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Topics - Penélope Weber

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Elsewhere Accepted / Penélope Weber - Elsewhere Adult
« on: 25/07/2021 at 22:31 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Penélope Weber
Gender: Female
Age: Thirty six
Blood Status: Pure

Hogwarts, class of 1944 (Ravenclaw)


Magizoologist and author

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:
Adult characters have 32 starting levels to distribute across these four categories
  • Charms: 6
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 6
  • Summoning: 12
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:
Shirley, Ophelia and the Foxglove boys


8 December 1962
12:02 pm


She stilled, the glossy page of 'Magizoology Monthly' suspended in between her index finger and the page below it. Silence reigned and so, she carried on.


More insistent now, with several crashes to stress that this might, in fact, be an emergency. With the magazine tossed aside, Penélope was already halfway up the stairs by the time the third cry came.

“What is it?!” she exclaimed, half-crashing through the door of the make-shift library before she came to a skidding halt right next to the ladder.

“We have a book on runes, right? I saw it in here when I wanted to show that tutor of Al’s my…”

Thankfully, whatever Robbie was about to say was cut off by the sound of another four books crashing to the floor.

“Robbie–” Penélope said, forcing a smile as she pulled her signed copy of 'An Ode to Insanity: Journeying with Fwoopers in Ethiopia' from the debris, “...why do you want to learn about Runes?”

“Well there’s this girl that’s always reading about them. And since I just invited her over to stay, I thought I might read up so I can pretend to know a few things, too.”

Penelope froze. The last time Robbie invited a girl over, there had been cherry chap stick stains all over her white sofa and the house had to be aired out for over a week afterwards. She should have known that him popping in over the Hogsmeade weekend could only mean trouble.

“And when is this girl coming over, if I may ask?”

“Week after Christmas… but don’t worry, she’s really really nice. And I thought we’d have some gammon this year, so that we can take sandwiches and soup to the Ivisons.”

He paused, glancing down at her.

“So I’ve ordered a joint from that place on Main Street, and they’ll cook it too. Used my birthday money.”

He smiled at her then, and for a moment she forgot all about her buried guilt and just enjoyed basking in the happiness of the one child that would leave if he knew what she’d done. 

“Found it,” he declared triumphantly, dragging her back into the now half-wrecked library and his little bubble of excitement.

“Oh wait, why does this say Ancient Ruins?”

15 January 1963
2:03 am

“Perhaps you should adopt them…” said the voice in the dark and Penélope, still out of breath and ill at ease in her own bed, turned to look at the man next to her.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? Three times. Three times now. And each time, there is another excuse.”

Her voice changed, then, as she dragged all of those objections and regrets into the open for him to hear.

“Would you be going back to work, Mrs. Weber? A career that involves so much travel is bound to be bad for stability. No husband, either? Why don’t you remarry, it has been years since your husband passed on. The two boys, especially will need a father figure.”

He snorted, reaching for the cigarette that had, by now, become part of their ritual.

“Just keep trying, ‘Lo. Persistence pays, especially when you pair it with a nice pair of heels and that black top without the back that ends just above your…”

The slap on his arm cut the rest of his words off and Penélope smiled as he reached for her beneath the sheets. Many women were ticklish, but it would take a firmer hand than that to make her giggle and squirm. Instead, she caught three of his fingers and twisted. The sharp groan of pain only made her smile widen.

“Any news?” she asked, relenting and letting his fingers go. She turned onto her side, the smile transformed into something more insistent.

A shook of his head accompanied the “No. But we’re looking. And when she shows up, we’ll handle it.”

“You’d better…” she replied, reaching over to stub his cigarette out before she captured both of his wrists in her hands.

13 April 1963
10:27 pm

“Where on earth have you been?” she asked as the boy finally slipped into the house, his brand new satchel covered in something that was hopefully only mud. “It’s after ten!”

”I am sorry…” came the reply, soft and without a trace of genuine remorse. ”Did I wake you?”

“No, Alder, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at this time of night with you still out there doing goodness-knows-what. I worry, you see and I even started…”

A pause as the smell of chillies and garlic caught up with her, wet and too fresh and ridiculously out of place in her brand new kitchen.

“What is that smell?!”

The boy shrugged, the all too familiar half-smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, without hesitating, he stripped both his jumper and shirt off, kicked his shoes in under the table and handed her his socks, too.

“Might be coming from that.”

