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Questions & Answers / Re: Delete thread
« Last post by Olivia on Today at 12:45:00 PM »
@Mimi just as a heads-up - if you have your child accounts linked to your master (and you’re logged into your master), then you can modify any of your posts and choose any of your linked child accounts from the drop-down list to switch whose account the post is from!
Exception to this is Unsorted accounts since you can’t link those to your master. <33
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Questions & Answers / Re: Delete thread
« Last post by Ashton on Today at 10:13:31 AM »
@Mimi all done!
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Questions & Answers / Delete thread
« Last post by Mimi on Today at 08:58:58 AM »
Hi!

Is it possible to delete this thread for me? I just realized I posted using my master account rather than my character's. Thank you!
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The Sorting Hat / Re: Character changes & retcons!
« Last post by Angharad Hughes on Today at 05:20:58 AM »
Character's name: @Angharad Hughes
Changes made:
- changed blood status to pureblood to fit with new family connections (still working class, have submitted an EFB)
- new occupation (approved by @Tori and @Ashton aka george and ron)
- changed house from Ravenclaw to Hufflepuff (personality fits better)
- added Dumbledore's Army membership into history
- added a couple of IC connections (approved by respective drivers)
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Melinda glanced to her left to find an attractive elderly woman she vaguely recognized speaking to her. At first, she couldn't quite place where she knew this woman from, but as she began speaking, it became increasingly clear. Korrine Ollivander. She had always admired the coupling of Garrick and Korrine - especially as Garrick (or more appropriately, "Mr. Ollivander") had both introduced her to her first wand and a glowing review of her future house, Ravenclaw - one that prior to speaking to him, she had been particularly nervous to be a part of. Running in social circles the way her parents did, it was considered appropriate, if not necessary, for her to know exactly whom she was speaking to - even if they did not know her. 'Know and respect your elders, recognize their faces, and treat their wisdom as word of bond' she had keenly recalled her father saying when she was attending her first socialite-esque event. She had been to nearly a hundred of these since then, but the words stuck like peanut butter to the roof of her mouth.

"Mrs. Ollivander, always so lovely to see you. I'm well." She motioned the bartender over, hearing Korrine's suggestion as she simultaneously placed an order. "May I have some dark rum paired with ginger beer - if available?" The bartender blinked and looked up to the left, trying to figure out the connection between the two liquids. Melinda abruptly interjected this thought in an attempt to assist him, "the muggles call the drink 'dark and stormy.'" Understanding her request with near immediacy, he hustled away to prepare and Melinda turned her attention back to Korrine. She nodded fervently as the elderly woman described her escapades in her youth, understanding at once that Mrs. Ollivander knew her struggles first hand.

"Wisdom from the wise is always appreciated," she paused, her drink arriving. Taking a quick sip, she began again. "I don't even quite consider myself a debutante really - I'm a Healer at St. Mungo's - and I've worked for years to attain that goal for myself. Yet, it's all for naught in the eyes of my parents if I don't find a man to share my youth with." Taking another sip, she continued, keeping her face light and devoid of showing any negative emotion; lest her parents see her from afar and think her to be talking of anything other than pleasantries. "I do rather enjoy watching others at these events - you are right, the absurdity of some of these engagements, and those that attend them, are really quite significant."

She shifted to her left ever so slightly to glance around at the magnificent ballroom before her. Directly in front of her, girls a few years younger than her coyly flirted with men of equal age, careful to not show too much outward interest. Older heiresses and those with similar financial backgrounds mingled lazily in the background, watching their husbands mingle with a dull expression in their eyes. And still, others, like Melinda's parents, enthusiastically met up with old friends, unaware that others in this environment were bored by such trivial events. To her parents, events like these were wonderful opportunities to chat with friends, business partners, and potential in-laws and suitors for Melinda. What was not to love?!

