Theodore Abiel Litchfield

[Theodore Litchfield]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Theodore Abiel Litchfield
Gender: Male
Age: 20 (b. October 27th, 1922)

Education: 
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – Gryffindor ‘41

Residence:
Hogsmeade Countryside

Occupation:
Freelance Poet

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?
Yes, will sign up for MoD shortly.

Requested Magic Levels:
This is my first Litchfield character:

• Charms: 8
• Divination: 14
• 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?
Litchfield’s – his pureblood family.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Lucy Lou & the Mystery Gang

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Underneath piles of discarded textbooks and scribbled-on papers lies a worn and well-used journal. The first entry dates back to December of 1935.

Quills and quills and quills,
What is this book,
My mom thinks I write,
How did she know


Professor this,
Professor that,
Bet you didn’t know you had a piece of gum stuck to your ass,
Stop assigning homework.


3 : 2 1 i n t h e m o r n i n g
how nice


Need to find new ways to explain to Prof why going to a quidditch game is more important than history of magic work,
Who needs history.
I'll make history.


Five people in this dormroom,
And not one knows a thing about privacy.


Fourteen is an odd number,
You’re not exactly fifteen—
Which is a good place to be,
But you’re not thirteen either,
And thirteen is nicer nice better than twelve,

Madison was stupid when he was fourteen,
Please don’t let it run in the family.


I truly wonder what it's like to get a full night's rest.


XXII

Again.


Greatest piece of advice: “it comes with the blood.”


How does any of this count as poetry?
Love, xoxo
Linc

GET OUT.


My parents were too eager to have my brothers
and waited too long to have my sister,
They would've done just fine with me.
Only me.


Attempt #12?
Attemp

Here we go:
Heavy and cold over the dreamscape
Running, ruining and
The night keeps going
All damp under the sky
You feel scary eyes above the mud
The feeling will vanish
luminous awake
in another country
no words left
How many times
my father
take another road
before help could come


I hate writing I don't know why I keep doing this,
Poetry isn't even good,
Maybe once I start getting paid for it it'll be better,
I hope.


Girls need to get their act together for once,
They take too long to do things and then--oh, she's coming.


Do you need O.W.L.s to be a successful author?
Should probably find an answer before test day,
Not that I will--
And one as straightforward as I can find it.


Not dreaming would be nice every once and a while.


Update: not dreaming is actually ten times worse than dreaming. Don't try it again.

The journal continues on much of the same for the four years following the first entry date. The style of writing barely changes, consisting of short, monotonic sentences and blunt perspectives. Entries between the months of April and September in the year 1938 seem to have disappeared -- or never existed to begin with -- and soon thereafter the author picks up his writing with the tales a girl named Charlotta. Not much else is known about the author other than his severe lack of consistency, distaste for his most difficult class, History of Magic, and his undying support for his house's qudditch team.


Roleplay:
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 steered 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:
Timing was an invaluable thing. Truly, it could save a person's life or it could ruin it spectacularly, and he prided himself on achieving neither in his twenty years of living -- or if he had he'd chosen to ignore it.

But then there was the act that followed. Was it wiser to act humble and apologize, explain yourself, and move on? Or would it serve in the long run to dawdle, draw out the inevitable, and interact with strangers for far longer than he was comfortable with?

Theodore had heard the man's shout of panic a moment before something firm tumbling into his back and scratchy pieces of tinsel draped themselves over his head. He'd been too far away for the man to touch him in his tumble, but the obvious fact that the ice had shifted around his feet made Theodore reach out cautiously as if to catch himself.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

His lip quirked just slightly as a hand reached out to offer its help, not that the elder seemed to be needing it, and for a moment he thought about saying nothing more. What else really needed to be said? The man had slipped, dumped his belongings on the nearest person, and was now apologizing for, really, no wrongdoing. End of story.

Propriety had him pulling his hand back to pull a shiny piece of tinsel off his shoulder instead.

"It's quite alright. As long as we didn't both go down, I'm sure we'll be fine," His eyes crinkled at the corners knowingly, and he pointed at the box half-buried within the snow, "Would you like some help with that?"

OTHER
How did you find us? Google / Tumblr

[B. Foster]

Mr. Litchfield,

Your biography looks fantastic, and I love how original you are with using poetry to describe him throughout his years at Hogwarts. Still, there are holes in your biography that makes me want to ask quite a few questions. What happened in 1938? Does he feel he has too many siblings still now? What does he think of his own writing, and now that he's older does he know why he writes?

Just fill us in a bit about what his life is like now that he's an "adult", with maybe at least one or two more paragraphs, and we'll be ready to accept your new Litchfield.

Thank you,
B. Foster

[Theodore Litchfield]

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Theodore Abiel Litchfield
Gender: Male
Age: 20 (b. October 27th, 1922)

Education: 
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry – Gryffindor ‘41

Residence:
Hogsmeade Countryside

Occupation:
Freelance Poet

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?
Yes, will sign up for MoD shortly.

