Sorting (Term Fourteen)

[dantel]

First Name:Dante
Last Name:Locksworth
Age:14
Appearance:

History:

Felicia met Roderick Locksworth whilst he was chasing a death eater in Paris. They fell in love and married quickly, where she moved from her homeland France to live with Roderick in the UK. Dante was born on a cold winters night as Dante Regan Locksworth in England near London where his parents lived. His father, Roderick worked for the ministry of magic as an Auror and his mother worked as a private magic tutor to the rich wizarding families. Needless to say they were never short on money and Dante always had the best things given to him. However when he was only 5 his father died whilst on a job for the ministry and heartbroken his mother moved him back to her home country France to be closer to her remaining family. Felicia continued to work hard as a private magic tutor and even without his father helping to support them they grew up comfortably just outside Paris. However now that Roderick was gone Felicia felt the need to mother and swaddle Dante more than ever, meaning he grew up with everything he needed and was a little spoiled.

As Dante grew up it was obvious he was a bright child and he took after his mother for his skill in magic, but after his father in his curiousity for all things dangerous. Felicia feared that Dante would grow up wanting to follow in his fathers footsteps and so always tried encouraging him in subjects he obviously had no interest in to try and get his mind away from the dangerous lines of work his curiousity might lead him. She began teaching him magic from a young age and although he was skilled at what he did he began to gather a very lazy attitude to learning. Because he picked up spells easily he was easily distracted when being taught and Felicia hoped that the stricter structure of Beauxbatons school would help him channel his intelligence into his learning of magics. She enrolled him and awaited for the day he would get his letter to start his schooling.

On the eve of his 14th birthday Dante received his letter and his mother couldnt be prouder. Although she saw this as the start of his education proper, he saw it as a chance to finally become the independant person he wanted to be. He was happy to be leaving his old life behind, living up to his mothers expectations. He promised her before he left that he would take the subjects they had discussed, however he had other ideas on his mind. He wanted to explore the riskier and more interesting subjects, leaving things like charms behind him he knew that his time at Beauxbatons would calm his cravings for a more risky life. In his past his mother had also controlled who he had as friends, he knew that soon she would have no control over that and he could already feel the rogue inside him pushing to be free. He would soon be doing everything his way and not his mothers way.

Personality:

Although Dante grew up under the sheltered wing of his mother he grew tired of this life and is determined to be the rebel he knows he is inside. Although he has never been a bad child he craves a more interesting life that lies in the paths that his mother so desperately tried shielding him from. Hearing stories of his father as an Auror and the adventures he used to go on drew him closer to more dangerous interests whe it came to magic. Although he complied with his mothers wishes at home, now he is starting school he wishes to let the more adventurous side of him out. He is very intelligent and picks up magic quickly, but he is easily distracted and unless under a firm hand, can let his mind wander in class. Though this is less of a problem in classes he is really interested in, such as Defence Against the Dark Arts or the Dark Arts themselves.

Dante can come across as confident, though he is not always as sure as he seems. He loves attention from other students and likes to 'fit in' with the 'in' crowds. He likes being sociable with most people, though tried to project out a more 'bad boy.' Although to those who know him closely he is really quite sweet and sensitive. His need and desire to fit in can sometimes lead him into the wrong crowds, though he values his true friends highly he is not adversed to becoming friends with the right people to get what he wants and needs. Since he is used to being spoiled by his mother he can come across as a spoiled brat at times, especially if something doesnt go his way or he doesnt get something he wants. However it is something he has realised as a bad trait and is trying to keep his spoiled traits under control, though its not all that easy for him.

Sample RP:

Dante watched as his mother fussed over his suitcases and he sighed shaking his head slowly. His mother never let him do anything by himself, and yet she wondered why he seemed dependant on her. He knew she did it out of love, that she didnt want him sharing the same fate as his father. But his father had died doing something brave and noble, so why shouldnt he feel proud to want to be like him? All the stories had facinated him and now he was starting school he was finally going to get the chance to study what he wanted to study... Not what his mother felt she should teach him. He knew he had promised to take certain subjects, but in all honesty he wasnt interested in them. Charms was a totaly bore, he would much rather take Defence against the Dark Arts. However he knew his mother would never agree to it, she would be scared that like his dad... He would enjoy it. Of course his mum telling him not to take that subject too seriously wasnt going to stop him from excelling in the class. Though he might just have to grin and bare his way through some subjects just to please her.

'Come on mum, if you dont stop fussing I'll never get there!' He sighed impatiently as she finally closed his suitcase after making sure he had everything he needed plus extra... 'Just checking you had everything... Now if you need anything, just send me an owl okay?' He rolled his eyes and nodded 'Yes mamon...' He hugged her gently as she flung her arms around him, he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. Him going to school was really going to be hard on her, he felt a little guitly, knowing she would be on her own now. Though he had promised he would write often and let her know how things were going. He was excited about his new life alone and away from his sheltered upbringing... At school no one would know him and it was an oppertunity for him to become the person he had always wanted to be.