“Go get changed,” she insisted, trying her best not to dry heave as whatever lurked in those socks continued its smelly onslaught up her nostrils. She’d smelled the faeces from most animals but this was something else altogether. “And take a bath. Right now.”

The boy started padding upstairs but after three steps, he turned.

“Aunt Pené? Did you know that Healers in ancient Greece used spiderwebs as bandages? They’re antiseptic and help with clotting. It helps keeps the food on the webs clean.”

“I didn’t know that, Alder,” she replied, her gaze softening as she watched the boy. “Thank you for telling me. Go on up, okay? I’ll wash these and fix us some cocoa.”

The half-smile from earlier bloomed into something more complete, something only for her, and she had to take a moment before reaching for the harsh blue soap under the sink.

17 May 1963
11:37 pm

The small body slipped into her bed, sticky from sweat and smelling like the sleep that had been evading her for a week. Penélope rolled onto her side, cradling the delicate face and brushing dark tangles out of the girl’s eyes.

“Same dream?” she finally asked and when Holly nodded, she drew her in closer.

“Do you remember what I said?”

The second nod came a touch too slowly for Penélope Weber’s liking, and so she patiently reminded the girl of her promise.

“Nothing can get you in here, Holly. Nothing. Because if anything comes, I'll be waiting.”

She lifted her pillow, then, allowing the girl to run a clammy finger across ice cold steel before the two of them drifted from the safety of the bed and into a world where anything could be lurking.

16 June 1963
2:03 pm

She felt the envelope amongst the rest of her mail even before she saw it; a thicker parcel than the previous time, with a larger envelope. The creamy paper suddenly felt slippery in her hands, as if the message might float away if she did not read it immediately. Penélope dropped the rest of the mail on the steps, nearly tripping over the case of pastries she’d just collected from the Pot & Pantry as she rushed up the steps and into her kitchen.

Her painted fingernail snagged once, twice in the sticky paper before she finally reached for a knife. From there, she made quick work of the envelope and pulled the letter out, unfolding the scrap of paper in such a rush that she dropped the envelope. Two, three colourful pamphlets spilled out onto her kitchen floor, but the dark haired woman barely noticed them as eager eyes skipped over the now-familiar letterhead and scanned the small writing.

Dear Mrs. Weber,

Unfortunately, at this time your application to adopt has been denied. A full transcript of your interview is included, along with some materials relating to-

Penélope Weber’s reading slowed, then it stopped altogether. Bracing herself against the counter, she balled the letter into her fist before taking a deep breath.

She was running out of time. Very soon things would change and then it would be too late.

A moment later the contents of the draining rack crashed onto the floor and Penélope sunk down amidst the shards and still wobbling pans, her hands in her hair. It was only when the sound of movement upstairs drew her attention that she staggered upright, wiping the treacherous tears away as her voice, steady and bright, carried through the house.

“Alder, baby? Is that you? I had a little accident down here, but I got you and your sister some pastries…”

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:

Most days, Penélope Weber loved shopping. She loved browsing for things she did not need and shouldn't have been able to afford, but now could. The days when she left with bags so full that she needed help to carry them, she felt like retail royalty. It was a blissful feeling, superficial yet oh so decadent.

Today was not one of those days. Penélope was in a hurry and since wasn't accustomed to running late (ever), she was in a foul mood to boot. The shopping trip had been a necessity rather than a joy and because she'd had to face a long line at the last store, the ticking minutes had left her behind.

Her heeled boots clip-clopped on the Diagon Alley pavement, the staccato speed driving her forward. Once or twice she had to pause to step around some dawdling idiot, but for the most part she was making good time. With only five minutes left and a little over two blocks to go, Penélope strides stretched even more. Her long legs carried her safely across cobbles, through the crowd and past several stores... before she crashed straight into a woman that had been squatting in the middle of the road.

She went down hard, her shopping bag flying out of her hand and landing below the feet of the crowd that was still milling past. And since her heels had been just a little bit too high, the momentum of the fall drove her into a graceless tumble

“Merlin’s fog watch, my heel is broken! Help!”

"Are you kidding me?!" Penélope shrieked once she stopped moving, her hands already burning from where the cobbled had scraped at the skin. There was mud on both of her knees and her left ankle was stinging. But worst of all, the high heel on her (very expensive) left boot had snapped off as well.

"Mine is broken now, too," Penélope hissed as she pushed herself upright and rounded on the woman. "Do you know what those shoes cost?"

A deep breath as the usually cheerful Pené felt her blood boil.

"Well, you're replacing them. Right now."

How did you find us? Existing member

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