"Of course, if you ask my darling parents," she let out the slightest of smirks, careful not to appear bitter or sarcastic, "these events are the absolutely perfect time for me to meet such a man. One of character and strength, with the right occupation, of course." She turned back to her drink, clasping the glass in her right hand gently and lightly swirling the top with a finger. "They say your parents know best when it comes to match making…" she paused, removing her finger from the glass to take a sip, "I'd like to know who they exactly are. I'd like to speak with them about their research methods." She cracked a genuine smile, lifting her hazel eyes to meet Korrine's. She was placing her trust in this woman to even dare say the last few words she had uttered out loud at a social event. But she hadn't quite come to this event willingly, and she certainly couldn't play the part of the darling daughter all night. Even debutantes need a break.
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Oceania / Re: [port phillip] don't panic. [tag; hefin]
« Last post by Madeline Fletcher on Yesterday at 04:11:22 PM »
They didn't have history, she needed to remember that. They weren't close. They'd never been close. This wasn't a meeting with an ex-boyfriend. In the grand scheme of things, Madeline and Hefin didn't know each other that well or…at all, really. Since graduation, he'd been on the fringes of her subconscious. She didn't follow Quidditch and she absolutely didn't think she was obsessed with him like she used to be. In fact, as he spoke and sat down in his grand and sprawling mansion, a feeling of uneasiness settled over her suddenly.

Business meeting he'd said and she found herself nodding along. A little confused, Maddie didn't think she'd been unprofessional towards him and she frowned at his tone. She'd been asked to come here, bring a few samples and get an opinion. Had she known it was his opinion, she might have faked her own death rather than attend.

"I don't -- I can't --" The tall blonde stammered, her eyes wide as Hefin fired off a million things he wanted her to do. In that moment, she felt herself physically start to shrink as he spoke. At the time they'd known one another, Maddie had been a shrinking violet of sorts. Moving to Paris had been good for her. No one there knew about her cripplingly low self esteem and  her constant need to second guess herself. But he did. And he was using it against her.

She boggled at him as she held the boxes of cakes close to her chest. Despite the heat in the room, Madeline shivered as the sweat cooled and dripped down her back. There was a distinct chill in the air and it was coming from him. Expiration dates? Fat quantities? She began to panic. She could tell him how to make them, she knew what went into them but she was a home baker; she didn't worry about calories per serving or portion. Her grown up persona dissipated almost instantly, leaving behind the shy and clumsy sixteen year old she thought she'd never meet again. Her head began to hurt.

Madeline looked at the floor, feeling utterly broken. Hot fat tears of embarrassment and humiliation stung at the corners of her eyes and blurred her vision. She knew he was enjoying this but what sort of sick freak enjoyed pulling a person apart? She felt about three inches tall, bowed underneath the weight of Hefin's legacy. She hadn't spoken in a few minutes and all she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears, a sharp contrast between the gentle lapping of the pool close to her.

 Had she been here by herself, she would have quit but this wasn't about her. It was about her team back in Paris. Her colleagues, her dinky kitchen, the killing they could make if the Quidditch players liked her cakes. Struggling her breathe, Madeline's cheeks turned a very different shade of red as those voices came trickling back. The same voices that belonged to the naysayers, those who doubted her ability to bake or her strength to move to another country by herself. All of her doubters looked like Hefin. They sounded like him, too, as though he was a manifestation of all of her insecurities, dressed up as a six foot tall dreamboat.

This felt like blackmail and she obeyed his request as he told her to take the glass but she didn't drink it, despite her mouth being uncomfortably dry. Hefin didn't need to be like this. She'd also met too many people like him to be this discouraged and she wanted nothing more than to be back at home than spend one second longer with this monster. He was a monster. She looked up swiftly at his face out of habit. She didn't know how she could be so blindsided. He was not a nice man. The version of him she knew was miles different from the one she saw now, the arrogant man who seemed to get off on making her feel so insignificant and tiny.

He was making her work for his business and it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Her stomach churned, feeling sick as it twisted itself into knots. You're better than this she told herself, offering him a weak but polite smile at his request that she continue. Off came his shirt and surprisingly, her gaze didn't drop an inch. Madeline was about to harpoon her reputation and tank the whole thing but everyone would get over it eventually.

"Thank you for the offer, Hefin," Madeline told him politely, her accent wildly different from his much more easy going tone. She stepped forward and placed the untouched glass back down on his table, as well as the boxes of cakes and walked back to the edge of the pool. "But you know what?" She asked him with another smile, riled up by righteous indignation. Men like Hefin were the same sort of men who didn't want women to get the vote, or equal pay or to take control of their own lives. He was rude and chauvinistic and any woman who went anywhere near him needed a good kick in the uterus.

"I quit," she said brightly, smiling genuinely this time. Technically she couldn't quit because he hadn't employed her but still. "Yeah," she agreed with herself as she nodded, her ponytail swinging. "I'm sure you could find another bakery who might be more to your liking because I don't think I am. You've made that perfectly clear by your absolutely awful manner," she blurted out with wide eyes.