Of course he didnt really know what to expect in the big wide world, but he was sure he would be able to cope. He was going to fit in... He knew he would, he would make sure of that. This was just the start of his adventures and he was determined to have plenty of them. Even if they were behind his mothers back. As he saw the coach arrive he turned and gave his mother one last kiss on the cheek as she waved her wand, his luggage loading itself inside. This was the start of something new, he didnt look back as he stepped inside, knowing that the look on his mothers face would break his heart and only taint any impression he was going to make on his future school mates. He didnt want to be cruel, but that was simply the way it had to be now... He was alone and fending for himself and this was what he wanted... What he craved.

It must be Rouerie.

[rosyeve]

rosy eve-locksley

is not your average seventeen year old, because, really, is there an average seventeen year old? she's just another contribution to the various cliques and types of teenagers there are. rosy has shoulder-blade-length blond hair with mouse-brown highlights. she has fair, pale skin that's tight around her cheekbones. she has stunning blue eyes framed by thick blond lashes. she's averaged height, a little under-weight and very pretty. you wouldn't think a delicate looking person like her was a werewolf, but hey, looks can be are deceiving.
rosy was born in london, having an older sister named dawn. her parents were split up, and she lived with her father, francesco. by the time rosy was four, and starting at a muggle school, dawn had moved out of home. she was very rebellious, and her father had gotten very sick of her. he'd told her to move out of home, or pick up her act, so being the girl she was, dawn moved out. this left rosy very lonely, as her father was a rich man and very busy, leaving no time to bond or socialize with his daughter. ever since rosy had noticed that she didn't really have many friends (around the age of six) she had started to go for long walks when her father was out, and not returning long after he had come home. francesco was too busy to notice rosy's long absences, and one night it was too late.
rosy's walks had taken her to a huge forest a few miles away from her father's huge apartment.at first the forest was quiet when she entered, but once it and its occupants had gotten used to her gentle presence, the animals stopped hiding and it became a very lively place. rosy loved it. but one night she didn't come home, because she was too frightened to. she had been wandering her forest when suddenly all the animals had fled without warning. rosy'd heard thundering steps behind her, and she'd spun around to find a huge beast breathing in her face. it had lunged at her neck, and after that she had awoken lying limp on the ground, her back pressed painfully to a tree trunk. it took her weeks to realize what she'd become. and when she did, she fled like the animals had that night. when she came back to her more human senses she found herself on the edge of france. she had no memory of travelling there, but she didn't care. she knew, being what she was, she had to restart her life. she had to wait a year before starting school, and in that time she organized herself, preparing for what was to come. to this day, rosy has been a very smart student, with no friends, however a very clever mind and brilliant focus. she keeps to herself as much as possible, and isn't social enough to know if she's kind or considerate. she stays out of everyone's way, and tries to stay unnoticed. even the girls in her dormitory have to be reminded of her name whenever they mention her - which isn't often.

Rosy took her first step into her forest. It was a clear difference between the forest and the suburb in which she lived, so it wasn't hard to tell when you had exited one and entered the other. But she didn't have to look to know where she was. The second she'd entered, a heavy peace had fallen over her like a thick, warm and soft quilt. It was like the feeling you got when you were so tired you could drop, then you lay into bed and wrapped the doona around you. All the sounds of the suburbs were muffled by the silence of the forest. The silence apart from the sharp but quiet twitterings of the birds, and the soft trees moving according the the breeze. She was home. Home where everyone loved her, and she loved everyone.
Rosy looked to her right as a blue bird landed on her shoulder. She stroked its smooth head and smiled to herself. This place was more familiar than where she slept at night. She would have said where she lived, but as she spent most of her time her, this was where she lived. Rosy was about to walk up to a tree and climb it when suddenly the bird launched itself from her shoulder and flew out of sight. She paused, her hand on the rough trunk of an oak tree. She glanced around herself. All the animals that were there before had fled without warning. Frowning to herself, Rosy continued her climb. Six seconds later, she stopped again. She could hear something approaching. At first it sounded like a human blundering stupidly through the forest, so she dropped neatly to the ground. But when the footsteps turned into thunderous steps, louder than a horse's, fear overtook her. She knew she had to get back up the tree fast. She turned to do just that, but instead of the tree being a meter away, a huge, magnificent beast was less than that from her face. Rosy took an involuntary step back, and tripped on a root. This was all the beast needed to gain the upper hand, which it probably had from the beginning. It licked its lips, nicking its tongue on it's razor-sharp fangs, but didn't notice it. It's focus was on Rosy. And it lunged.

Please re-do your application with the form given by us.

