strategemme

[strategemme]

Who: Emmeline & OPEN Where: Streets outside St. Mungo’s  When: Tuesday, January 22nd at 7:30pm 

It wasn’t like Emmeline to feel flustered, yet work had left her so. She was just new enough that diagnoses could still catch her by surprise, and it seemed that every decision she’d made today had been precisely the opposite of correct. Luckily no one had been injured, yet she’d ordered unnecessary testing and forced the potioneers downstairs to brew a stat antidote that turned out to be utterly useless. A memo had flown to her just as she was leaving, and her parting gift was a summons for the next Tuesday to discuss what had gone wrong today. 

Never one to wear her heart on her sleeve, she let the tension brew within her, suffocating her thoughts to the point of fuming. As soon as the elevator doors parted to reveal the main lobby of St. Mungo’s, she was flying through them. People veered out of her way despite her having swapped lime green robes for muggle garb, and once she was outdoors, guilt began to settle in. Whatever anger she felt towards the greater whatever was no fault of its inhabitants. 

Wanting to make what little amends she could, she stopped by a merchant selling caffeine from a roadside stand. “I’ll take a cup of black coffee, and I’ll pay for whatever they’re having.” She nodded to the person that had come up beside her before glancing over and offering them a strained smile. 

[strategemme]

FABIAN P.

Who:  Fabian & @strategemme Where: St. Mungo’s Hospital When: Jan 18, Memorial Service

He’d seen many Order members milling about, various states of grief apparent in their faces. The younger members in particular, he imagined, would be hit harder. And it was true that Fabian wasn’t unmoved himself, of course he wasn’t, particularly to lose many of their own at once. Even so, as he moved from circle to circle, brushing hands and sharing sympathies with aquaintances and friends, he felt the futility of the evening. Doge, Emma, Gideon, they were all better remembered on the battlefield.

The thing was, anywhere could be a battlefield these days. That fact alone put Fabian on the alert now and it was only few he trusted enough to really unstill himself around. His brother was one, but he hadn’t seen him since the chapel. Emmeline was another - and there she was, just in sight at the other end of the room. 

It had not been long since he had last spoken to her. They had met in the aftermath of the battle, it had become like a ritual to wordlessly seek each other out after they lost someone - that alone, operating without a plan, was not something Fabian did much of these days. Emmeline was younger than Fabian, but not as young as some of the children fighting on their side. In wisdom, she certainly had most of them beat. It hadn’t taken long for the two to discover that they lay their ghosts to rest in the same way. 

And so he knew Emmeline didn’t want comfort. That behind her grave expression was most likely a mind as restless as his own. He approached cautiously, “Caught sight of any of our uninvited guests?” Fabian asked, a low murmur, his eyes having almost of their own accord continued to track certain people around the room. Nott. Malfoy.  Respectable members of the public, they were as welcome as anyone … but something in Fabian hardened at the sight, a resolve that he couldn’t ignore. 

Now more than ever, the Order required unity. And, tragic though it was, tonight was all about sharing in grief, in tales of the dead, in self-directed destruction for all the actions went unaccomplished. The emotions thrumming through the collective’s veins with each wretched heartbeat were varied, yet they all stemmed from the general principle of loss. 

Despite her best efforts (a dozen tomes, sleepless nights, the bottom of a bottle of scotch), she had yet to fully erase the dull ache in her chest whenever they lost one of their own. It typically only appeared immediately following the blow, and it was enough to spend an evening with Fabian in sullen denial. Until tonight, at least. Emmeline couldn’t keep her eyes off Amelia, couldn’t completely ignore the way she wore grief regally yet deeply. Tonight’s loss wasn’t personal to Emmeline, but it was to Amelia; that was enough to resurrect that ache, dull but constant. 

So she took to distracting herself from it. It was easy enough to do her rounds, checking on each of their younger members. They were newer to loss, and they wore their wounds like bleeding hearts upon their sleeves. A headcount was enough to ensure that they were all accounted for, albeit it breaking in new ways. She wanted to reach out, to staunch the bleed and ebb the pain, but she’d learned years ago that it was impossible to heal others while you were injured yourself. 

After accounting for her own, Emmeline turned to those she would be quite happy without. Losses on both sides necessitated a showing of grief by all, yet she couldn’t help but wonder how anyone was expected to view the wake as anything other than a potential battleground. 

Luckily, Fabian always seemed to be on the same page as her, often down to the same sentence, perhaps the same letter. “Far too many of them,” she answered, “though I’d say the same if there were only one stalking about.” She didn’t know the... political alignment of everyone in attendance, but she was well versed in bloodlines. 

“They’re making a fair show of it all.” Her gaze had been fixated on the people around her, and it was just now that she turned to look at Fabian. Her shoulders softened gently, and she allowed herself a moment to enjoy trusted company. Surrounded by potential adversaries, she found immense comfort in Fabian’s safety. 

“Seems like a decent time to bring our enemies close. Have you spoken with anyone yet?” 

