Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Thomas Melvin Bramston.
Gender: Male.
Age: 33 (date of birth: 19 March 1928)
Blood Status: Halfblood.

Education: None.

Residence: The Isle of Dogs, London.

Occupation: Dockhand for the Port of London.

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?
No.

Requested Magic Levels: Squib.

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Edmund Wolffe, Cecelia Bramston, Nicholas Nightingale, Bonnie Wolffe.

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
If you were to ask Thomas Bramston about his life he would take a drink of his beer and look at you like something was wrong with you (because who asks questions like that around here?).

If you pressed the matter further he might relent, if only to offer up that “There ain’t much to tell, is there.” and leave it at that, lighting up a hand-rolled cigarette to smoke as he patiently ignored your expectant gaze.

There ain’t much to tell about a family with too little money and too many hungry mouths and too many grasping, greedy hands. There ain’t much to tell about a firstborn son whose arrival meant an abrupt departure from Hogwarts for his parents in their sixth and seventh years. There ain’t much to tell about the siblings that came one after another and the slow-fade of a sun-gold woman with every child and every screaming glass-shattering fight and every little sip of milk-white potion from a tiny vial.

There ain’t much to tell about the kind of work a boy does when his letter for school never shows and his family needs the money because his siblings are hungry and his dad spent it all at the pub; about how he becomes a man too early because of it.

You don’t live that life and then waste your time telling about it.

You live that life because you have to and you grasp for the things like a cold beer and good tobacco and a few friends and a few girls. You hold on to the siblings who you tried your best to do right by, let go of the parents who you were smart enough to give up on long ago, and keep that mess of a home and that family who came first, always, even if their kind of love often looked like bloody knuckles and snarled threats.

There ain’t much to tell about a life like that: a life he’s lived and loved without shame, because--

“What's the point? You wouldn’t get it.”

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

Option One -
Amelia Nixon was many things, but she was never a pushover reporter that people could just usher away with a busy shuffle past. She was dedicated and eager to cut to the very middle of the current political tensions because she was Amelia Nixon and her articles would most certainly become front page material.

“Sir, please! It’s for the Prophet, how do you feel-“

Another one brushed passed her, the shuffling busy masses making their way through Diagon Alley for the lunchtime rush. This had been the best possible time to get people, but none of them were giving her anything to go with.

Only momentarily discouraged, the short red headed lady took a seat on a nearby bench. Her quill resting in her left hand and her notepad ready in the opposite hand. Amelia pouted, tapping the quill against her leg as she scanned the waves of people for somebody - anybody - who looked like they had something to say.

She had been dreaming of her name in bold print, Amelia Nixon: The Source of Today’s Tomorrow. She had been dreaming of the larger office and the secretaries that would fetch her the morning coffee and fetch her anything she needed. The VIP interviews and the most exclusive press passes. But all Amelia had was a page seventeen piece on the rising number of frogs in London.

Hardened by a day of no success, the reporter stood up and started to trod off down the alley. A loose stone on the cobble path caught her heel, sending the distraught girl toppling down to the ground.

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!” she yelled as she tried desperately to recover her shoe frantically in the middle of the Diagon Alley moving crowds.

Roleplay Response:
The shoe skittered across the cobblestones and straight into his path and he stopped short.

The crowd cut around him, breaking like water against a stone; even here in the crowded centre of Wizarding London Thomas Bramston didn’t have to worry about people bumping into him. Had he been another step in either direction he’d have kept walking and left the broken heel and the shouting woman to be someone else’s problem. He was not a step in either direction, though, but squarely in line with someone else’s bad day.

Thomas crouched to scoop up the shoe and, rising up again, imagined that Cinderella had a bit more dignity when she’d gone and lost hers.

“Quit screamin’.”

Moving over to where the redhead had taken her tumble he resisted the urge to roll his eyes in the face of her panic. Women.[ /i]

“Or people are gonna think you have real problems.”
 
Thomas held out the shoe.

OTHER
How did you find us?: Returning player.