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Archived Applications / Erin Clarke
« on: 06/08/2023 at 22:47 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Erin Clarke

Birthday: 22/7

Hometown: Surrey, London

Bloodline:
Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown

Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fourth, Third

Biography:

Erin Clarke was not in herself average.

She'd always known this, as a child whose hands were constantly stained by the chalk that she used to draw on the pathways of their high rise, who's socks had always fallen down at inopportune angles, skewed and frustrating. She'd eventually given up with those white socks that inevitably ended up stained with the pastels, and had stopped wearing socks. It was far easier, and meant there was much less laundry to be completed. Plus, they were basically useless between the flitting weather (both the sweaty heat and sloppy rain) which soaked them through-- it was not her fault that puddles had always been a vice. Though it had been years since she had happily jumped into one, or danced in the rain (an activity encouraged by her mum, who had long since given up trying to reign her into normality and instead warmed up some towels for her) without an umbrella, the socks never returned to her feet and the chalk never left her pocket. It had (maybe embarrassingly, she was never fully sure) not been years since she’d drawn on the floor with chalks.

Her mum who, although hating the dust that stained all of her pockets, had never stopped loving the decorations that she had left in front of the door, which meant that Erin was encouraged forcefully to continue. Not that she minded. Anything to make the grey world– and the flat was grey, so very, very grey, as was the whole block– a little brighter would be good. She herself always tried to contribute to the very principle of bright is best! whether that be in her outfits (usually clashing colours, as many as possible, her wardrobe a streak of neon), furniture (an oasis of rainbow), or chalk art– and thus, much of the laundry thanks to the brightly coloured powder that constantly lined her pockets and stained her hands.

Though, it wasn’t her obsession with the aesthetic of colour that made Erin Clarke unaverage (though, there was a strong case to be made for it), but rather that she was magical. Being a witch had always separated her from the other kids in her block, though not enough to stop her from making friends. Though, her Mum’s obsession with maintaining the statue of secrecy (sure, kind of important, maybe) meant that she had never gone to a muggle primary, something which had always left her a little further out than most. Not that it mattered, she’d always made up for it with sheer amount of friendliness (and the beaded friendship bracelets that littered both her arms, and those of every child, adult, and limb of anyone who had ever encountered her on the block) and her accidental magic had always kind of helped when they needed to get a football from over a fence, or on a roof where it had ended up somehow (read: a bad attempt at headers from Harry who insisted that he could ‘get it’ every time), making her a crucial asset to the team. Plus, she was a pretty good striker, which always helped (she thanked the aerodynamics of her sockless legs). Muggle kids thought she was weird (she knew this because they’d told her and she thanked them because, all in all, it was a pretty cool compliment) for her brightness but she was not outwardly disliked at all, more treated like some kind of weird cryptid, and her attempts to beautify the complex had always been met with cheerful laughter and slight headshakes. Not even the rain that washed them away in a stream of hues could stop her.

It wasn’t exactly her magicality that made her so unaverage, because being magical was also pretty average for non-muggles. It was the fact that Erin had always occupied the liminal space between muggle and magical, as her Mum (a student under Hexenreich) forbade her from attending Hogwarts, instead preferring to homeschool her further. Especially as after the death of her Dad, a man she couldn’t even remember (not that she’d ever tell her Mum that), they’d gone incognito– moving into the complex that she still remained in, and avoiding the magical world forever. After the fall of Hexenreich, definitely well after the fall, if the news had somehow reached her Mum, a magical hermit if there ever was one, came a prophet subscription– their only tether to the Magical world as Erin was further forboden to go into Diagon Alley alone and strongly encouraged (read: banned) from talking to any wizards or witches lest they were pro-Hexenreich, even other teenagers. Not that she had minded all that much, lessons at home, even if they were mostly theory, were far more relaxed than her friend’s strict schooling (maths lessons sounded like they sucked) and she was allowed out to explore as long as she didn’t go near Diagon Alley.

And honestly, without any experience of the Magical world, she wasn’t really missing out on much, plus, she’d always been happy in her own little world, with her chalks and cheerful determination.

Plus, she’d long since learned that there was no point protesting because her Mum’s fears of Hogwarts were unstoppable and had been proven right by the chaos of the Monster (or was it a werewolf? A poisonous werewolf?), the death, and the trial. In fact, Erin distinctly remembered how vindicated Larissa Clarke had felt when that Marquis girl (Athena?) had been sent to Azkaban. She had tried to ask whether that meant Hogwarts was now safe enough for her to go to, something which had been cheerfully shot down, and so, the homeschooling continued.

And then, it didn’t.

