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Papillonlisse Tower / Re: Papillonlisse Quidditch
« Last post by Sydney Ardente on March 26, 2024, 08:28:56 AM »

🦋 It is not too late to sign up for the House Quidditch team! 🧹
We currently only have 3 PCs and 1 NPC -
if possible, we would like to fill the remaining positions
(2 Chasers and 1 Beater).
@group:Papillonlisse

Also because I had forgotten to do Sydney's stat spread:
First Position: Seeker       Secondary Position: Chaser
Beginning of the Term Stats: Speed: 8 | Accuracy: 7 | Attack: 4 | Defense: 5

@Célestin Lachapelle please do yours as well! Thanks!
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Papillonlisse Tower / Re: Papillonlisse Quidditch
« Last post by Jourdain Lefebvre on March 25, 2024, 06:27:50 PM »
hopefully will be able to commit but he's up for it!!
(still need to update his sheet to Seventh Year ack)

Character: Julien Lefebvre
First Position: Keeper
Secondary Position: Beater
Beginning of the Term Stats: Speed: 7 | Accuracy: 4 | Attack: 5 | Defense: 7

sheet has been updated!
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The Sorting Hat / Re: Character changes & retcons!
« Last post by Jourdain Lefebvre on March 24, 2024, 08:37:50 PM »
Character's name: Jourdain Lefebvre
Changes made:
-- changed first name from “Julien” to “Jordain” because there’s a very high likelihood that we’re going to end up naming our RL baby “Julian” 😅
-- updated ages throughout as appropriate
-- added several paragraphs to history to cover Sixth Year and beginning of Seventh Year

thanks in advance! 💕

approved
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Gravesend / Re: not responsible [quinn & juin]
« Last post by Sam Lynch on March 24, 2024, 07:07:56 PM »
"Well, it's all still muscle," Sam remarked idly, though -- at Quinn's prodding -- he had to allow that the petite one was keeping pace fine enough. His spirits had lifted substantially, though, at what he took as an implicit (very possibly nonexistent) compliment toward *his* muscle, which -- while he was a little vain about it -- was less obviously photogenic. He glanced sidelong at his arm (sadly, he was wearing robes slightly too loose to admire the muscle there) and then back at the game. He propped his foot against the seat in front of him and rapped his knuckles rhythmically against the seat back adjacent to his (fortunately it was unoccupied; as it was he suspected this would eventually annoy the neighbouring spectators.) "They don't use her enough? How much is average?"

He felt automatically inclined to pronounce Quinn's French -- "Juin Proulx," -- though his own wasn't much better. Then, he felt automatically like this might have been a mistake, like it might have implied that he was more familiar with Juin than he was letting on. He considered bringing up his French ex-girlfriend, as though this situation could be fixed by adding another woman to the mix, and decided quickly against it.

"Oh, you sure showed her," he said, finding Juin on the pitch and raising his eyebrows. (He had worn his glasses today, in a possibly misguided effort to project ineligibility; otherwise it might have taken him much longer to pick Juin out, just one among many red robes flapping in the wind. "She was at Portree v. Kenmare, I went with my brothers and Fergie Flume --" (Quinn had met his brothers at some point, he was sure) "-- but they went running back to their wives and kids and left me at the party with Brody and Shannon. Reckon she thought I was a player at first. Sort of flattering. 'Course --" he hastened to add, "not my type." (This was just a lie.)
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Rybinsk / new town burnout [alyona]
« Last post by Konrad Sturm on March 24, 2024, 06:11:57 PM »
no more in the wrong place, no more at the wrong time
October, 2005

In contrast to past visits to Rybinsk, when Konrad had spent most of his time in the Artistic Flying School in the stadium stands for gala performances, Konrad thought he had spent the most time on this visit directly outside of the school, playing with his dog or smoking or loafing or whittling or finding some other way to entertain himself while he waited for Zhenya to finish training (he never seemed to judge his timing right, and once he had arrived at the school he always figured he may as well stay and wait -- though some days he waited quite a while before she would come.) At times he thought about going inside and seeing, but he didn't want to see or interact with the trainers, whom he was sure he would not like (and whom he was sure would not like him.)

It worked well with his own schedule at the hotel, and left them much of the afternoon to themselves, little though they used it most of the time. Konrad had gotten used to the (lack of) schedule he had developed through his first year of adulthood; he liked having long stretches of time to himself, smoking at the riverbank or wandering through the thick surrounding woods with his dog or playing his radio in his room, and he suspected Zhenya liked seeing him only occasionally, because he did not think her family liked him very much. But he also liked seeing Zhenya and suspected Zhenya liked seeing him; they could talk over cards or lunch or on walks. (If they talked; sometimes they weren't in the mood, in one way or another.)

