Post by esjay on Apr 23, 2009 8:56:45 GMT -5
Referred By: Cait
Name: Harold Smith
Age: 16
Sex: Masculine
Nationality: Scottish
Speech: English
Blood: muggle born
Father: Unknown
Mother: Lucy 'Candy' Smith
Siblings: None
Other Family: None
Family Interactions:
Height:
Weight:
Hair:
Eyes:
Skin Colour:
Clothing style:
Accessories:
Other:
Paragraph Format:
Personality:
History:
Glasgow, a coarse city if ever there was one. Hung heavy in the booze culture of Britain and with a slum side that rivals the south side of London. She limped, her figure hugged tightly, too tightly for the more prudent people. But this was not a prudent place, this was the bad side of Glasgow. She ampled as well as limp, as home in the smelly streets which she had herself grown up in as she would be in her own abode. Her belly was risen slightly in perhaps the fifth month of pregnancy. A working woman does not stop working, rent does not pay itself and the doll is not exactly a substantual amount of money.
She coughed, heartidly, her hand which looked atleast a decade older then her considerably preaged body would suggest; clung to the light woollen shawl in the night's air. Slightly moist, from a few days rain and the warmth of the sewer flowing out into the river she hobbled along by. Her meandering journey stopped along this riverside path to a car, black and it's make hard to distinguish in the dull, cloudy night. The window rolled down and the woman looked to her client, whom she couldn't see in the light. But his gruff voice, the voice of twenty a day and six months in a cell had shaped to be distinctive. She pulled open the door and so began the seedy business of the night.
This manner repeated for the woman, for the long sixteen years and four months that lolled in the wake of her pregnancy.
Name: Harold Smith
Age: 16
Sex: Masculine
Nationality: Scottish
Speech: English
Blood: muggle born
Father: Unknown
Mother: Lucy 'Candy' Smith
Siblings: None
Other Family: None
Family Interactions:
Height:
Weight:
Hair:
Eyes:
Skin Colour:
Clothing style:
Accessories:
Other:
Paragraph Format:
Personality:
History:
Glasgow, a coarse city if ever there was one. Hung heavy in the booze culture of Britain and with a slum side that rivals the south side of London. She limped, her figure hugged tightly, too tightly for the more prudent people. But this was not a prudent place, this was the bad side of Glasgow. She ampled as well as limp, as home in the smelly streets which she had herself grown up in as she would be in her own abode. Her belly was risen slightly in perhaps the fifth month of pregnancy. A working woman does not stop working, rent does not pay itself and the doll is not exactly a substantual amount of money.
She coughed, heartidly, her hand which looked atleast a decade older then her considerably preaged body would suggest; clung to the light woollen shawl in the night's air. Slightly moist, from a few days rain and the warmth of the sewer flowing out into the river she hobbled along by. Her meandering journey stopped along this riverside path to a car, black and it's make hard to distinguish in the dull, cloudy night. The window rolled down and the woman looked to her client, whom she couldn't see in the light. But his gruff voice, the voice of twenty a day and six months in a cell had shaped to be distinctive. She pulled open the door and so began the seedy business of the night.
This manner repeated for the woman, for the long sixteen years and four months that lolled in the wake of her pregnancy.