Something changed in the home, a man came into it, and though initially disapproving of the (admittedly slightly weird) mother-daughter bond, and the sheer amount of bright pink within the place, he surprisingly managed to slot right into place. And thus, the two became a three. The next thing Erin knew, she was going to Hogwarts– the one thing that she had been begging to do since she could essentially talk.

A dream come true can be a little weird, right?


→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Any!

Personality:
Tell us a bit about your character’s personality (likes, dislikes, fears, etc.) What are they like on a good day versus a bad one? Is your character particularly cheerful? Do they hate sunlight?

Erin prides herself on her originality, a cheerful disposition, and the chalks she keeps perpetually in her pockets. Her own perspective of the world usually takes over– particularly her guiding principle of ‘bright is best,’ something that she never left behind as a child, and was instead nurtured to it’s ‘crazily’ vibrant conclusion. Her hobby of interior designing is one that she will have to scale down within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts– as she’ll be reduced to bedsheets and fresh flowers.

Appearance:

Erin has a naturally elfish appearance, with bobbed blonde hair, and freckled cheeks. Her hands are perpetually chalk stained, as are the clothes she wears (from accidentally wiping her hands down whatever poor cloth is the current victim of a rainbow dust attack, as well as her pockets). Slightly frazzled looking, she bears a large smile on her face the majority of the time. The rule of vibrancy carries through to her clothes, which tend to be as bright as socially acceptable, as well as efficient for whatever tasks she has to do that day (whether that be lugging furniture, playing football, or drawing temporary graffiti on the pavement).

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option I:

The dungeons. A place eleven-year-old Evangeline had not yet travelled since her arrival at Hogwarts.

A place she really was just fine with not knowing; but it was too late. The dare had been accepted, even if it had been done in fear of being kicked out of Gryffindor, like the older girls had said she would because Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

The air changed instantly when she hit the main corridor of the dungeons. The dampness was almost too much for her and she instinctively took a deep breath to avoid the sensation of being suffocated. There was also a sour burning smell which Evangeline assumed was from many, many Potions lessons.

Further and further she walked, her steps so slow and gentle they made no noise against the stone walls and floor. The feeling that she wasn't alone crept up her spine and raised the tiny hair on the back of her neck. Shivering, Evangeline wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she missed the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room. The fire was always going and it made her feel at ease.

Why had she let those girls talk her into this? She was only eleven, she didn't have to be brave. Surely the Headmistress would not kick her out of Hogwarts for not being brave.

If only she had these thoughts while being dared to search for the ghost of one Emma Birch, whom supposedly haunted the dungeons. It was not, Evangeline had learned, the place where the sixteen-year-old girl's life had ended but as she had been from the house with a snake as its mascot, it was the place her spirit had returned to. That common room was down here somewhere, she'd been told.

Something - the small blonde girl wasn't quite sure what - but something made her stop in her tracks suddenly. There was a low, dull thumping noise. Or maybe that was her heart beating so loudly she thought it was coming from outside her body.

"H-h-hello?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Remembering that she was supposed to be brave, Evangeline tried again.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

The sound of her own words bouncing back at her off the walls made her jump.

Roleplay Response:

The dungeons would be the perfect playground for her chalks, if not for the general feeling of foreboding.

Also, the damp didn’t help.

She could practically feel the colours liquidifying in her pocket, and melting down her legs, leaving rainbow streaks in their wake. There was no chance of drawing on a totally damp surface, which meant that the stones of the dungeons would be safe from her overwhelming House Pride.

…For now.

Once she figured out a way to remove this damp, that laid into her lungs so thickly she was fairly certain that it had been magically altered to create such an uneasy atmosphere, then the dungeons would be back on her list. Rooting through her bag, the crinkles of the loose pieces of paper (receipts, notes, ideas, room sketches, colour swatches) only being outmatched by the loose change that jingled doubly, echoed back by the walls.

Science was not magical, echoes weren't magical, but the sheer ability for noise that she herself had made to give her such an uncertain feeling, even though she objectively knew exactly where it was coming from, certainly did seem to be.

“Creepy,” she muttered, in what was really a brief observation. This place definitely needed a little vibrancy in it, Hogwarts was generally grey, aside from the gardens– which had become her reprieve– but the dungeons took this to another level. No wonder the only pictures she had ever seen of it had been in monochrome!

Fingers finally clasped around the much needed object, a piece of paper barely recognisable for what it was due to the scrawl all over it. The pen had decided to draw temporary tattoos– two lines that faded off into nothing– on her fingers as she pulled it out. Leaning onto the nearest wall, she dragged a long line across a word that was barely legible to the outside viewer:

dungeons

 It needed far more TLC than she was willing to offer, and even if the grey was not so hideously overwhelming, the smell of damp made this place arguably a hazardous workzone. In fact, it was bad enough that, once she crammed the two items back into her back, the blonde loosened her tie and pulled the neckline of her jumper over her mouth and nose, embracing the soft scent of fresh laundry. She didn’t have long though, until the damp managed to invade her sanctuary, which meant that she had to move quickly.