[N, Worth]

November 4th 1920, Seventeen years old forever

With an uncertain sense of elation, this fellow was born the very same month he was named for: November. Standing in 6 feet of height, his temper can be described as natural when it comes to something he is interested on and pulls him to do as he wishes. His penetrating gray eyes make him impossible to tame for the girls he fancies, practically having them eating from the tip of his fingers just by willing it, arching a brow with excitement whenever something turns out to be amusing enough for his exquisite taste. Coming from the icy lands of Scotland, his frozen heart does not let the entrance to anyone and without any warning; it can change as soon as it started. Love is not something he needs, since there is nothing he actually does need. His dark sways lightly, framing his pale features, chiselled by the hands from an ancient deity, with the appearance of Dionysius, the lust god, moved by the desire and the pleasure. This strange hunter does not enjoy the company as he rambles alone in the darkness of his solitude. A whisper coming from his lips surely would lead you to a mesmerizing dream, dozing off slowly until you are unable to escape from his hypnotizing mood.



The chilly mist clogged the fields the day he was born, in the incipient rain falling down over the Castle in which he first saw the slightly bright light in the beginnings of November, brought to life by his mother, a conceited woman that couldn’t stand the pressure of birth and died by the very next day. Raised by his father, November saw him marrying twice and wasting his life the most he could, finding himself alone with his thoughts as he never seemed to care for him or for what he wanted. In order to remember her fondly, his father named him with the month in which his love had faded, followed by her name, and letting him conserve his Last Name for personal reasons. The child was meant to suffer the lack of love since he first contemplated the cruel reality in which he had been introduced; knowing by heart for his father mouth, that he would become a Wizard someday, like the Pure-Blood he was.

In the corner of his room, the boy used to spend his days in the sorrow of now having someone around that would care for him. His secluded attitude brought him issues ever since his father accused him from being mentally ill, forcing him to study for hours and to learn everything he could by school teaching; considering him insane to be in companion of other children that could be affected by his abnormal state. November grew up with spite to his own father, becoming in loath the more he restrained him. Having a step-sister, he wasn’t completely left by his own, but he forged a cocky personality and the notion that he had to overcome everything by himself, and with no one helping him. Lisle was always taking care of him and trying to make him smile whenever he was blue, yet she couldn’t be called his sister at all, but otherwise, she was someone close to him, the enough for him to feel appreciation for her and to look after her whenever he could and Mr. Worth was prone to burst in anger. They had each other and nothing else, but that was sufficient for them to survive those awful times with their torn father.

Just his sheltered heart was filled throughout by the nearness of someone. The Castle worked as the perfect place to receive visitors and family there, and the precious cousin of Lisle whose beauty was beyond comprehension and gleeful aura had awakened him for the briefest of times, lighting his soul with her sweet touch. When both were twelve and the dawn was breaking on the horizon as they were lay on the grass, she giggled as their lips approached and the first sign of love had come to him. November loved her like anything else, and they were inseparable in every sense, unable to dart his eyes anywhere but her glinting yellowish pupils and her silky chestnut locks of hair, falling smoothly down her back. With the years, the sentiment increased to the point of absolute devotion one for the other, especially him, who had her and only her to calm his grief and his desolated being, that ignored how to love and how to be loved before her.

November could understand him and his actions, but that didn’t justify them, or the chaos around him. He used to stare at him for hours whenever he gazed at the reflection of his late beloved and the memories of the glorious ages of her companion. However, he was strong and he convinced himself from standing up from bed everyday to carry on with his life and make everything for the new family he was in charge of. His will was greater than his pain, yet it was a matter of years for him to finally surrender to the tiredness and the, in spite of the people around him, desert notion that reigned his soul. One morning of November, just when his birthday was starting, he got up from bed with a flick, aiming himself towards the giant hall that concealed the living room where his dead father lay on the red velvet couch, embracing the photograph of his mother as his face reflected what could be called a grin, jubilant because of being able to reach her finally. He was buried, without November’s presence, since he was too much hurt to attend the black ritual of the death. He had read in thousand of books about death as a door, as a beginning, and not as an end, yet he couldn’t tolerate the fact or watch how the last piece of his family was crumbling down to shattered parts that looked further to him than anything in the world.

Having the absolute power over the inheritance, he was given the castle and everything belonging to his deceased progenitor, November accepted the responsibilities and assumed his position as the new owner of the lands and the richness he now possessed. But that didn’t consulate his heart when the only love he had achieved to get was seized from his hands by the cold touch of death once more. His step-mother was determined to abandon him and everything he had built with his father when she received her correspondent part, walking away with the possibility of seeing her love again. Incapable of standing the solitary confinement, he travelled to France, leaving his Castle behind as he pursued her to France, where he found out she had passed out because of a rare disease and she wasn’t going to get back. Ever since then, her name would be erased from his mind forever to soothe the ache within his chest.

