Post by Deleted on Jan 27, 2013 19:44:55 GMT -8
OOC: This post is going to serve as an introduction to my character, for anyone who didn't read his application. So, it's a little more broody than I intend him to be normally. xD I do plan to develop him over time, so this should be the most "emo" he'll ever be! xD
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Oh, that was the good stuff.
Wesley's heavy-lidded eyes slid shut as he took an indulgent pull from a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He took a deep breath of steam into his overly large nose, relishing in a moment of quiet in the middle of the work day.
Wesley was a judge on the Wizengamot, but when there weren't any cases to oversee, he was cooped up in his office with piles of paperwork. He didn't mind this portion of his job at all; in fact, it was his favorite. He liked to be cooped up. He liked to be alone most of the time.
This isn't to say he didn't appreciate being in the courtroom. On the contrary, he found his work to be very fulfilling. Serving justice to the wrongdoers of the world. Making it safe. A lot of his co-workers had a serious case of megalomania, but Wesley simply appreciated knowing that, at the end of the day, he helped make the right call.
At least one aspect of his life mattered.
There really wasn't anything more relaxing than a coffee break, either. With his office door shut, the lights dimmed, and the Daily Prophet spread out in front of him to scrutinize. Today was a perfectly fine day.
Well, the day was perfectly fine, until his eyes idly scanned over the date. He set down his mug harder than intended, sloshing coffee all over the front page of The Prophet. The photo of a witch scowled as she scurried out of the frame.
How had he forgotten? He never forgot. Wesley tapped the spill with his wand and it disappeared, but suddenly he wasn't in the mood for coffee anymore. He slid the newspaper off his desk and into the rubbish bin, stood up, and crossed to the window.
Wesley looked out into the world that didn't include Daniel Stoot anymore. His best friend. The only person he had ever loved--no, not like that--or so he convinced himself. Today was Daniel's birthday. He would have been 35.
Daniel had gone to Romania and never come back nearly 16 years ago, and Wesley knew that to continue acknowledging his birthday each year was superfluous. He couldn't help it. Birthdays had always been so important to his friend; Wesley had never personally appreciated the passing of another year until Daniel had ceased to do so.
A part of Wesley wanted so badly to believe that Daniel Stoot was out there somewhere, alive and well. They never found anything more of him than bits of hair and clothing, after all--but that was because his assailant had been a dragon. It was hopeless, either way. If Daniel had lived, there was absolutely no doubt in Wesley's mind that he would have told him.
It had been difficult for Wesley to make friends ever since he lost Daniel. It had been hard for Wesley to make friends before he lost Daniel, too. Stoot was a special type of person; he saw past Wesley's shortcomings. He had taught Wesley how to laugh, how to speak without feeling insecure--but all of that progress had died with him. Wesley reverted back into the brooding introvert. It was the half of himself he wasn't proud of.
But his better half was dead.
Wesley shook his head. 'This is rubbish,' he chided himself. 'This happens every year. Every time his sodding birthday comes around, I wallow in my own self-pity.'
Wesley was normally easy-going and pleasant to be around, but he didn't speak very much. It was the reason behind most of his problems. The reason people whispered about him when he wasn't around. The reason he didn't make friends very easily, and the reason why he mourned so bitterly at the loss of one.
The stutter.
Wesley stuttered for as long as he could remember. In fact, it was his first memory. When he was three years old, he had awoken one morning and realized he couldn't form a proper sentence. He had shaken his mother awake, sobbing, "I c-c-c-can't t-t-talk! I c-c-can't t-t-talk!"
He had been known as "Squib Lips" to the more cruel classmates while at school. This was because Wesley's stutter prevented him from being able to perform even the most simple spells with confidence. He could sometimes complete one without stuttering, but it wasn't a risk that was fun to take. One time, he had singed his eyebrows and bangs right off.
That had been a humiliating experience.
Wesley, therefore, was a master of nonverbal spellcasting. But it also meant he had been a much slower learner than his peers, despite his above-average intelligence. Nonverbal spells weren't easy to perform at age 11, but he had no other way to cast them.
Hence, "Squib Lips".
Wesley's impediment wasn't nearly as bad as an adult as it had been as a child, but by that time, his nature had already been set in stone. Daniel's passing hadn't helped much, either. Though he couldn't blame that anymore--it had been so long.
And this year, he had even forgotten. What did this mean? Did it mean he didn't care anymore? Or was he finally beginning to move on?
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose and relaxed his eyes for a moment. He really needed to get back to work.