With the weight of her bag, and the way she had to lean slightly to reach the jumper, her walk was stunted, and slightly at an odd angle to accommodate all the awkwardness of the pens threatening to run away at any second. Not that it especially mattered, it only hindered her speed slightly, and altered her walk a fair bit-- though who was watching anyways.

Clomping on, she heard a noise that made her stop. Looking around, Erin saw nothing. Maybe the damp was getting to her head, and she was subsequently going insane, and maybe her mum had been ever so slightly right about Hogwarts. (She could never know.)

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

No, that was definitely a voice. A slight sigh of relief as the blonde realised she was in fact not going insane (which left the scoreboard at Damp: 0, Erin: 1).

It took Erin a moment to fully comprehend the words that were spoken, something which could be entirely blamed on the damp (Damp: 1, Erin: 1), and in the moment all that escaped her lips was a muffled ‘huh,’ which came out more as a groan through the muffler of her jumper.

And then it all clicked.

“No, it’s Erin.”

Still muffled, though slightly more comprehensible than the last syllable (if it could even be called that) to escape her lips.


→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):Marilyn-Rose Wilson&co.

How did you find us?: eons ago, probably by drawings on a cave wall.

2
Archived Applications / Erin Clarke - Elsewhere Child
« on: 07/06/2023 at 10:46 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Erin Clarke

Gender: Female

Age: 13 (22/7)

Bloodline: Pureblood/Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): Larissa Clarke (NPC)


Residence: London

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)? n/a

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

Please list any other characters you already have at the site: Marilyn-Rose Wilson & Co.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

Erin Clarke was not in herself average.

She'd always known this, as a child whose hands were constantly stained by the chalk that she used to draw on the pathways of their high rise, who's socks had always fallen down at inopportune angles, skewed and frustrating. She'd eventually given up with those white socks that inevitably ended up stained with the pastels, and had stopped wearing socks. It was far easier, and meant there was much less laundry to be completed. Plus, they were basically useless between the flitting weather (both the sweaty heat and sloppy rain) which soaked them through-- it was not her fault that puddles had always been a vice. Though it had been years since she had happily jumped into one, or danced in the rain (an activity encouraged by her mum, who had long since given up trying to reign her into normality and instead warmed up some towels for her) without an umbrella, the socks never returned to her feet and the chalk never left her pocket. It had (maybe embarrassingly, she was never fully sure) not been years since she’d drawn on the floor with chalks.

Her mum who, although hating the dust that stained all of her pockets, had never stopped loving the decorations that she had left in front of the door, which meant that Erin was encouraged forcefully to continue. Not that she minded. Anything to make the grey world– and the flat was grey, so very, very grey, as was the whole block– a little brighter would be good. She herself always tried to contribute to the very principle of bright is best! whether that be in her outfits (usually clashing colours, as many as possible, her wardrobe a streak of neon), furniture (an oasis of rainbow), or chalk art– and thus, much of the laundry thanks to the brightly coloured powder that constantly lined her pockets and stained her hands.

Though, it wasn’t her obsession with the aesthetic of colour that made Erin Clarke unaverage (though, there was a strong case to be made for it), but rather that she was magical. Being a witch had always separated her from the other kids in her block, though not enough to stop her from making friends. Though, her Mum’s obsession with maintaining the statue of secrecy (sure, kind of important, maybe) meant that she had never gone to a muggle primary, something which had always left her a little further out than most. Not that it mattered, she’d always made up for it with sheer amount of friendliness (and the beaded friendship bracelets that littered both her arms, and those of every child, adult, and limb of anyone who had ever encountered her on the block) and her accidental magic had always kind of helped when they needed to get a football from over a fence, or on a roof where it had ended up somehow (read: a bad attempt at headers from Harry who insisted that he could ‘get it’ every time), making her a crucial asset to the team. Plus, she was a pretty good striker, which always helped (she thanked the aerodynamics of her sockless legs). Muggle kids thought she was weird (she knew this because they’d told her and she thanked them because, all in all, it was a pretty cool compliment) for her brightness but she was not outwardly disliked at all, more treated like some kind of weird cryptid, and her attempts to beautify the complex had always been met with cheerful laughter and slight headshakes. Not even the rain that washed them away in a stream of hues could stop her.