Today he was leaning against the wall by the front door of the flying school; Zhenya had been later than normal, which she had told him once meant she was probably working on a new program, but Konrad was in no hurry; he was smoking and whittling a bit of scrap wood with a sharp knife into a hollow spiral; he had nicked one of his thumbs and so the wood was slightly stained with awkward fingerprints, but he had stuck his thumb in his mouth until it was no longer bleeding and carried on. Konrad was no whittling artiste, but had spent quite a lot of time in his life bored out of his skull with a knife in his pocket and access to sticks, so he was not bad at it.

When he spotted the woman -- she was not Zhenya's mother, but perhaps she was an aunt or an older cousin or a grandmother -- his first impulse was to drop his cigarette and stamp it out; even when he had been old enough for it his parents would always have taken more umbrage to his smoking than to tooling around with a knife. It was only a moment later that Konrad remembered where he was and, more importantly, everything else that had been happening here for months -- just a few weeks ago he had finally made the acquaintance of Afanasiy Kirillovich, and honestly he had expected it long before. Even more hastily, he folded his army knife and shoved it into his pocket, standing up straight.

@Alyona Tikhomirova
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Rybinsk / Re: Try not. Do, or do not. (Konrad)
« Last post by Evelina Mishina on March 24, 2024, 04:33:03 PM »
Oh well… Evelina heard his question and immediately thought that Konrad and Zhenya made a brilliant couple. Neither of them seemed to be clever. She wondered, ever so briefly, what people like them talked about. Did they talk at all? Maybe this was a mostly corporeal relationship. Yuck!

She wrinkled her nose. Konrad didn’t look like someone who was coming to be hired for a new job at a comparably fancy hotel and he smelled like a dog. She remembered having seen him with one so that definitely explained the faint smell. Either way, she’d have to tell him that he had to wear clean work clothes. They had them there, of course, and even though he was rather tall, she assumed that there was something that would fit him.

The tone of surprise frustrated Evelina. Why would Konrad doubt that her parents trusted her with the paperwork? It was not like she had to do a lot more than offer him a quill to sign the contract. She raised her eyebrows but decided not to comment on it. She reminded herself that he was Zhenya’s friend and Zhenya’s parents probably wouldn’t ever let her handle paperwork.

“If you must know,” Evelina said calmly as she folded her hands in her lap, “I’m turning thirteen next week.”

She frowned a little and then gestured at the contract. “So, you’re getting a contract for part-time employment. The probationary period is two months. If everything works out well during that period, you’ll get a permanent contract. Both sides can still terminate that one with a month’s notice…” She looked at him, wondering if he understood what she was telling him.

“Do you understand and accept the conditions? As you can see” she sat up straight and pointed her finger at the contract, “my father already signed it here. So once you sign it, you’re an official employee of the Rybinsk Magical Hotel and I can show you around.”
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Rybinsk / Re: Try not. Do, or do not. (Konrad)
« Last post by Konrad Sturm on March 24, 2024, 03:48:02 PM »
There were usually small hints that a prospective employer did not want Konrad, things he picked up when he met them or interviewed with them, glances aside or lingering looks at his patched clothes, the peeling leather of his boots, straggly, curling hair he could never get to look nice even when it was clean and combed and tucked behind his ears. He had convinced himself quite handily that the Mishins did not want him, and resigning himself to the punishing life of day-by-day employment, and then -- out of nowhere the next morning -- they had reached out to him in his room, where he was dining by himself, with an offer. Two months was not much, but when the alternative was day-by-day Konrad could not complain.

He could complain that they had reached out with a meeting time in an hour and he had not been at the hotel when the message was sent to his room, but he wouldn't -- he was not sure he was allowed to be keeping his dog in the hotel with him and the reason he had missed that note was that he had been out in a large vacant field throwing sticks for her. Now she was back up in his room; in the roughly ten minutes he'd had to prepare, he had tried again to make himself look like a presentable and non-delinquent youth, he had changed his grass-stained trousers, he had combed his hair. His robes -- knee-length and a little shabby, but clean and not wrinkled) were fine. He Apparated down to the lobby (why shouldn't he? it was faster than walking) and looked around for -- he wasn't sure who. Some other employee, he assumed?

At first he saw nobody, until he heard his name and tilted his head downward and saw that his onboarding process would be handled by a petite, curly-headed girl. It didn't even occur to him to say 'hello' back, for he was so busy frowning with confusion about why a ten year old was addressing him. "You have an office?" he said finally, striding after her. He was much taller and his legs were longer, so he caught her up quickly. He realised immediately that she was talking about her parents' office, and rather than draw attention to his blunder he decided to quietly move past it. In the office he was faced immediately with another obstacle: paperwork. He picked up one of the sheafs of parchment, gave it one dismissive glance, and dropped it back on the desk before sitting down.