Defeated by destiny, his heart shelled again, covered by the layers of iron, impossible to break, moulding a distant and conceited personality on him. With the pass of the decades, he noticed he hadn’t been growing old, perceiving the silky smooth texture of his skin just when he turned seventeen and ever since remaining the same in uncertainty of the events. Still human and having the need of feeding himself and sleeping, confusion consumed him, making him to isolate himself from the world and the reality. Without the awareness of what to do with his fortune and the future ahead, he was intercepted by a letter. Apparently, in some nook of Europe, hidden from the rest of the world, a Magic Academy wanted him. Since he had been born, he noticed he was special in a way, and the opportunity of escaping from the world was too much tempting to let it go. It was something against the first impression of his father, and it could guide him to a bearing life, where to forgive the past and write a whole new story.



November is a quiet sixteen year old lad that ponders about everything and does it often, to remember whether good or bad things and learn from them. As you look deep inside his gray pupils, you can realize of how much distress inhabits inside him. Nevertheless, he is arrogant and cocky in his actions, almost not worrying of what happens to others but himself. He could be considered bias to elegance and to exquisite taste, since it was the way he was taught; accustomed to fancy stuff and uncommon rarities that solely him can possess because of his wealthy condition. Used to speak little, his voice is soft and reserved, just like one of his caresses; seductive with the immediate contact; even though he is not a person fond of talking and conversations tend to impatient him. Silence is a good companion for him, but the thing he loves the most, is to play his violin or the piano in the intimacy of his room; composing his own melodies as well when the rush of inspiration besets him suddenly. The instrument is his best friend since he was four and he was learning to play it properly.

When it comes to relationships, this fellow is really bound to be found with a girl in his arms, tempting and promiscuous just the little enough to arouse the girls by his simple scent. His physique is chiselled as his features, but it does not come for free. He is a runner, and he runs whenever he wants to get rid of a thought, always carrying a notebook with him in case some music comes to him. Besides of the other work out routines he uses to do, ever since he has nothing better to do instead. Not attached to books, he is a free spirit that loves the running sensation and prefers to be alone in his own path. So he is not able to create bonds with people, or at least he does not see it that way when he meets someone new. The love of his life is dead, and his unnatural state makes him incapable of fitting himself with any girl because of the ignorance of how long it can be for him to stay like that. Not like a vampire that can transform the one he loves into something of the like, he has no one else but himself.

Seclusion has made him a pretty much insecure person when it comes about relating himself with others and opening himself to people. He is a shell that can’t be opened by any means. The fact of losing the beings he loved had made him someone that doesn’t trust people easily and that mistrust can show every once in a while, no matter of who is the person he’s talking to. In spite his exterior displays seriousness, he is gleeful and sarcastic, just the combination of himself and his former lover, having a great sense of humour whenever it’s needed, but he tries not to laugh, because laughter brings him sad memories. It does not mean he is blue all along; he likes to smile from time to time as always it has nothing to do with his past. November is fond of meeting new people when they are agreeable and they accept him the way he is; which is something really rare to occur to him.

Sample rp:

Staring at the glassy window, his eyes wandered from the frame to the satin curtains clogging his view. It was a strange fabric, replete of dust since he hadn’t been there for the past 3 days. His room was empty, except for the huge bed in the centre, the ancient furniture and the old rows of books accommodated on his desk as he clenched the handle from his wand, waving it from left to right in a pretty common sequence, having a jab before sheathing it again, as he just shrugged inwardly, sensing the thrill of being able to use it from that on. The letter of acceptance had been received just a couple of days ago and it still seemed like it hadn’t even being opened yet. He sighed, tabbing the surface of the windowsill, admiring the rain falling outside, filling the dense air and hindering his sight almost completely, replacing the silky blue sky with the white atmosphere now surrounding his castle. The great walls still called him in dreams, inviting him to stay there and to never abandon the place that had seen him grow and had been with him in every loss. The only comfort amongst the pain and the sorrow he had been forced to face.

His footsteps sounded loudly as he left the room, closing the door behind him as his strolling led him to the living room, to the exact couch in which his father had passed out with his last breath stirring fluently over the site, expanding to every corner, filling every space. Although it was all metaphorical and he was having delusions from the past, solitude had obliged him to be mental in a sort of way only himself could possibly understand. He stumbled himself on the cushions, feeling the soft texture fitting to his shape as he slowly started to sleep, little by little, he could breathe in and out, inducing himself into a deep trance. Just before dozing off completely, he halted, wincing inconspicuously as he straightened up instantly, grabbing his luggage as he walked through the entrance, contemplating the dark landscape as nostalgia beset him, gleaming at the place he would not see in a while; not until he returned from his new home.

