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Author Topic: Astraea Mason  (Read 95 times)

Astraea Mason

    (17/01/2024 at 21:09)
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E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

Character Name: Astraea Mason.
Gender: Female.
Age: 28.
Blood Status: Pureblood.

Durmstrang Institute.

Room 4094, Hotel Ilume


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: 12.
  • Divination: 6.
  • Transfiguration: 6.
  • Summoning: 8.

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:

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
Type your response here.

The daughter of Orion and Charlotta Mason, Astraea was an only child, and often indulged. As pureblood children are often found to be. Throughout her childhood she was simultaneously indulged and neglected. By a father who worked far too often, and a mother who wanted nothing more than to drink tea and talk with her friends. She had no time for her daughter's whims. Her nanny, Elspeth, however – gave the little girl everything she wanted. Garden parties, and games of pretend, answering question after question about from the very inquisitive soul. Often, Eslpeth would whisper to Astraea that she would have a brother one day. But he never appeared, and she was always alone, the last Mason child.

At age six, she realised not every question was supposed to be asked aloud. Especially not at Mama’s fancy parties. For everyone would go quiet, and nobody answered. Then Astraea would be quickly shepherded away.

At age eleven, she was sent to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts. Her father’s legacy school. There she felt like a puzzle piece dropped into the wrong, and could never quite figure out how to fit in. Still naturally inquisitive, although not socially outgoing. Labelled as awkward, she learned to shrug off the expectations of the world. Even if he couldn’t shrug off the expectations of her parents.

By fourteen, she witnessed her mothers tears when she was told the inevitable truth. The Mason line would end with Astraea, as there would be no son to continue the family legacy. At least, not by Charlotta. Orion withdrew, and life at home became so quiet and cold that Astraea stopped answering summons to return for the holidays.

At seventeen, when presented to pureblooded society she smiled through grit teeth. Wishing she were anywhere else. The matches were drawn, for a proper pureblooded arranged marriage, but Astraea offered brittle smiles and intolerable attitudes to each one until the families thought better of it.

Her mother’s misery doubled. She hadn’t sired a son, and her daughter would die an unwanted spinster. Charlotta Mason held firm to this rhetoric for many years, every encounter leading to tears. While Astraea fled her mother’s disappointment and her father’s preoccupation to explore the world. Deciding that her problems were better left for her future self. There were better things to see in the world than the reflection of her own failings.

Astraea thrived outside of England, albeit living off her father’s shiny galleons. She undertook years of study and work in morgues as a magical forensic pathologist, exhuming bodies and performing autopsies. Sometimes for law enforcement. Other times for rich, freelance clients who years later paid to find out how their relatives had passed. It satiated her inquisitive nature, and offered her a freedom she couldn’t pass up. The only part that grated against her nature was that her father had been a Mortician for the rich and pure of blood, and she felt like she was following, slightly, in his footsteps.

At twenty eight, a decade later, she arrived back in England. Summoned by the news of her father’s passing. With her skin tanned by the sun, curls untamed and dirt beneath her fingernails, she sauntered into Mason Manor as the visage of her mothers nightmares. Arguments were soothed with the knowledge that Astraea had intended to stay three days for the funeral and leave thereafter. Brazil was calling her name. Only her mother had not woken the next morning. Joining her father.

The ministry officials had knocked on the door of her room at Hotel Ilume. Her father’s will had been signed in green ink.The stipulations were crisp and clear. As his only heir, she needed to return and reside in England, uphold the family name, or she wouldn’t receive so much as a tarnished knut.

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:

Diagon Alley exhausted Astraea.

It was the people, she supposed, bustling about their lives, crowded in together. Ironic, maybe, since she studied people for a living. Or a hobby, as her mother had once called it. Still, their presence and the way they pressed in around her tightened a corset of tension around her ribs until she found it hard to breathe.

Even a tight, frigid smile didn’t scare them away.

Massaging her temples, the woman reminded herself that this – like many things since returning to England – was a necessary evil. She needed to see the herbologist before returning to the Hotel Ilume, or she’d never get a good night's sleep.

Astraea weaved through the bustling crowds with single minded determination. Until another woman fell, stopping her progress. She watched the woman’s descent to the cobblestones with nothing more than a blink, holding her ground against the crowd. Her brow arching when the woman began to yell. She didn’t move to reach for the heel, and instead folded her arms across her chest.

“Did you also break your ankle?” She asked, cocking her head to one side. “If not, you’re perfectly capable of standing and getting your heel. You’re not a damsel in distress by any means.”

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* Dylan Duckheart

    (18/01/2024 at 00:04)
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tell me:
what is it you plan to do with your
one wild & precious life?