A Magical Roleplaying Experience 

Profiles of characters with first names that start with Q - S.
 #26879  by Sen Watanabe

“ and death,
in his shame,

built a kingdom from dust

as penance, as proof,

that his fingers were made

for more than destruction. ”

-emily palermo

    NAME Sen Thadeus Watanabe-Bouvier
    RESIDENCE Knockturn Alley, England
    BIRTH 13th November, 1974 in Paris, France
    DEMOGRAPHICS French/Japanese pure-blooded wizard
        i. Bartender for The White Wyvern (1992-1996)
        ii. Accountant for Watchdogs Security (1997-current)
    EDUCATION Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 1991 Ravenclaw alumni

    PATRONUS Red-crowned Crane (Grus japonensis)
    WAND 10" black pine, tengu wing, and rigid
    AMORTENTIA Whiskey, tobacco, black coffee, old books, rosewater
    BOGGART Being tied to unwanted committments
    ERISED Visiting his mother and being welcomed with open arms
    ASTROLOGY Scorpio
    MORAL ALIGNMENT Lawful neutral


        nonverbal magic
        wandless magic


        Lorraine Delphine Bouvier, mother
        Watanabe Atsuo, father
        Jude Darlington, acquaintance
        Helena Sun, cousin
        Nola Fitzralph, childhood friend
        Oliver Villiers, acquaintance

“ yesterday my sorrows
were silkworms
building a cocoon.
today they are black moths. ”

-antonio machado


    Sen remembers that he was born and bred in an elegant suite in Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Paris. He remembers finding his mothers art collection to be the most fantastic thing that could ever grace this world. He recalls the lingering smell of his stern cigar-smoking father and the sound of his voice when he was yelling at mother. He doesn't know what they argue about, except that his father cannot tolerate his wife's hedonistic and pretentious lifestyle and lack of parental responsibility. She cannot seem to tolerate him much either. He never asks why they bothered getting married. He doesn't have the chance to.

Sen's cigar-smoking father packs all his bags and belongings and moves his four-year-old son to London. Sen cries every day for three weeks straight. His father tells him with a somber expression that Mother isn't ready to be a mother, not yet anyway. Mother wants to party and drink wine from Bordeaux and dance in five-inch heels until the next morning. Mother wants to flirt with older men and wear expensive gems. Mother was forced to marry a man from a completely different world because her father told her to. And then her father died and she inherited everything and then marriage didn't seem all that interesting from that day on.

Most of all, everything will be better just the two of them. Sen doesn't question what his father says. He swallows this information like bitter medicine. He tries to forget the view of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées from his mother's penthouse, attempts to erase the burdening scent of rosewater that follows his memory of his mother. Her exquisite art collection is slowly forgotten. He learns English with alarming ease. Nothing of another life in France is ever mentioned. Young Sen doesn't tell his father but he wonders what terrible things Mother did to hurt Father the way he's been hurt. And Sen can tell that his father is deeply hurting, mortally wounded. It makes him grow weary with age. He blames his parents for that.


    Standing by his fathers side at Platform 9 3/4, Sen is a scowling mess. He doesn't understand why he has to go to this Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. His heart lies in the grandeur courtyards of Beauxbatons, the school his mother went to. It has been seven years since his father moved him to the grey abyss of London. He still holds onto his French accent with an iron grip.

The sorting hat shuffles his lonely mind and places him in Ravenclaw. It seems only fitting, Sen concluded as he followed his fellow housemates to his new home in the highest tower. Every week he writes a ceremonial letter to his dear mother. She seldom replies. Eventually, she does not reply at all.

He has few acquaintances during his schooling years and fewer friends. Many evenings are spent alone with the Prussian blue curtains drawn around his four-poster bed. Sen concludes that he doesn't need people, not really. He has his books and his music. He enjoys muggle jazz and blues because his mother used to play it. He reads the works of Machiavelli, Dante, and Baudelaire because that is all that he can find in his father's study. His professors always write the same sordid message at the bottom of every school report. He's a smart boy, if only he cared a little more. For Sen, this is his self-fulfilling prophecy: if only he cared just a little more.



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