“I shall be back...” his voice interrupted the silence, holding the knob as his hand pulled it lightly, making a cracking sound as it closed eventually, tugging as well, the doors of his memories closed, withholding the secrecy and the pain to put it aside and start all over. He turned around, gazing the absolute view of his immense palace as his servant opened an umbrella for him, saving him from the pouring rain as he aimed himself to the ostentatious car waiting for him down the ladder, walking smoothly as he just entered the vehicle, listening to the barely audible sound of the droplets tapping the ceiling, creating a pretty much harmonic melody, resting his head against the glass as the car began to move, fading on the horizon, past the golden gates from the main entrance, glancing at the endless fields of green that extent on the scene and ended with the start of the highway. His lids fell heavily, he hadn’t slept the last night because of the anxiety, but now he would be able to do so, until he reached his next destination.

Must be Sournois!

[math]

First Name:
Mathuis

Middle Name:
Rian

Last Name:
O'Callaghan

Nickname:
Math, Mathy, Matty, Irish

Age:
17

Birthday:
November 26

Appearance:


History:
George O'Callaghan was born in the 1950's in London, England. Though he was born in London, the man was a true French/ Ireland man. His family where on vacation when that happened to him. Now Jesselyn was pure blooded Irish, as well as a wizard. Both his parents were to be exact. Jesselyn went to Hogwarts and George was the one who went to Beauxbatons. The two met when George was in London on vacation with family. His mother? She was there visiting family. From there the two met my fate.

It was like any classic love story that you wouldn't think would end in twenty years. But back to this part, she was walking down the street and someone tried to snatch her bag, well George was around and ran after the guy. He couldn't get the purse but offered to by the girl another one. They did and before they split up he gave Jesse his number and walked away.

Three years later, the two love birds got married. They had the classic wedding to go with their classic love story. Just six months after that they were blessed with twin boys! They named them Mathuis Rian and Upton Zakkarii. With the two looking exactly alike, they had to color code them. Math was always in red and Upton had the color of green. It was easy for them to tell the two tots apart. While growing up, Math would be a butt and steal one of his brother's shirts and try to confuse the two. They did this only because they thought that the only you can wear this color was a stupid idea. But the whole color thing didn't last long. When they turned five, they just kept switching and they parents never really got mad.

When the tots hit the age of five, they had a new baby sister. So basically it was out with the tots and hello new baby girl! That was how life was for them. Always them be second best. It sucked. But going on, when Matty was seven he met his best friend. Her name was Shona Leigh O'Connor. The two would grow up to be the best friends. They were completely unseperatable. They tried to by sending them to Beauxbatons and moving to France. But that didn't stop them from always talking.

Life was like that. calm and with a few bumps. Nothing seemed to be really bad until George decided he didn't love Jesse anymore so he moved to London. Soon after that, Jesse was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was the worst couple of years of his life. He had to grow up fast and be there for his mom since their father never wanted to help with any of it. As soon as it was gone, they were so happy. (Oh did i forget to mention when they got the divorce that they moved back to Ireland?) Well, Math was so happy that Shona said they would celebrate with a few friends and they did.

That night something happened between the two best friends. Something that you would think would bring them closer together in nine months. They had a little girl, Stella Cadee, but along with the price of having he he lost his best friend. Shona died giving birth. It was the worst, but yet best day of his life. Shona's parents were pissed about their daughter dying, trying to give birth to his offspring, but they fell in love with the little girl and didn't want to get rid of her. So they came up with a little contract. Mathuis could still be her father, but he couldn't just up and go and expect to have Stella come with him. the only time she was to leave was if he wanted her down on break when he was at school other than that it was a big fat no.

So now Mathuis is a father for two years who has never been in love. He's trying to live his life and go to school. At the same time there is talk that the cancer might be up rising and the worse part, it could be fatal for Jesselyn.

Personality:
Math is much like a story book. You can guess what he is like just by looking at the cover but you truly won’t know him until you open the book up and read him. In other terms you have to get to know him. Despite the fact that he looks serious and stuck up is totally not him. Math is actually a very fun loving guy. He loves the simple things in life and enjoys them. People say he acts too old for his age but that is how he was brought up. The boy can get a bit of an anger issue and he also has trouble taking orders. He can be over protective at times over people like family and friends or even someone that has his heart.

Mathuis is the type of guy that likes to keep to himself and doesn't like to just tell people his problems. He feels that his problems are his own and no one else’s. He is also like most teens of his age, he doesn’t care about school all that much. He just wants to get pass it. When he gets mad he likes to be by himself. He does this so that he doesn’t freak out on anybody and hurts them. When he is sad, the boy likes to be alone. They have a pond near the back and he likes to just sit there by himself. It is actually soothing for him.

Love is just something he never experienced for himself. He is actually scared to fall in love. But he is a true gentleman when it comes down to it. Math can get a little bit over worried sometimes, that's just the way the guy is and he doesn't mean to be. He doesn't have a creative bone in his body besides being able to sing, but that's not really a talent to him.