She felt free and she took a deep breath, hands on her hips. She looked years younger, light and airy as she looked around the pool area. She'd gone too far now, she might as well carry on; it was shit or bust. "I'm going to be just fine without you," she told Hefin, looking at him properly this time, her eyes flicking down to his chest briefly. It was such a shame. If he wasn't such a raging caveman, he'd make someone very lucky some day.

"Thanks for your time," Madeline commented, trying really hard to keep the sarcasm and bitterness out of her tone. "I'm sure you're going to try and get me fired and that's fine," she added, nodding at the boxes of cakes. "The address is printed inside the lid if you want to write a complaint. Make it out to Monsieur Devereaux, he's my boss," she added helpfully. "And if you think I'm going to spend one more second in your company on a scale of maybe to absolutely," she began, spinning around to face him, her honey eyes wild. "Absolutely fucking not." With that, she turned back around and went to march back out of the door, only to catch the corner of Hefin's discarded shirt, slip and then fall face first into the pool.
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Oceania / Re: all my dreams are running wild [hefin]
« Last post by Hefin Howell on Yesterday at 12:52:00 PM »
Out all of his cousins, while Hefin hadn’t physically spent much time with her since graduation due to his busy schedule, the quidditch player was possibly closest to Angharad. Although Hef was quite close to the others as well, with Harri it’s always been different and a bit special: they were very close in age, which always made it easy for them to talk openly and relate more to one another at on a deeper emotional level, and, of course, they attended Hogwarts around the same time, which allowed them to open up even more to one another.

She was the favourite, always.

And while Hefin had done his best to meet in person with Angharad since her accident, he really regretted the fact that each time they would actually meet, his promise of her visiting him in Australia remained to the ‘one day’ status, forever stagnant. In addition to that, with each letter that he wrote to her, the part Australian also felt that it simply was all so wrong. It was Angharad, and the two of them would always meet up in the past, go out and have fun in the most random, yet both exciting and relaxing places. In the end, Hefin decided to surprise his younger cousin, and his aunt by purposely not letting her know beforehand, with a more exuberant Christmas present: a ticket to Melbourne.

Being still the beginning of 2002, Hef’s schedule had yet to become ridiculously busy, so thankfully he had enough time to spend with Angharad during her visit in Australia. He’d carefully – and very excitedly – made a thorough schedule with everything they were going to do during her visit there. And of course, just in case her ‘time of the month’ would coincide with her time in Melbourne, Hefin also made preparations for that. He was categorically equipped for everything, both good and challenging, and the only thing missing in the equation was Harri herself.

But that was to change soon enough. Hefin had reached the platform right before the time his cousin would arrive, and everything was going according to his plan of being there exactly on time; however, that plan had been ruined just a bit by some of his fans, a few people on the platform asking for them to take a few pictures with him. He couldn’t refuse, despite being in his own private time, and obviously not being dressed fancy enough for meetings with fans, his attire being quite light and simple that day. Thankfully though, it didn’t last long. Just around five pictures, and a few hugs and handshakes, and there he was, roaming around the platform, looking for his cousin.

As soon as he spotted her, Hefin ran in her direction, picking her up by the waist as soon as he reached her, twirling around three times before placing her back down. She was just so tiny in comparison, it was always simply too easy and fun to do so. “Harri!” He said on a cheerful tone, placing both his hands on her shoulders before giving her a quick peck on the forehead. “Let me look at you, you’re so beautiful, my honey.” She really was like honey; her hair that went from brown to blonde, her warm brown eyes which were a bit similar to his, her porcelain skin warmed up by those freckles. Hefin pinched her cheeks playfully, afterwards grabbing her luggage. “Was your journey alright? Not feeling nauseous or anything?”

