old hips. "I'm not going back to bed, Denny. I
said, Dad will be furious."
"Dad won't know until it's too late for him to do anything about it," he snapped, then glared at her fiercely. "Right?"
"
I'm not going to tell him," came the reply. "
I don't want to be the bearer of that bad news."
Smart girl, Dryden thought. Too smart for her own good sometimes.
"They'll be coming to pick me up at four," he told her, disguising any sort of apprehension in his force. "They've found me a place to room until I can pay for my own place with the salary they're giving me. It's good galleons," he added, as if to sell the deal. "Bloody.... Puddlemere United."
"I don't care what team it is, you watch your language."
"Oh, quit playing 'Mummy,'" Dryden retorted angrily, not even thinking. Alena's eyes widened, then narrowed, then fell...
"Someone has to," she murmured.
"I'm sorry, Alena..."
"Don't be," his sister interrupted. "You're leaving anyway." With that, she turned and went back toward the kitchens, back to her Hufflepuff home.
He left with the talent scout very early that morning, and his father found out two weeks later when he read his son's name in the sports section of the Prophet.
***
Mid November, 1935
They called him "Dodger." He was light, he was fast, he was very nearly unstoppable, and he was going to bring them to victory, or at least close enough to taste it.
Seeker. It was a difficult position, the most dangerous -- and the most fun. He couldn't imagine playing any other position now, not with the bludgers whizzing past his ears and the Snitch taunting him at every turn. Players darting in and out, crossing paths and colliding while he, perfectly calm, twisted into dives and Wronski Feints.
He was the fastest seeker in the League, said the Prophet, said the schoolchildren, said every fan of Quidditch who kept up with the stats. He could dodge anything. So why couldn't he seem to dodge his father's letters?
Come home for Christmas.He didn't want to, he had no reason to. For his sisters, perhaps, but he saw them each in turn when he could. He'd gotten them tickets to see the final game of the season, he would take them for tea. Alena he often saw in London.
"You need to talk to him," Alena often urged, but he refused every time. Dad wanted him there, Dad wanted him to reconcile. Perhaps Dad should have shown the same kind of interest when he'd decided to drop out of school and play Quidditch instead. Perhaps he should have shown that kind of interest in Mum when she was still alive...
So no. He'd spend Christmas at his London flat, cozied up with his cat Beater and his bottle of Chardonnay, and he'd fall asleep early.
Happy Christmas.
***
Late November, 1940
His broom was locked away safely.
Beater was already residing elsewhere in a teammate's flat, who'd complained by owl that the damned cat had torn apart two cushions (Dodger had warned him...).
The flat was clean, for once, and as Dodger looked at himself in the mirror, he found his Quidditch uniform had been replaced by a pair of standard issue olive-drab robes.
The draft notice sat on the kitchen table.
He wondered very briefly what Dad would think about it.
Roleplay: The snow had been falling steadily all morning and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. Joshua Campbell scrunched his face up in a frown as he lifted his gaze to look to the sky. Snow. It really was quite a bother.
And it certainly didn't make it better that Diagon Alley seemed to be getting more and more crowded. Joshua sighed and pointed his wand at the large box that was currently placed on the doorstep of his shop. He had to get going. He had an order to deliver.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" The elderly man muttered and watched the box hover in the air for a moment. Honestly, did St. Mungo's really need that much tinsel? And with glitter of all things? He sighed again. If it hadn't been for the rather convincing stamp on the order, he would have been likely to believe it had been a prank by one of those orphaned rascals living up there.
Oh well, there was no point in waiting. Joshua deftly stirred the box down the doorstep and out onto the street, carefully levitating it above the heads of the crowd.
"Coming through! Coming through!" His voice sounded over the chatter of the crowd. "Keep out! Move ahead! Go on!" This was going way too slow. People were in the way and walking like they had all day! He huffed. Luckily the road was down hill.
"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!" Joshua let out a loud shout as his feet suddenly slipped in the snow and sent him, the box, and several long strands of tinsel tumbling into the person who had been walking in front of him.
"For Merlin's sake!" Joshua muttered angrily as he hurried to his feet again, red and gold tinsel now decorating his black coat. "I am so sorry! This blasted snow!" He looked apologetic at the person he had crashed into.Roleplay Response:Beater's tail kept swishing over his neck, which might have been fine if it didn't
tickle so goddamn much. "Oi, keep it to yourself, furball," the young man grumbled, but goodnaturedly; Beater only purred and flicked her black tail once more.
It was a frigid day, and the only one of his days off, so Dodger, too restless to sit around and relax, had gathered his cat and pulled on a hat and walked out the door with nary a glance back. If he couldn't fly, he'd walk, he'd run. Anything except sit.
Relaxing was stressful.
Christmas was apparently here, which meant the usual "come home for Christmas" plea was already on its way by owl. Not that he cared. It wouldn't get a reply anyway. It did mean he'd need to get the girls Christmas gifts though -- what did girls like, anyhow? Scarves? Mittens? Not dolls, except for maybe Andi. Eight-year-olds still played with dolls, didn't they?
He was too wrapped in thought to take notice of his surroundings. A man, tinsel-laden and top-heavy, suddenly knocked into him, sending the decor everywhere. The box went flying; out of instinct, Dodger reached out and caught it. Beater, on the other hand, was more interested in the tinsel that now hung from Dodger's hair.
"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!""Can't be helped," Dodger shrugged. "Need a hand?"
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