Sample RP:
The gray orb boy sat at the edge of the lake. It was a sensible normal day. . . for once. He had a lot going through his mind lately. For instance his mother, Jessalyn, she got cancer and it was too late for them to cure, or so the doctors had said. So now because of this, in six months or less he could be moving from Ireland to Britain. And as far as he knew, Mathuis still hated that country. I mean nothing bad against it, he just couldn't stand it. It was so boring to him. Sighing, he shifted his hands to be leaning behind him while his legs were still indian style.

Mathuis, looked up at the sky. He was a calm person. not much of a fighter and maybe never will be. He just didn't have the urge to do it. Wow he was so the opposite of his meat head twin, Shaant. Shaant was always wanting to fight. It was crazy. He would always make people mad just to have a good few swings at their face. It was something that made him sick. Why fight for no reason? I mean if there was a reason for this fight, Matty would have been cool with it, but most of the stupid crap Shaant does, it is ridiculous!

Shaking his hair back into place as he looked at the water he felt a cool breeze on the make of his spine. It caused him to shake and shiver. Another thing he would most likely have to give up if he moved with his father would be, Stella. Stella was his baby girl. Literally. That was his 2 year old daughter. And the way he had things set up with the grandparents of hers and with him was if he left the country, besides going to school, he would loose her. She would not be able to visit or go live with him. He hated that idea the most. Since Shona, her mother, died it's just been different. I mean no he didn't love love her, but she was his best friend and they had a one night stand. I mean sure they could of if they stayed and maybe if she didn't die. But that all was another story for him to tell.

Math, got up from his spot and walked back towards the school. He skipped his first two classes and figured that he should go before he gets into bigger trouble.

It is very difficult to me to actually but I think it is Sournois, you have more from that house than from the other too,but careful, not necessarily all the qualities from it. Your personality is very confusing.

[gwensnow]