However, he couldn’t help noticing that despite her light attire, she had boots on. “Boots?” He inquired, obviously surprised. “Where are your thongs?” Only Merlin knew how she was going to survive with those on until they would reach home. Maybe she could slip into something else before they would leave. Regardless, Hefin offered Angharad his arm, encouraging her to follow him on their way out of the platform. “I parked my motorcycle outside, not too far away from here, so let’s go go go.” Hef winked at her from behind his dark brown sunglasses, his wavy hair gently swaying in the breeze. He was so excited to have Harri around, the quidditch player just couldn’t wait to get home and for them to properly catch up.
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North America / Re: I can't keep my feelings in disguise [kate]
« Last post by Charlie Baker on Yesterday at 09:13:04 AM »
Charlie felt a little pang of remorse somewhere in his chest; he shouldn’t have laughed, but she had completely blindsided him. Even now, he didn’t remember asking her to marry him. His gut felt like a pit of writhing snakes, and he was struggling to comprehend how the morning had deteriorated so quickly. It was his fault, as usual, that she was crying, and he briefly wondered if maybe Kate would in fact be better off without him – but he quickly shoved that thought away. He didn’t like it. Didn’t want to even entertain it. As much as he was pushing her away right now, he didn’t want her to leave him.

Charlie could see that she wasn’t just upset – she was angry at him, frustrated. He mirrored her expression, his frown firmly in place as he set his jaw and looked away from her. Charlie’s line of sight was focused on a place that didn’t exist – he was staring furiously at nothing, just avoiding her gaze. The atmosphere was charged and Charlie had forgotten all about how hungry he was and his headache and everything else that had been bothering him a moment ago and now seemed so insignificant in comparison. When she finally started speaking again Charlie’s scowl slipped into something softer for a brief second before deepening, his ears straining to listen to her despite the fact there was nothing else to distract him.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a minute. He was processing, or trying to.

Out of the corner of his eye Charlie could see Kate hiding her face, and rather than elicit the usual feelings of concern, it simply reminded him of his supposed guilt and made him angrier. He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, the waspish tone of his voice not having lessened any despite the revelation that it had been him that had seemingly started the forever conversation – well, according to her, anyway. “I don’t fucking know,” he snapped. He was struggling to find the answers himself, and even if he had, he didn’t know if wanted to tell her the truth.

He wanted to leave, but he didn’t know where to go. They weren’t in London; he wasn’t familiar with the area. The brunette gritted his teeth and simply stood, one hand resting on the bench in a tight fist, his short nails digging into his palm whilst his other hand reached up and ran through his hair again, tugging lightly at the lengths in his frustration. He wanted to ask her again, ask if she was sure that’s what he’d said, but he was wary of widening the metaphorical chasm between them. He settled for a sort of admission, once again not looking her in the eye: “If I said we should get married, that doesn't mean I want to marry you right now.”
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Dublin / Re: it's in my roots, in my veins [éilís]
« Last post by Éilís Healey on Yesterday at 04:29:45 AM »
Home. Dublin. The city held the kind of familiarity that nowhere else in the world seemed to for Éilís; after all the chaos and travel of the past year, it felt safe to return back to the place where she had grown up. Good things had happened there, bad things too, but the young Ravenclaw was comforted by sleeping in her own bed, sitting in the kitchen with her father, or climbing the old tree in the run-down park not far from her home.

Even so, Éilís had been surprised and a bit unnerved to find that, even as she immersed herself in all things familiar and known, she herself wasn’t quite the same. After three and a half years at Hogwarts, and most of the last summer away, Éilís was finally beginning to see the magical community as a sort of second home. Slowly growing comfortable with her place at school, Éilís found that she almost missed it now that she was back in Ireland for the holidays. She missed her friends and the greenhouses and, now that it was safe to roam the halls and grounds again, exploring the castle. It didn’t help that her father grew ever more muddled and distant in his thoughts, or that her mum hadn’t bothered to post a Christmas card this year. Éilís tried to convince herself that maybe she believed her to be staying at school for the holidays, but it seemed more likely that she had simply been forgotten, or replaced.

With two days to go until Christmas, Éilís had slipped out early in the morning and found herself walking into wizarding Dublin. It was an area that had become more familiar to her over the recent breaks, and, though usually more crowded than she would like, today felt safe. It was somewhere in between her muggle and magical homes and a place where she could wander, blending in with the last-minute shoppers and free to let her mind wander. After a few hours poking around one of her favorite herbology shops, flipping through the newest books and sketching plants, Éilís decided it was probably time to head back home. It was nearly time for lunch and her family would probably start to worry.

Once out the door, however, the biting wind made her wonder whether she really needed to make the whole walk at once. The temperature seemed to have dropped several degrees since the morning, probably as a result of the swirling snow, and Éilís was in no hurry to make the trek back to her grandfather’s house all in one go. By the time she reached the far end of the main road, Éilís was shivering and had decided to duck into Tulloch’s. She had been told by more than one professor that she ought to get the wand she had bought there several summers ago checked; it wasn’t an Ollivander’s wand, and Éilís seemed to know her magical theory well, so the only explanation her instructors could give was that the tool wasn’t up to scratch.