[strategemme]

@unspeakableprewett

[strategemme]

I THINK WITH MY HEART AND I MOVE WITH MY HEAD

EMMELINE VANCE: Character Task No. 1

𝖖 𝖚 𝖔 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

The lion cannot protect himself from traps, and the fox cannot defend himself from wolves. One must therefore be a fox to recognize traps, and a lion to frighten wolves. I don't trust society to protect us, I have no intention of placing my fate in the hands of men whose only qualification is that they managed to con a block of people to vote for them. They used to say that if Man was meant to fly, he’d have wings. But he did fly. He discovered he had to. There are things that have to be done and you do them and you never talk about them. You don't try to justify them. They can't be justified. You just do them. Then you forget it. Due to personal reasons, I will be performing vigilante justice. 

𝖇 𝖆 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈

NAME: Emmeline L. Vance; there isn’t a soul (presently) alive that knows what the “L” stands for. NICKNAMES: Em; other abbreviations of her name are generally acceptable as long as you don’t try to call her Emmie.  AGE: 22 BIRTHDAY: August 27, 1957 GENDER: Female PRONOUNS: She/Her

𝖋 𝖆 𝖒 𝖎 𝖑 𝖞

MOTHER: Florence Vance neé Chevalier ( 50 ) { born in France, moved to England after marrying Devon } // muggle  FATHER: Col. Devon Vance ( 57 ) { recently retired from the British Army } // muggle  SIBLINGS: Anthony Vance ( 28 ) { named after a dear friend of Devon’s that was killed during the Second World War } // muggle 

𝖕 𝖍 𝖞 𝖘 𝖎 𝖈 𝖆 𝖑 𝖆𝖙𝖙𝖗𝖎𝖇𝖚𝖙𝖊𝖘

FACE CLAIM: Demet Özdemir BUILD: Average height, athletic HAIR: Long, worn in waves on nights requiring effort and otherwise tossed into a bun   HAIR COLOR: Brunette EYE COLOR: Brown SKIN COLOR: Tan DOMINANT HAND: Right { she’s pitiful when it comes to her left hand }  ANOMALIES: (1) Scar across her left palm from making a blood-pact as a ten year old; it’s so faded now that you can only catch a gleam of silver in the bright sun. (2) Various small burns across her hands and forearms from healing poultices gone askew. SCENT: Vanilla and cedar wood; she’s worn the same perfume since her Hogwarts  ACCENT: Standard English  ALLERGIES: Cats  DISORDERS: Insomnia; she’s always attributed it to a general pace of “too much to do and too little time,” but there are nights when all she wants to do is collapse into her bed yet finds herself condemned to staring at the ceiling; many people make the mistake of believing that she doesn’t need sleep to operate, but her history of errors speaks otherwise.  FASHION: She spends far more time in lime green robes than she cares for, and thus compensates with a wardrobe full of neutral colors. She still feels more comfortable in muggle attire than wizarding robes, and thus is seen frequently in various combinations of jeans, blouses, and boots.  NERVOUS TICS: After years of having her tics evaluated and erased, Emmeline has largely eradicated any tells of nervousness. Old habits die hard, however, and with the stress of the war mounting, she’s falling back into drumming her index and middle finger on any solid surface capable of absorbing her anxiety. As she’s assumed a leadership position, she’s also taken up the habit of pacing while waiting for her teams of tier three operatives to return.  QUIRKS: (1) With the current travel restrictions, Emmeline has fallen back into driving. She learned during one of her summers away from Hogwarts, and her trusty Vauxhall Viva has carried her across Britain and back several times over. (2) When approach Diagon Alley for pleasure, Emmeline prefers to enter through the Leaky Cauldron. There’s something symbolic about crossing from Muggle to Wizarding London. (3) If Emmeline starts something, she has to finish. It doesn’t matter how long it takes, she cannot abandon a task already underway. It is one of the reasons she spends so long planning: planning necessitates time and distance while action must be immediate. 