It wasn’t exactly her magicality that made her so unaverage, because being magical was also pretty average for non-muggles. It was the fact that Erin had always occupied the liminal space between muggle and magical, as her Mum (a student under Hexenreich) forbade her from attending Hogwarts, instead preferring to homeschool her further. Especially as after the death of her Dad, a man she couldn’t even remember (not that she’d ever tell her Mum that), they’d gone incognito– moving into the complex that she still remained in, and avoiding the magical world forever. After the fall of Hexenreich, though Erin supposed she’d never know how her mum knew that they fell, came a prophet subscription– their only tether to the Magical world as Erin was further forboden to go into Diagon Alley alone and strongly encouraged (read: banned) from talking to any wizards or witches lest they were pro-Hexenreich, even other teenagers. Not that she had minded all that much, lessons at home, even if they were mostly theory, were far more relaxed than her friend’s strict schooling (maths lessons sounded like they sucked) and she was allowed out to explore as long as she didn’t go near Diagon Alley.

And honestly, without any experience of the Magical world, she wasn’t really missing out on much, plus, she’d always been happy in her own little world, with her chalks and cheerful determination.

Plus, she’d long since learned that there was no point protesting because her Mum’s fears of Hogwarts were unstoppable and had been proven right by the chaos of the Monster (or was it a werewolf? A poisonous werewolf?), the death, and the trial. In fact, Erin distinctly remembered how vindicated Larissa Clarke had felt when that Marquis girl (Athena?) had been sent to Azkaban. She had tried to ask whether that meant Hogwarts was now safe enough for her to go to, something which had been cheerfully shot down, and so, the homeschooling continued.

Not that she minded, life was so fun and so bright with her mum and all the pictures of Hogwarts were always so dreary and grey.

(Plus, now that the whole poisonous-monster-werewolf thing happened, her Mum had figured that Hexenreich was on a steep decline and whilst Hogwarts still wasn’t safe, it was safe from those extremists, which meant that she could go into Diagon Alley unattended– bonus!)

Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

It was not nearly as green as she had expected.

In fact, for a magical park– a place full of witches and wizards to-be, Hogwarts' future best and brightest, and the closest thing to freedom she had tasted in a long long time– Erin had been expecting brightness everywhere, from the sky to the grass (which was not a deep lime, or bright apple, or vivid pear, as expected) but was rather, merely green. Green was undeniable, but the park didn’t seem to stand out how she’d expected it. It was not the vibrancy of chalk on a pavement, it was just pretty.

Nonetheless, she supposed, the main attraction of such a park was not its level of green. The attraction of such a place was the reason that she had structured a long debate with her Mum, one that concluded with a rather lengthy haggling session. Now, she prayed, that this taste of magicality would be worth the sacrifice she had made to convince her Mum to free her from the depressingly grey block in which they lived. And sure, she was a teenager still being supervised by her Mum, but there were no evil figures in cloaks going around killing people, nor were there any werewolves, or poison– at least not in sight, which meant that she was pretty safe, and this was undeniably a step in the right direction.

Her foot tapped the ball, holding it near to her as her eyes gazed over the surroundings of the park, still not entirely used to the magical being so embraced. Broomsticks, she supposed, made sense in the mythology of witches and whilst she objectively knew that they were a thing that non-muggles had used for centuries, seeing children zip about on them still made her jaw a little bit slack. She held it closed, keeping the grin on her face.

The brooms, in the sun– lemon, bright yellow, she could always trust the sun to bring the shades she wanted– and the sky, looked almost picturesque. Erin could sense her Mum’s head flitting about, looking for any sign of threats, wand concealed within her sleeve, ready to fight at any given time. She ignored the paranoia, and instead turned back and gave her Mum a thumbs-up– a not so subtle signal that she was okay, and that the world was not collapsing around them, even as her worldview itself seemed to shatter. This mind blowing event only made her grin more, as the blonde established her goal– just between those two trees, over there.

She ran back, ready to make her shot.

It was whilst she was running towards the ball that she heard it, the loud voice, turning from the ball (she knew where it was anyways) Erin spotted the last person, she expected such a snapping order to come from, one that practically bit at her heels. It was a little girl, a tiny one even, at least relative to the size of the park, not so relative to the size of Erin. At this exact moment, another realisation happened, that Erin Clarke in fact had not kept track of where the ball was, and the bright coloured girl felt herself hit the floor, beads protecting most of her from injury, but the the telltale crack in her pocket reminded her that chalk was, in fact, not durable in the slightest.

Wrapped around her ball, she looked up at the girl, a wicked grin still on her face.

"...Do you want to play?"

She didn’t even have to look back to know that her Mum was shaking her head vehemently, in case this child was another poisoner in sheep’s clothing. She hadn’t died yet, which meant that she would probably be fine.

Probably, hopefully.

“Sure! Do you know footie?”

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