After a few minutes of talking with the shopkeeper, who seemed quite aggressive and accusatory when Éilís had requested he ensure the wand was working properly, Éilís was eager to leave. Mr. Tulloch had waved the wand a few times, producing first a shower of bright red fireworks and then a silencing charm, all the while glaring at Éilís as though she had wasted his time and insulted his work. She took the wand back and tucked it into her small shoulder bag and apologized for bothering him. It seemed clear to her, anyway, that she might just not be all that great at magic. Starting a year late in her education, not to mention growing up without even knowing who she was, must have delayed her in a way that couldn’t be made up for.

Caught up in these rather miserable thoughts, it wasn’t altogether surprising when Éilís collided with another shopper just outside the shop. Totally shocked not only by the collision but by the woman’s subsequent decision to begin brushing her coat off, Éilís temporarily froze, not sure whether it had been her fault and confused by the older girl’s accented apologies. Nodding awkwardly and muttering a sort of apology, Éilís turned to go, mortified by the encounter and eager to put distance between herself and both this overly-touchy stranger and the short-tempered wandmaker.

“Your wand, what did they say? It's not broken, is it?"

Surprised again, Éilís looked back over her shoulder, not completely convinced the girl had even been talking to her. Had she been in the shop while Tulloch tested her wand? Confused, Éilís hesitated, not normally one to talk to strangers but feeling oddly obligated to remain.

“No,” she answered in a near-whisper. “It’s just me, I guess.” The words almost came out as though spoken by another person; as the older girl had stepped closer to her again, a most peculiar sensation had crept through her veins. As though it were no longer the dead of winter, but perhaps early spring. The girl smelled like earth in a way that Éilís normally only associated with her herbology classes. Warm, and alive, somehow. Familiar.

“I -- “ Éilís hesitated again, trying to pull her mind back into herself. It felt almost as though she weren’t looking at the other girl, but rather as though she were the girl. That made no sense. “Do I know you?”
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Europe / Re: no more night, blue skies forever • • a r i / l u c i
« Last post by Ariana Laurier on February 19, 2018, 04:02:51 PM »
The Italian witch was surprised, which brought the nineteen-year-old a little bit of satisfaction in the context of this encounter but also a hint of concern. Ari had grown up revering Aurors, hearing stories of First Wizarding War heroism and joining the collective mourning for their murders at the hands of Death Eaters. Not everyone felt that way, though. She wondered what Prosper, so insulated from the war--so much so that Ari felt freer around him--thought of her profession. "Yes, very," she murmured simply, thinking of how nothing they'd seen in training yet compared to the Battle, even though all the new academic parts were occupying an outsized portion in her brain.

Prosper interjected on her behalf, and the nineteen-year-old was grateful that he'd noticed, retreating slightly to the background of the conversation as the other two traded charged words about the seemingly innocuous subject. She merely nodded in response to all of it, eyes moving back and forth between the two. There was a strong enough current of tension between them when speaking of Luciana's home city, and when discussing "anyone new," that Ari thought they must have been there together. Their interaction was so charged now that she had to wonder what they had seen in each other. The impressions she had of them were so different.

Ari was fervently grateful that London was such a big city. At this point, she could live without ever seeing this woman again. Thankfully, the intermission was finally over, and Ari's eyes were only too eager to break away from the scene in front of her to look up for the source of the sound. As Prosper pulled her away, she turned back to him. "It's okay," she said softly. Assuming they were heading back to the box, she noticed they weren't heading towards the stairs. "Oh," she said, surprised. Thinking about it, Ari thought she would be very happy to see more of the performances, but she had a feeling neither she nor Prosper would be able to concentrate after that. There had been flickers of something other than the charm she usually associated with him in that interaction. "Sure, yeah."

She waited a few beats before saying anything more, but she was still thinking about the encounter. She almost didn't want to know, but she couldn't help be struck by, even more than a difference between Prosper and Luciana, the gulf between Luciana and herself. She wasn't sure what type of person exactly could get along with both of them. "Um. Has she always been so..." What was the least offensive word she could think of? "...caustic? I mean," she added quickly, "I don't know if you want to talk about it, it's just I have a bit of a hard time imagining you two getting along well."
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