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Seventeen-year-old wizard at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry; character account for the roleplay wandsandmagic-rp.tumblr.com
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Simon Crow (caw caw)
World of the Dead || Open [ AU ]

Simon’s fingers were beginning to blister from the day-to-day work he did for the colony of survivors. He had grown up on a farm, so he was used to hauling and toting heavy things, or getting a little dirty for whatever needed doing, but it had been a long time since his hands had formed fresh callouses. The time he’d spent outside of the compound hadn’t required a lot of heavy things to be carried. You traveled light, only took with you what you needed to survive. Now that he was part of the colony, it was back to the grind. Simon supposed he didn’t mind so much. It was work that his body was used to. He was tall and gangling—not one you’d expect to be a good worker—but it was where he could stop thinking and do something productive for a while. It was like an escape.

He was currently carrying a jug of contaminated water toward the edges of the compound. It had been tainted somehow, and a couple of people had gotten sick from it, so they couldn’t afford to keep it around. Rather than risk leaving the contaminant (which they had no idea what it was) in the compound, it was Simon’s job to dump it out over the other side. He set it down beside him, unscrewed the top of the jug, and hefted it against the edge. He didn’t bother looking where the water was landing. In fact, he was hardly paying attention. Today wasn’t a day where he wanted to see the Walkers.

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Whoop—

marc-stewart:

Merlin, you make it way too easy for me.

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Uh, I do…? With… what, exactly?

(Source: simon-crow)

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Whoop—

That’s a… yeah…

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Mmmmhhhmmmmmm…

alex-orrick:

… do you need help?

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Yeah, pretty desperate. But I think I just made my tutor quit, so… 

(Source: simon-crow)

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Mmmmhhhmmmmmm…

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Some of this sounds a bit funny… [Emily Crow]

elizabeth-burwell:

Hey, Emily.

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How have you been? Oh! Here — these are my favorite — Mint-Chocolate frogs.

I’ve been great, thanks. How about you? 

Uh… Liz? The bag’s moving…

(Source: simon-crow)

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Some of this sounds a bit funny… [Emily Crow]

elizabeth-burwell:

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It’s taffy made from a certain kind of water. Try…this one. It taste like licorice.

Liz! Hi! This one? Okay… Wow, that’s really yummy. Thanks.

(Source: simon-crow)

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Some of this sounds a bit funny… [Emily Crow]

What’s… ‘Gillywater Toffee’?

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Just A Phone Call Away || self-para

The stretch from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade had never seemed so annoyingly long. Despite the slick ground, Simon threw his spindly limbs into a brisk run, the announcement jammed into his coat pocket. At first, he hadn’t been too enthused about the little bit of post. Usually Afriti brought him hospital notes, holiday cards, the usual like that. But this time he was glad he read it right after receiving it. 

The whole school was going to see a Puddlemere-Holyhead match. A real-live-flesh-and-blood pro match! Not once had he ever been to an event like this. He had been so excited, in fact, that he had nearly skipped over the entire section detailing family members’ involvement. Needless to say, he was remedying that right away.

Simon’s shoelaces proved a small trouble when they nearly cost him his balance, but luckily a drunk set of wizards stumbling out of the pub prevented him from toppling all the way over. They hit one another like dominoes; Simon hitting the first wizard, then he his friend, and then his friend hit the ground. He dispensed apologies as quick and best he could while the pair muddled around in their stupor, but it seemed there was little need. They barely even realized he was there, let alone that someone else had thrown them off their kilter.

Simon opened the nearest shop door and came just shy of vaulting over the front counter and onto the girl behind it, he ran to it so fervently.

"Please," He panted, the run from the school finally catching up with him. "Your phone… Can I use your phone?"

The girl raised a brow at him, taking a step away, but she pointed out an archaic-looking wooden box with something he supposed resembled a phone hanging from the decayed grain.

"Thanks."

He trudged over, wiping his palms on the thighs of his jeans before picking up the heavy iron phone and putting the receiver to his ear. The numbers were faded (the ‘#’ key and the ‘0’ were both missing, and he swore that 4, 5, and 7 had lichen growing on them) but he had little trouble inputting his home number. He just hoped someone was home from the hospital today. He wanted them to be able to come out so badly… 

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Huh…

thelovelymelodyann:

Wow…I guess that’s cool…

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… I mean, out loud it sounds kinda lame… I guess it’s not as interesting as I thought…

(Source: simon-crow)

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