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Messages - Lola Sloe

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Sample Applications / Lola Mae Sloe
« on: 27/07/2015 at 20:46 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Lola Mae Sloe
Gender: Female
Age: Thirty-something
Blood Status: Half

Hogwarts School, Gryffindor
Santa Helena Mediwitch Institute, Undergraduate through Post-Graduate Study
Accreditation: Licensed Magical Healer (LMH), Licensed Magical Psychologist (LMP)--State of California
Full CV upon request.

San Francisco, California, United States of America

Magical Psychologist, private practice

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?

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 11
  • Divination: 7
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 7
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:
Currently, none.


Property of L.M.Sloe, LMP, LMH

If found please return via owl to the private practice of L.M.Sloe, San Francisco, California, United States of America
This book of list is charmed.  If it is read, THE OWENER OF THIS PROPERTY WILL KNOW.  There will be consequences.  You have been warned.

I've been told it's unfair, passing my days and paying my bills by telling others what is wrong with them, how to fix it, when there is so much wrong with me, so much to be fixed.

I know what is wrong.

Here are the absolute truths about me:

1.   I have regrets.
-Anyone who has made it to thirty and says they have no regrets is a liar.  Here are some:
A. One lives in Cheltenham.
--He is married to a kind Muggle woman whom I would love nothing more than to punch in the teeth.
--He has two children who have his nose and not my eyes.
--He was a mistake in the first place.
--He was never right for me.
--We were young and stupid.
B.  One lives in the room next to mine.
--I should have fixed the problem when I could.
--She is ten now.
--She has her father’s nose and my eyes.

2.   I have great loves.
-These tend to be to my detriment.  Here are some:
A.  Most of them live, periodically, at the house of the two best.
--It is in Switzerland.
--It smells like lavender.
--There is a sofa there that has my name on it.  Literally.  I scratched my name into it one night.  I don’t think they know; I wouldn’t have heard the end of it.  They like their things.
--This is where I wash up, when I need some time to wash out.

B.  One of them lives in a small wooden box in the ground in Cheltenham.
--Her name was meant to be Esme, to honor a friend who had died. It turns out the friend had not.  It turns out that her namesake did.
--She was from a different time; I was different then; everything was different then.
--Everything would have been different, now, if she had spared the world a breath.

C.  One of then lives in Cheltenham, in a flat where I had lived, with a Muggle girl whom I would love nothing better than to punch in the teeth.
--We were young and stupid.
--We were brilliant.
--We loved each other desperately, when we loved each other at all.

3.  I have a problem.
-Some things are better left unsaid.

Here is what I do to fix this.

1.  I stopped running.
-I have been in my life like a bird, only lighting on branches long enough to be seen, or to be held, or caught briefly.  I am now caged.  Here is how:
A.  I put down roots where I first sprouted them.
--Hank stayed in England.
--Buck stayed in England.
--I came home to the same old place in San Francisco. 
--I mow the lawn on Sundays.

B.  I have taken up an office.
--It is equal distances from home and from T’s school.
--It pays the bills.
--I pay the bills.
---Sometimes I feel dreadfully dried-up.

2.  I still run, in controlled sprints.
A.  When T is with her father, I stay where it smells like lavender.
B.  I have a problem.
C.  There’s always work to be done
--(when there’s nothing else to be done for it.)

I have worked for what I have.  I have taken everything, turned it to nothing, and built it back again from the pieces.  I have earned this.  I can own this.

Can you own yours?

You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option Two -
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:
The streets of Diagon Alley were full, and she hated that about them, pulling her scarf up around her cheeks (half against the cold, half to cover the angry color that was rising there).  Noise fell heavily on every inch of the place--the shouts of children, the shouts of mothers shouting after them-- and her ears hated the sound of it.  From near every door, the smell of apple cider spiced with cinnamon and spiked with firewhiskey billowed out, or else evergreens, or orange and clove, or the dirty-clean smell of trampled snow, and she hated each of them, too.  Wrapped beneath too many layers of sweaters and coats and overcoats, even the very bones of her hated it here, quivering against pale flesh.

In equal parts, she loved and hated this time of year, and presently, it was easier for Lola Sloe to hate.

Now more than usual, it was easier, because behind her quickly retreating back the yearly reunion she dreaded was taking place.  Now, somewhere behind the smallness of her near-running frame, a small copy of herself would be snaked into the arms of the man she could live neither with nor without.

Neil always had Tallulah for Christmastime.  Lola always took their daughter, via portkey, to Gringotts, always withdrew a small amount of gold for shopping for the Carrol family, and always left the small, brown-headed girl in the care of a well-mannered welcome witch before her brown-headed father could appear.

And always, she couldn't leave fast enough.  About to turn an ice-crusted corner, the child-like, childish woman was ready to tear into a sprint, eager to hit the Leaky Cauldron, the return portkey, and then home.

She was hit by a stranger instead; a stream of swear words issued from scarf-hidden lips and dashed themselves against the cobblestone as she pushed herself up, pushing Christmas-colored tinsel out of her eyes.

"Tell me about it," her voice chirped in a huff as she brushed the same blasted snow that the man spoke of off her knees.  Though her tone betrayed her obvious annoyance with the collision that prevented her escape, her hand darted to the pocket of her overcoat none the less, retrieving a short, slender wand.  With a brisk jab and a tersely muttered word, the scattered tinsel quickly repacked itself into the box from which it had spilled.

"You could just carry it, you know."  Returning her wand to her pocket, Lola bent at the waist to pick up the box, holding it out at arm-level to the man.  "It's much easier that way."

How did you find us? Magic.

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