edited.
First Name: Gemma
Last Name: Snow
Age: 17
Appearance: Gemma Ward

History: Gemma is a half-blood, her dad was a wizard and her mom a muggle. When Gemma was two, her dad disappeared. He didn't come home that evening. Since, then Gemma has lived with her muggle mother, in London, her mom hardly making any money. It was quite though, for both of them. Gemma always wandered around, with animals at her heel, when she was a young girl, just like Snow White. The other children from their village used to look at her odd, as she danced around with flowery tops and old skirts. The truth was, many girls envied her innocent, big eyes, and her beautiful, long, blonde hair. Boys stared at her, curious, their hearts fluttering, as Gemma looked their way. No one talked to Gemma. She didn't complain. Some parents thought this odd girl should be sent to a mental hospital, but it was just that thewy envied Mrs. Snow's gorgeous daughter, who was different and wonderful without trying. Mrs. Snow cared more, she wasn't much like Gemma. She tried keeping her daughter inside, but it was no use. Once, Gemma even climbed out of her window. Gemma didn't know she was a witch, she thought she was an normal person living in the outskirts of London. She was quite wrong.
Personality: Gemma is an airy girl, and is quite care-free. She is often seen in winter swirling around, barefoot in the snow. Gem is very sweet, and loves animals. She loves to read, and writes up quotes she likes in an old journal her mother gave her before she left her home in the outskirts of London. She's a good listener, and has a soft soothing voice to calm your worries. She loves to wear faded pastels, and vintage. Many would descirbe her as whimsical. Gemma doesn't follow the crowd, many just seem to think she's odd. But many others envy her, some just hate Gemma because she doesn't try to be beautiful or whimsical. It just comes with her.
Pet: A snow white rabbit, named Bambi.
Sample RP: Gemma twirled around laughing as she fell upon a pile of leaves. She got up and started raking up the pile agan.
A boy from the village walked toward Gemma nervously starring at her silently.
"Hello, Gemma." the boy said softly.
Gemma's eyes turned onto the boy and she smiled, "Hello. I don't believe we've met before." she said airly.
"Er, no we haven't. I'm Ned." the boy said smiling now.
"Nice to meet, you Ned. Of course, it seems as though, you already know who I am." Gemma said her sweet voice travelig through the cold fall air.
"Is that your rabbit?" asked Ned a bit awkwardly.
But Gem took no notice of any awakwardness, she continued in her whimscial tone, "Yes, it is. That's Bambi. Bambi say hello."
The rabbit surprsingly looked up and chewed on a piece of carrot it was eating. It seemed to be saying hello.
"Bambi? I like that name, it's good for a rabbit." said Ned laughing a bit.
"I like to be unique." Gemma smiled even broader.
"Hey Gemma? I like how different you are." Ned said looking into Gemma's eyes.
Unfazed Gemma replied "I thought everyone in the world was different. No one's the same."
"Of course. But everyone likes to copy each other, right? Like, Mrs. Hutchkins and Mrs. Pips. Whatever one does the other most do too." Ned explained.
"I see. You're right Ned, I am different. I don't understand some things, I don't see the same things others do." Gemma said almost sadly.
"That's correct. But you understand thigns others don't, you see the beauty in things most people things and can't." Ned said softly.
Gemma didn't say anything, she just looked quietly at Ned. Finally, she said "You're becoming different, too, Ned. Most people in this village don't talk to me, you didn't either. But no you're talking to me. Now you're different."
And then Ned understood. Just talking this is insparational girl, had made him a different person. A better person. He could understand some things, why Gemma did. He was understanding the beauty in things others couldn't.
Over the fall and through winter Ned visited Gemma often. They become friends, even. No one in the village knew that this was what Ned did very often. Many times Gemma and Ned would sit down on the soft forest floor and Gemma would use her soft voice to describe her wonders of her world. Ned would listen. He started to understand more and more. Winter was ending, snow was melting, and the animals were awkaning. Ned had started to like Gemma slowly more than a friend. In the begining of course, he thought she was beautiful, but he didn't know how complex Gemma really was. By spring, Ned had fallen in love with Gemma. Gemama didn't know this. Of course.
On a bright summer morning, Ned cheerfully walked to edge of the forest where he and Gemma usually met. Soemthing was wrong, though. There was Gem, but her face was tear-strained and her hair tangled.
"Gemma! What's wrong?" asked Ned rushing over to her.
"She's... she's sending me away, Ned." Gemma whispered closing her eyes.
"Sending you away?" Ned asked franticlly.
"To a boarding school." Gemma said softly, and sadly.
What Gemma didn't mention was that she was a witch. Her mother had told her she couldn't tell anyone. And Gemma had listend.
"Oh, Gem.." said Ned hugging Gemma and she hugged him back.
"What am I going to do?" she whimpered.
Ned didn't answer for a while. He sat there holding Gemma, her head rested on his chest.
"You'll go." Ned finally said.
"I should?" Gemma asked, slowly.
"Yes. You'll be strong, like you always are, and you'll go." Ned said closing his own eyes, tears in them.
"You're right. I was thinking about running away, though.." Gemma said looking up at Ned.
"Of course not, Gem! Where would you go? What would you eat?" asked Ned.
"I thought I could stay in the lonely shack in the corner of the village, and you can help me. With food and other things." Gemma said softly her eyes still locked onto Ned's.
"Oh right.. of course." Ned said blushing.
Gemma giggled, for the first time that day, and once again rested her head against Ned's chest.
"But, I couldn't lie to my mother. You're right Ned, I'll go." Gemma said, deciding.
"Alright." Ned said, a bit upset that Gemma was leaving, and hadn't stayed at the shack, with the help of him.
"I'm leaving tommorrow. I suppose this is good bye." Gemma said softly, sitting up.
"Good bye, Gemma. When will you be coming back?" Ned asked hugging Gem once more.
"For holdiays and summer break." Gemma replied.
"Alright. Bye, Gemma. I won't ever forget you." Ned said pulling Gemma closer to him.
"I could never forget you. Never, Ned. Good bye." Gemma whispered.
Ned finally pulled away from Gemma and watched her walk away, before she turned the corner and would disappear out of sight, she waved. Ned waved back.
As Ned walked back home, horrible question went through his mind What if she never comes back? What if she falls in love with someone else. And, I never got to kiss her.

Please change your display name to match the one mentioned in your applicationp.b]

[littlebeliever]

CHRISTIAN NAME .
Thera Ophélie

SURNAME .
Rheese

BIRTH , AGE .
Eleventh of December, 1992 , Israel , Seventeen

BLOOD .
Half Blood

RESIDENCE .

[/font]
Saint-Nazaire, France

INTERMEDIATE FAMILY .[/font]
Gabriel Abel Rheese , Father

Anaïs-Renée Brun , Mother

Noel Jean Moreau , Father

Christian Moreau , Brother

APPEARANCE .[/font]

PERSONALITY .[/font]
Authors Note: When I had first begun to write Thera I believed her to be simple but she is not. She is far from simple. A complicated young woman rose from the pages before me as I wrote. These few paragraphs were not easy to simplify but I have done as best as I could.

Thera is a silent child, one who has chosen a mute life. Her silence had always been for her mother. Had she seen her mother in a different light and not thought her so fragile she might have been able to ask such questions as why had her father left them and why was it they were continually on the move. But such questions were never voiced and nor were any of the doubts or irritations Thera had felt or wished to ask. They would have hurt her mother and she could not do that. So she kept silent about such qualms. Then as life went on that silence began to grow until she never spoke a word. She soon began to believe that there would never be any reason for her to speak again. It did not bother her mother that she only used gestures to communicate and whether it bothered anyone else she wasn’t concerned. Her mother and Moppet were the only two people precious to her heart and if they were at peace with her unspoken words then all was well. She made no response when others spoke unless they caught her curiosity, in which case she would give a show of some expression of interest. Those who only spoke rubbish were completely ignored. She was not at all keen on the affairs of other people or the goings on of the neighbourhood and so if one was to talk of it they would soon find they would be talking to themselves. Of rather philosophical mind Thera believed one should not speak unless they had something worth saying and so she kept quiet. Until the day when she has something to say she will not say anything at all. Only those of the likes of Martin Luther King Jr, Queen Elizabeth the first and Tim Collins have any right to let their voice ring from the heavens. She is not one of them yet but she will earn her place among them. One day and on that day she will break all silence.

