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First names were most often used by childhood or school friends. If the friendship was made after school age, first names would only really be used by women. Men were far more likely to refer to their friends by their surnames, a mark of familiarity. — Documentation


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WANTED:

Carson Bixby for Sloane Bixby. You can take the middle-aged man out of quidd—oh, apparently you can't.
Separating was also not a great idea, though they weren't doing great at staying together anyway. If she were to volunteer to be the human sacrifice.. well... Hogsmeade had plenty of debutantes anyway...

Barnabas Skeeter in CYOA: Group D


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Well-Traveled

Complete threads set in ten different forum locations. Threads must have at least ten posts, and three must be your own. Character accounts cannot be combined.

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Midnight Meetings
#1
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The night was late and the shadows thick in Knockturn Alley, and only a few meandering lost souls remained upon the crooked thoroughfare, though the side streets and narrow alleys remained full of unfathomable dangers lurking in the detritus and darkness. A lone warlock shuffled along the cobblestones, dragging his feet, muttering the incantation to a bit of obscure Dark Magic. His clothes were worn and frayed, his beard tangled and wild, and he seemed not altogether present behind his glossy eyes. There was a loud crack, like the snap of a whip, and the warlock screamed loudly, fled into a shadowy archway and disappeared.

There on the street stood a new figure, appearing by way of Apparition. He was fairly tall, but bent and hobbled with advanced age. There was a kind of unpleasant gauntness about him, sunken-faced with a pallid and sallow complexion. Sharp, icy grey eyes surveyed the street from beneath great bristly arched eyebrows.

He took a great sniff of the air around him and his slender features contorted into a grimace of disgust. With pursed lips and a swish of his ornate emerald robes, he spun about on his heels and faced the nearest storefront. It was dark inside, and the dingy windows looked like they had not been washed in years. They were caked in dust and grime, so much so that even if the large, expensive baroque curtains on the other side had not been drawn shut, one still wouldn't be able to see through the display glass. The front door was a massive and oppressive slab of oak with fanciful but taciturn décor. There was paneling on the wood, and in each panel was a small depiction of a historical deed of the wizard known as Albrecht Vile, the so-called Black Dragon of Wessex. He looked like an unpleasant fellow.

These were the business offices of Nigellus Theobald Vile, last son of the House of Vile, and proprietor of Vile Enterprises. They rarely saw use these days, for Nigellus conducted the majority of his business through intermediaries from the comfort of his castle in Somerset. But on this particular evening, he was hoping to close a deal that would require his direct attention.

Nigellus withdrew his wand, clutching it to his chest suspiciously. He cast a surreptitious glance about him, left then right, then behind, then up and down the street. It was almost unheard of for Aurors to prowl Knockturn Alley. It was generally thought of as pointless to attempt to police the place, so rife was it with unfavorable sorts and frowned-upon magic. All unofficial of course, but everyone knew its reputation. Nonetheless, he had not come this far by making assumptions and not taking extreme care to avoid implicating himself in embarrassing scandals...

With a flick of his wand, the storefront came alive. The warm glow of candlelight blazed to life behind the baroque curtains and glared through the grime stuck thick to the glass, and the huge paneled oaken door swung open slowly with a long, loud, low groan. Nigellus' gilded cane connected with the cobblestones with a sharp click and he slithered inside. Another flick of his wrist and the door slammed shut with the force of a falling anvil, shattering the silence of the night. A few heads poked out of the lopsided tenement windows lining Knockturn Alley, but dared not look too long.

The inside of the office was very large and sparse, furnished by only a few elegantly carved but thoroughly uncomfortable-looking wooden benches and a large black desk limned in bronze filigree. Upon it sat a single ink well fitted with a black feathered quill of curious size and a large pile of neatly stacked paper. Behind it there was a high-backed chair with red leather upholstery. In front of the desk there was a slightly less opulent looking chair for whatever guest or associate wished to pursue matters of business there.

At the far right side of the room, halfway between the door and the desk, was an indoor coal furnace made of cast iron. Vile approached it, pointing his wand at the dark grill which bore the crest of the Vile family. He smiled as he read the motto silently to himself: 'Dolorem ejus cedere prodest.'

'Never a truer sentiment spoken,' he muttered before at last he waved his wand and performed a very complicated bit of Transfiguration. The coal furnace had been enchanted to change, at the behest of a wizard who knew the proper spell, into a fully functional fireplace. The great black pot belly changed subtly and slowly into red brick, the jagged pipes twisted out of shape with a loud groan of bending iron and rose up to form the wooden mantle, and at last the grill swung open and transformed into the yawning mouth of a fireplace, replete with a pile of wood for burning.

'Incendio,' Vile muttered, and the dry logs roared immediately with a blazing fire when only just a moment ago they had been dead and cold. He lifted a small satchel of powder that had rested on the furnace previously and set it aside on the mantle. It was floo powder, and after all, his visitor would need it to get back to wherever he was coming from that evening. Nigellus had met with the fellow a few times before. An entrepreneur like himself, well-spoken of in their circles and highly acclaimed for his success, with an impressive knowledge of how to get precious cargo from one place to another without compromising its contents or attracting unwanted attention. Their business together previously had been just that, fleeting and cordial. Tonight, however, there was pressing need to posit a more... unusual request.

Vile sat himself on the high backed seat at his desk and folded his long, gnarled fingers together, waiting and watching the fireplace patiently.
#2
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With that blasted fog over and Leo returned to the Wellingtonshire estate, Leon was free to return to his usual...loose lifestyle. Nan had gotten a raise to make staying worth her while as well. Poor woman, she was getting a run for her money. Unfortunately, Leon could only provide so much assistance when he was attending to business. Thankfully she had a full staff to lean on at the estate. Hopefully Elsbeth wouldn't drive her out.

Having his free reign back, Leon had also plunged back into work. Considering he was the one mostly in charge of the family business these days, he tried to take it seriously. Tried. He was good at it, fortunately it didn't require too much effort on his part. He'd always been notoriously charming and just a bit shrewd in his business practices. He'd managed to earn a name for himself both attached to their family business and on his own side ventures.

The latter was what had him stepping into the floo from his townhouse to Knockturn Alley. He tended to apparate, but in the interest of discretion, landing exactly in their meeting spot was required. A roar of green fire and a one long twisty ride later, Leon stepped out into the intended office. Brushing the soot from his otherwise spotless suit coat, he straightened to his full, rather impressive height with ease. His first impression was mild amusement at the... decor of the room, but he turned to find his host waiting on him "Mr. Vile." He greeted, moving toward the front side of the rather large desk.



“Like ships in a squall,
we rise and we fall.”

deep quote code by Soph ♥


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