- Messages
- 3,658
- OOC First Name
- Camilla
- Blood Status
- Muggleborn
- Relationship Status
- Single (Not Looking)
- Wand
- Curly 13" Rigid Pine Wand, Meteorite Dust Core
- Age
- 18 (21/9/2043)
((set before the start of Y40))
Aine Thompson was decidedly ordinary.
She was eleven, and exceedingly plain. Small, mousy and pale. No sporting ability to speak of (a grave disappointment in sport-mad regional Victoria), a propensity to talk too much and hyperfocus on interests that seemingly nobody else shared, and a permanently sullen expression that suited her lonely nature. Easily forgotten about. A wallflower, camouflaging herself in to the classroom and keeping her mouth shut so as not to invite more ridicule. The unintended fourth child and certainly bound to be the least successful.
Perhaps the advantage of being fourth is that you had no expectations. At eleven, she already knew her place in the world. She would be sent to a good school, as her siblings all had, she would disappoint her parents by failing to be named a prefect (one typically required popularity for that), then she'd go become an accountant or something respectable and dull in the hope that she could marry someone equally as respectable yet dull. Any land would go to her brother, as the western districts were a backwater and right of inheritance still favoured sons, even now. As the last child, and the third daughter, there would be very little for her. Not that it would matter for many years, at least.
It was sad that an eleven year old already had this perception of the world, but her elder sisters were beautiful and venomous, and reality was cruel. She heard the nasty things that her classmates had repeated, snarky comments awful parents had made about how the young girl was a bit of a disappointment.
So even at so young an age, she found herself drawn to the antique store in town that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere one day. The owner was an oddity, a woman who seemed somewhat ethereal and yet was incredibly grounded to speak to. She didn't brush Aine off when she started speaking, even when it was likely about something of no interest to her. By the same token, she didn't dumb down her speech to treat her like a child, speaking frankly (and in language she knew she ought not repeat, but repeated all the same - it wasn't like it was anything she hadn't heard before, after all). Aine would ask about certain oddities and it seemed like the woman was holding something back, but would give her answers that seemed vaguely unsatisfactory and she wasn't quite sure why.
Still, she'd let Aine sit in the back room and lose herself in old novels every afternoon, occasionally asking her for some help around the place (be it a bit of tidying, or arranging a stack of old dolls in a way that looked nice, or checking some emails) and sliding her a $20 bill over the counter on those days by way of thank you. Not that there was much you could do with cash anymore, but the bakery at least still insisted upon it, so she'd be able to reward herself with sugary donuts and pies and sausage rolls. It gave her a place to be on weekends if she wasn't helping out on her granddad's farm in lambing season and it was nice, thought Aine, to have an adult around that seemed to respect her. Didn't pity her for being so mediocre and miserable, just seemed to appreciate the company.
For Aine, she supposed that she'd settled in to a peaceful routine for once. Sure, she'd probably be forced to go to a boarding school closer to Melbourne out of a need of status (more than whether or not the school would be good for her), but for now she had a casual routine of going to school and then hanging out at the antiques store until she was forced to go home to hide in her room. Perhaps it was odd, perhaps it was lonely, but it worked for her just fine.
And then, of course, the Ministry official showed up at her door, and Aine Thompson was no longer ordinary.
Aine Thompson was decidedly ordinary.
She was eleven, and exceedingly plain. Small, mousy and pale. No sporting ability to speak of (a grave disappointment in sport-mad regional Victoria), a propensity to talk too much and hyperfocus on interests that seemingly nobody else shared, and a permanently sullen expression that suited her lonely nature. Easily forgotten about. A wallflower, camouflaging herself in to the classroom and keeping her mouth shut so as not to invite more ridicule. The unintended fourth child and certainly bound to be the least successful.
Perhaps the advantage of being fourth is that you had no expectations. At eleven, she already knew her place in the world. She would be sent to a good school, as her siblings all had, she would disappoint her parents by failing to be named a prefect (one typically required popularity for that), then she'd go become an accountant or something respectable and dull in the hope that she could marry someone equally as respectable yet dull. Any land would go to her brother, as the western districts were a backwater and right of inheritance still favoured sons, even now. As the last child, and the third daughter, there would be very little for her. Not that it would matter for many years, at least.
It was sad that an eleven year old already had this perception of the world, but her elder sisters were beautiful and venomous, and reality was cruel. She heard the nasty things that her classmates had repeated, snarky comments awful parents had made about how the young girl was a bit of a disappointment.
So even at so young an age, she found herself drawn to the antique store in town that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere one day. The owner was an oddity, a woman who seemed somewhat ethereal and yet was incredibly grounded to speak to. She didn't brush Aine off when she started speaking, even when it was likely about something of no interest to her. By the same token, she didn't dumb down her speech to treat her like a child, speaking frankly (and in language she knew she ought not repeat, but repeated all the same - it wasn't like it was anything she hadn't heard before, after all). Aine would ask about certain oddities and it seemed like the woman was holding something back, but would give her answers that seemed vaguely unsatisfactory and she wasn't quite sure why.
Still, she'd let Aine sit in the back room and lose herself in old novels every afternoon, occasionally asking her for some help around the place (be it a bit of tidying, or arranging a stack of old dolls in a way that looked nice, or checking some emails) and sliding her a $20 bill over the counter on those days by way of thank you. Not that there was much you could do with cash anymore, but the bakery at least still insisted upon it, so she'd be able to reward herself with sugary donuts and pies and sausage rolls. It gave her a place to be on weekends if she wasn't helping out on her granddad's farm in lambing season and it was nice, thought Aine, to have an adult around that seemed to respect her. Didn't pity her for being so mediocre and miserable, just seemed to appreciate the company.
For Aine, she supposed that she'd settled in to a peaceful routine for once. Sure, she'd probably be forced to go to a boarding school closer to Melbourne out of a need of status (more than whether or not the school would be good for her), but for now she had a casual routine of going to school and then hanging out at the antiques store until she was forced to go home to hide in her room. Perhaps it was odd, perhaps it was lonely, but it worked for her just fine.
And then, of course, the Ministry official showed up at her door, and Aine Thompson was no longer ordinary.