𝖑 𝖎 𝖋 𝖊 𝖘 𝖙 𝖞 𝖑 𝖊

RESIDES: Puddlemere, England { London has always been home, and her work at St. Mungo’s frequently brings her into the city. But as war rears its head, Emmeline has opted for more strategic ground. The community of Puddlemere is welcoming to muggleborns, and her proximity to other Order members offers safety that could never be found in city streets. } BORN: London, England  RAISED: Too many places to count, though Emmeline isn’t partial to declaring military barracks as her hometown. Jokingly, she’ll say that Hogwarts was the most permanent home she had while growing up. More seriously, she’ll consider herself a Londoner.  PETS: A tawny owl named Machiavelli, though she considers him more of a useful friend than a pet.  CAREER: Healer { additionally, a vigilante; she offers free... how shall we say.. r e t r i b u t i o n to muggleborn and half-blood families that need a little extra muscle, be it of the offensive or defensive sort. } EXPERIENCE: In the medical field, Emmeline has specialized in accident and emergency, though it seems every Witch or Wizard only deems medical care necessary in such cases. Outside St. Mungo’s, she has frequented several underground dueling clubs to keep her skills sharp.  EMPLOYER: St. Mungo’s POLITICAL AFFILIATION: The Order of the Phoenix  BELIEFS: The the Wizarding community is in desperate need of some muggle influence (preventative medicine, to start, but automobiles, microwaves, and telephones would be a wonderful addition). The motivation of purebloods to eradicate such influence only keeps the community from advancing and reaching full potential, and the mounting war is representative of the collision between the old world and the new. (That said, she’s strongly of the belief that no one should have to die while seeking out inclusivity.)  MISDEMEANORS: Nothing that has found its way onto her record.  FELONIES: Being a muggleborn is starting to damn well feel like one.  DRUGS: Never. As much as Emmeline has a tendency to lock herself within her mind, she has yet to seek out drugs as a key.  SMOKES: Unfortunately. She knows she shouldn’t, but nicotine is often the only thing capable of taking the edge off and stimulating her focus at the same time. It’s a necessary evil, and her pocket is rarely without a pack  ALCOHOL: A taste for scotch runs in the family, and it’s often one of the most expensive items on her list of expenses for the month. She refuses to touch it while in the process of acting, but it plays a large role in her planning stages.  DIET: Emmeline never managed to find the time to take up cooking, and as such, she depends on local takeout.  LANGUAGES: English, French  PHOBIAS: Deep water { she adores swimming, but will never go so deep that her toes can’t graze the bottom } ; failure { a common fear, but many years passed where she refused to speak up in class because her fear of being wrong was greater than her confidence in being right; now those days have passed and she’s perhaps too passionately outspoken, but if she isn’t complete convinced of something, the words will never pass her lips } ; death { she’s grazed the reaper more times than she can count, either in her own life or accompanying the paths of others. still, she can’t imagine what it would be like to see her own funeral. she acts with certainty and confidence, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t fear what is on the other side of that bright green flash. } HOBBIES: Reading, board games or cards, camping, pick-up games of very, very, very amateur Quidditch  TRAITS: I never dreamed about success; I worked for it.  { + }: Hardworking, clever, frequently compassionate (but...) { - }: Occasionally apathetic, subconsciously manipulative, righteous 

𝖋 𝖆 𝖛 𝖔 𝖗 𝖎 𝖙 𝖊 𝖘

LOCATION: Diagon Alley; it is the place where she first felt that her magic was a blessing rather than a curse, and it continues to instill that childlike hope in her whenever she visits. It’s one of the few bright places remaining.  SPORTS TEAM: Puddlemere United, naturally. She’s only recently moved to Puddlemere, but she has a long history of training Mediwitches and Mediwizards during Puddlemere’s practices and matches, and as such has brushed shoulders with the team just enough to be emotionally invested in their success.  GAME: Chess (of either the muggle or wizarding variety)  MUSIC: She knows the correct answer to this is anything orchestral, yet Goodbye Yellowbrick Road is the most frequently-played record in her flat.  MOVIES: The Godfather, Patton, Saturday Night Fever FOOD: Her mother’s Beef Wellington. She’s yet to find its rival.  BEVERAGE: Scotch, Earl Grey COLOR: Light green (but certainly not lime, damn those robes) 

𝖒 𝖆 𝖌 𝖎 𝖈

ALUMNI HOUSE: Ravenclaw  WAND (length, flexibility, wood, & core): 11.25in, sturdy, redwood, dragon heartstring AMORTENTIA: Leather, incense, cotton  PATRONUS: Hawk  BOGGART: The visage of the first patient that died due to her negligence. It isn’t an exact replica from her memories, but one that is in the process of decomposing. It’s propped up in a bed like the ones populating St. Mungo’s. 

𝖈 𝖍 𝖆 𝖗 𝖆 𝖈 𝖙 𝖊 𝖗

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Neutral good  MBTI: ENTJ MBTI ROLE: Analyst ENNEAGRAM: Type 8  ENNEAGRAM ROLE: The Achiever  TEMPERAMENT: Choleric WESTERN ZODIAC: Virgo  CHINESE ZODIAC: Rooster PRIMAL SIGN: Corgi TAROT CARD: The Chariot TV TROPES: Lady of War, Female Empowerment Song, Historical In-Joke, Showing Up Chauvinists  SONGS: Tongues -- Joywave // History Has Its Eyes on You -- Christopher Jackson // Come With Me Now -- KONGOS // Vindicated -- Dashboard Confessional // Baba O’Riley -- The Who // Vienna -- Billy Joel // Machine -- MisterWives // Kill Your Heroes -- AWOLNATION // Sabotage -- Beastie Boys 

𝖎 𝖉 𝖊 𝖔 𝖑 𝖔 𝖌 𝖎 𝖊 𝖘

Muggle influence will do more good for the wizarding world than it ever will harm

Encourages second chances but condemns those that require a third 

People should expect to get out of the world what they put in (no more, no less) 

Violence should be a last resort, but damn if it isn’t a definitive one

Those that are neutral in a time of oppression have chosen the side of the oppressor 

Sugar has no right to be in coffee or tea 

History repeats itself; if you can’t find a parallel within the pages of history books, the situation simply hasn’t developed thoroughly enough yet 

Cheap scotch is worse than sewer water