Requested Magic Levels:
This is my first Litchfield character:

• Charms: 8
• Divination: 14
• 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?
Litchfields – his pureblood family.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Lucy Lou & the Mystery Gang

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Found underneath piles of discarded textbooks and scribbled-on papers lies a worn and well-used journal. The first entry dates back to December of 1935.

Quills and quills and quills,
What is this book,
My mom thinks I write,
How did she know


Professor this,
Professor that,
Bet you didn’t know you had a piece of gum stuck to your ass,
Stop assigning homework.


3 : 2 1 i n t h e m o r n i n g
how nice


Need to find new ways to explain to Prof why going to a quidditch game is more important than history of magic work,
Who needs history.
I'll make history.


Five people in this dormroom,
And not one knows a thing about privacy.


Fourteen is an odd number,
You’re not exactly fifteen—
Which is a good place to be,
But you’re not thirteen either,
And thirteen is nicer nice better than twelve,

Madison was stupid when he was fourteen,
Please don’t let it run in the family.


I truly wonder what it's like to get a full night's rest.


XXII

Again.


Greatest piece of advice: “it comes with the blood.”


How does any of this count as poetry?
Love, xoxo
Linc

GET OUT.


My parents were too eager to have my brothers
and waited too long to have my sister,
They would've done just fine with me.
Only me.


Attempt #12?
Attemp

Here we go:
Heavy and cold over the dreamscape
Running, ruining and
The night keeps going
All damp under the sky
You feel scary eyes above the mud
The feeling will vanish
luminous awake
in another country
no words left
How many times
my father
take another road
before help could come


I hate writing I don't know why I keep doing this,
Poetry isn't even good,
Maybe once I start getting paid for it it'll be better,
I hope.


Girls need to get their act together for once,
They take too long to do things and then--oh, she's coming.


Do you need O.W.L.s to be a successful author?
Should probably find an answer before test day,
Not that I will--
And one as straightforward as I can find it.


Not dreaming would be nice every once and a while.


Update: not dreaming is actually ten times worse than dreaming. Don't try it again.

The journal continues on much of the same for the four years following the first entry date. The style of writing barely changes, consisting of short, monotonic sentences and blunt perspectives. Entries between the months of April and September in the year 1938 seem to have disappeared -- or never existed to begin with -- and soon thereafter the author picks up his writing with the tales of a girl named Charlotta, his first love. Not much else is known about the author other than his severe lack of consistency, distaste for his most difficult class, History of Magic, and his undying support for his house's qudditch team.

He doesn't seem to stick to one topic for long. When he does the entries are jumbled and nonsequential; it's as if he writes his thoughts down the second they enter his brain and once they leave they're gone forever. His affection for people mimics his writing style -- detached. He remains separate and aloof from most of his housemates, almost as if he's in a dreamlike state, and jumps from friend group to friend group without truly feeling as if he's made a connection to any of them. His reason for doing so never seems to come up in his writing, either.

This theme of connection, however, plays a reoccurring role.

The author mentions the need for connection in everything he does and if the feeling's not there, he tries to make it so. To him there's nothing worse than going through life without either leaving an impact on someone else or letting someone else leave an impact on him.

After a few years, the entries begin to wind down. The gaps in-between each grow larger until the day of his graduation finally approaches, and exactly two weeks after the big day, the author pens his last entry. The page contains only the scrawled drawing of what appears to be a shield with a wand and sword intertwined in the middle and the barely conceivable shapes of two 3's bordering the weapons. The rest of the empty pages in the journal have been ripped out and no mention of the shield prior to the last entry was ever recorded.


Roleplay:
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 steered 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:
Timing was an invaluable thing. Truly, it could save a person's life or it could ruin it spectacularly and he prided himself on achieving neither in his twenty years of living -- or if he had he'd chosen to ignore it.

But then there was the act that followed. Was it wiser to act humble and apologize, explain himself, and move on? Or would it serve in the long run to dawdle, draw out the inevitable, and interact with strangers for far longer than he was comfortable with?

Theodore had heard the man's shout of panic a moment before something firm tumbling into his back and scratchy pieces of tinsel draped themselves over his head. He'd been too far away for the man to touch him in his tumble, but the obvious fact that the ice had shifted around his feet made Theodore reach out cautiously as if to catch himself.

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"

His lip quirked just slightly as a hand reached out to offer its help, not that the elder seemed to be needing it, and for a moment he thought about saying nothing more. What else really needed to be said? The man had slipped, dumped his belongings on the nearest person, and was now apologizing for, really, no wrongdoing. End of story.

Propriety had him pulling his hand back to pull a shiny piece of tinsel off his shoulder instead.

"It's quite alright. As long as we didn't both go down, I'm sure we'll be fine," His eyes crinkled at the corners knowingly, and he pointed at the box half-buried within the snow, "Would you like some help with that?"

OTHER
How did you find us? Google / Tumblr

[Martin Hawksworth]

Accepted.