As if the Gods of Employment had been listening in on his thoughts, there came a knock at his office door.
"C-come in," he said just loud enough to be heard, turning to face whoever it was.
-------------------------------------
Oh, that was the good stuff.
Wesley's heavy-lidded eyes slid shut as he took an indulgent pull from a mug of freshly brewed coffee. He took a deep breath of steam into his overly large nose, relishing in a moment of quiet in the middle of the work day.
Wesley was a judge on the Wizengamot, but when there weren't any cases to oversee, he was cooped up in his office with piles of paperwork. He didn't mind this portion of his job at all; in fact, it was his favorite. He liked to be cooped up. He liked to be alone most of the time.
This isn't to say he didn't appreciate being in the courtroom. On the contrary, he found his work to be very fulfilling. Serving justice to the wrongdoers of the world. Making it safe. A lot of his co-workers had a serious case of megalomania, but Wesley simply appreciated knowing that, at the end of the day, he helped make the right call.
At least one aspect of his life mattered.
There really wasn't anything more relaxing than a coffee break, either. With his office door shut, the lights dimmed, and the Daily Prophet spread out in front of him to scrutinize. Today was a perfectly fine day.
Well, the day was perfectly fine, until his eyes idly scanned over the date. He set down his mug harder than intended, sloshing coffee all over the front page of The Prophet. The photo of a witch scowled as she scurried out of the frame.
How had he forgotten? He never forgot. Wesley tapped the spill with his wand and it disappeared, but suddenly he wasn't in the mood for coffee anymore. He slid the newspaper off his desk and into the rubbish bin, stood up, and crossed to the window.
Wesley looked out into the world that didn't include Daniel Stoot anymore. His best friend. The only person he had ever loved--no, not like that--or so he convinced himself. Today was Daniel's birthday. He would have been 35.
Daniel had gone to Romania and never come back nearly 16 years ago, and Wesley knew that to continue acknowledging his birthday each year was superfluous. He couldn't help it. Birthdays had always been so important to his friend; Wesley had never personally appreciated the passing of another year until Daniel had ceased to do so.
A part of Wesley wanted so badly to believe that Daniel Stoot was out there somewhere, alive and well. They never found anything more of him than bits of hair and clothing, after all--but that was because his assailant had been a dragon. It was hopeless, either way. If Daniel had lived, there was absolutely no doubt in Wesley's mind that he would have told him.
It had been difficult for Wesley to make friends ever since he lost Daniel. It had been hard for Wesley to make friends before he lost Daniel, too. Stoot was a special type of person; he saw past Wesley's shortcomings. He had taught Wesley how to laugh, how to speak without feeling insecure--but all of that progress had died with him. Wesley reverted back into the brooding introvert. It was the half of himself he wasn't proud of.
But his better half was dead.
Wesley shook his head. 'This is rubbish,' he chided himself. 'This happens every year. Every time his sodding birthday comes around, I wallow in my own self-pity.'
Wesley was normally easy-going and pleasant to be around, but he didn't speak very much. It was the reason behind most of his problems. The reason people whispered about him when he wasn't around. The reason he didn't make friends very easily, and the reason why he mourned so bitterly at the loss of one.
The stutter.
Wesley stuttered for as long as he could remember. In fact, it was his first memory. When he was three years old, he had awoken one morning and realized he couldn't form a proper sentence. He had shaken his mother awake, sobbing, "I c-c-c-can't t-t-talk! I c-c-can't t-t-talk!"
He had been known as "Squib Lips" to the more cruel classmates while at school. This was because Wesley's stutter prevented him from being able to perform even the most simple spells with confidence. He could sometimes complete one without stuttering, but it wasn't a risk that was fun to take. One time, he had singed his eyebrows and bangs right off.
That had been a humiliating experience.
Wesley, therefore, was a master of nonverbal spellcasting. But it also meant he had been a much slower learner than his peers, despite his above-average intelligence. Nonverbal spells weren't easy to perform at age 11, but he had no other way to cast them.
Hence, "Squib Lips".
Wesley's impediment wasn't nearly as bad as an adult as it had been as a child, but by that time, his nature had already been set in stone. Daniel's passing hadn't helped much, either. Though he couldn't blame that anymore--it had been so long.
And this year, he had even forgotten. What did this mean? Did it mean he didn't care anymore? Or was he finally beginning to move on?
Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose and relaxed his eyes for a moment. He really needed to get back to work.
As if the Gods of Employment had been listening in on his thoughts, there came a knock at his office door.
"C-come in," he said just loud enough to be heard, turning to face whoever it was.