"They put you in charge of paperwork?" he said, squinting critically at Evelina and how tiny she looked in that chair. "How old are you, twelve?"
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London / Re: summertime sadness. [samael]
« Last post by Farley Hoskins on March 24, 2024, 02:20:08 PM »
"No!" Farley exclaimed, her big dark eyes wide in shock at the mere suggestion. She shook her head fiercely, the ends of her hair ended up whipping her cheeks. "Gosh, no," she pushed on. "Nothing like that," she was quick to assure Sam, her eyes dropping down to their joined hands. She didn't even feel him take it but the touch sent a rush of warmth through hair and she took a step into his side.

Farley was both comforted by his presence but her full lips formed a frown. "Do you?" She asked Sam gently as she peered up at him. She didn't think he'd ever raised her voice at her before, at least not to the degree that Cezary had. Sure, Sam was a bit flighty and he often had to cancel plans last  minute and Farley often didn't know where he was…maybe they needed to have a conversation about that.

But perhaps his temper was about to emerge.

Farley fell silent and avoided his eye, seemingly interested in the people across the street. "Hm?" She asked Sam, as though she hadn't heard his words but she decided to stall. "I don't think that's a good idea," she went on as she looked at her feet as she absently scuffed her heel against the pavement.

It wasn't that she didn't think Sam could handle himself, it was more that she didn't know what Cezary was capable of. With a short, sharp sigh, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Can we just forget I said anything?" Farley asked quietly with a small smile.

They began to walk and Sam mentioned his area was shady. "In what way?" The petite brunette asked, anxiety causing her stomach to knot and twist. The more he spoke, the more it became clear that this was not an invitation for her to move in with him, like she'd hoped it might have been. They'd been dating for over a year. Of late, alarm bells had been ringing but she'd tried her best to ignore them but she wasn't sure she could for much longer.

"No, no." she stopped him quickly at the mention of money. She didn't need his money, she needed his attention. A sadness settled around her shoulders as they wandered on, her eyes focused on the brochures she'd brought with her as she delicately tried to extract her hand from his.

"Maybe we should try somewhere else, then?" She glanced at him. "No point in going to where you are if you don't want me there."
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London / Re: inconsistent stories. [harlan]
« Last post by Charlotte Bright on March 24, 2024, 01:55:36 PM »
Harlan didn't look pleased to see her but that only made her grin a little bit wider. In all fairness, her new boyfriend had taken up the vast majority of her time of late so getting out and about wasn't at the top of her priorities. Smartly, she saluted him with her half-empty margarita.

"Aw, don't be like that," Lottie cooed as she placed her drinks - plural - on to the table, her long legs crossed at the knee as her bright eyes gave him the once-over. "That ran out last week," came the quick reply, clearly playing along, though the idea of a real restraining order didn't seem that far-fetched. She offered Harlan another drunken, dimpled smile.

Lottie turned her head to survey his friends absently. They were all rather handsome and polite enough to take a few steps away from them. She heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head, the last of the day's sun picking out the reddish highlights in her shiny hair. She flicked her eyes across to the Quidditch captain.

"You've been left unsupervised?" She asked, nodding towards his friends whose backs were turned discreetly. With another sip of her drink, she settled back into her seat. "How have you been?" Lottie asked politely. "No major scandals since I've seen you last?" She questioned, sucking her drink through a straw noisily.
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Manoir Vertneuf / Re: [ai april] dance like nobody's watching [lettie]
« Last post by Letizia Passerini on March 24, 2024, 11:45:43 AM »
Letizia quite enjoyed her little dance battle with Amandine who was definitely a worthy partner in this. She felt certain that they’d be praised by Mademoiselle Cézanne before long. Maybe she’d even invite them to the theatre to see her perform. A girl could dream, right?

Maybe they were going a tiny little bit too far, but, honestly, the given choreography was too simple to be a nice and worthy challenge. They weren’t here for a beginner’s lesson, after all. It really would have made more sense to split them in different groups depending on skill level and let them perform at different times.

That Jeanne Cézanne was unimpressed with them showing off hurt the Italian’s feelings. Lettie sensed how her cheeks heated up and she knew that she had visibly blushed. However, she didn’t think she needed to feel embarrassed. It wasn’t her fault that the prima ballerina hadn’t been able to come up with good sequences to perform.

“Not as nice as I thought,” Lettie muttered in Amadine’s direction and then she curtseyed in Mademoiselle Cézanne’s direction. “I’m so sorry,” she simpered and then joined the others in the middle of the sequence, her frustration visible in the forcefulness of her movements.
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