There have only ever been two people with whom she feels akin to and they are her mother and childhood companion. It is not then unexpected that she is very protective of them. Despite her lack of relationships and understanding of others she does know the true value of friendship. Having spent the most influential years in the company of her mother and her mother alone, she has come to be rather possessive of her and distastes sharing her with Noel although she never says a word of it. This possessive nature although sinister in light does retain some agreeable qualities. Thera oft goes out of her way to watch over her mother and give her the security she so lacked throughout her childhood. She stands strong for her mother and supports her in every way she possibly can. She, although seen by herself as independent, is far more dependent upon her mother than her mother is upon her. Thera needs to feel as if she is needed otherwise what other purpose does she serve? She feels she needs to please her mother to keep her by her side always. She does everything in her power to make certain she is happy even if in the process Thera herself is hurt. This behaviour also shows that she is incredibly loyal to those of whom she loves. Never could she betray her mother or Moppet as others have done them. Without trust and reliability relationships cannot be founded. However Thera does not trust freely and believes in the earning of a person’s faith. In return she herself expects to have to earn a person’s trust and respect. Whether or not she finds you worthy of the effort is another matter entirely. If that one being were to find themselves worthy they would find in themselves a loyal and hard working friend. Relationships take work to maintain and without that labour they fall apart.

Intelligence and knowledge are virtues held in high stead by the young Jew. A fixated hunger to continuously gain knowledge and understanding is what drives her in her studies. A scrupulous student she is easily irritated by blunders and stupidity. She is very strict upon herself and cannot abide mistakes and will oft discipline herself for failing to be correct. These views, although she keeps them to herself, she believes ever student should live by. The stubborn stupidity of others is also something she cannot stand for. Of course she knows very well that because everyone is genetically different some will always be more academically brighter than others but she sees this as no reason for those to abuse the educated and continue to act obtuse. Those however on the opposite side of the garden wall – those who try and work hard although they may fall behind, are the people of which find themselves a special place in Thera’s heart. Those students she would willingly and happily help whether it be in their studies or furthering themselves intellectually. Because of this fixated hunger for knowledge there is never a time when one would find her without a book or recording of some sort. At her previous school she’d spend many hours hidden away amongst the dust and musky smell of old pages in the library discovering herbal cures for diseases or following the voyages of Captain Cook and at home, as her family did not have a library, she would listen to tape recordings sent to her mother by her father (it was the only package they would ever receive from him). They were his personal records of the discoveries he and his team had made throughout the years, depicting times, dates and locations. Thera kept them out of sight, stored in a small compartment under her mattress. They were her secret.

Despite her inhuman disposition she does have a temper, just as any other; that cool composure dispels and is replaced by a malicious, icy rage. Although she is not easily angered, when provoked she does not boil over like a bubbling kettle but rather turns to steel and attacks with measured, merciless jabs. Once finished the harm caused is severe. Spirits are broken and tears are shed and that person’s interference in Thera’s life comes to an end. That is how her world operates. She cares little for others and in return others care little for her and so the system works. Perhaps not caring is her greatest weapon in a world wrought with emotion. However that ice cold temper is only made worse by her indifference and sarcastic wit. Fortunately no one has ever come to face such anger. It may be that the only person to know enough of Thera to irritate her is her brother Christian. Though he may not be able to provoke her into such a fury as to reveal the above mentioned colours, he does seem to easily annoy her. Be it by stealing her books or refusing to do his homework, he always seems to know the right buttons to press. He oft goes out of his way to tease her one way or another. This, Thera supposed, was normal sibling behaviour (she read such situations in a parental book) and chose to ignore it as best she can. Silence is her greatest weapon against her brother and as long as she made no response to his teasing he would soon apologise and give her a one armed hug. Her temper will remain dormant as long as she has control.

Upon learning that she was a witch, Thera had but one question upon her mind. After the strange woman had left and they were to themselves again she had disappeared upstairs and had then spent a restless night turning page after page to find an answer. But by morning she had not found one. It was a question of God and her faith. Although her mother was not religious (nor were the Moreau’s), she was. A Jew by Jewish Law she followed the practices and attended communal prayer whenever she possibly could. With her always came a copy of the Tanakh from which she read in the afternoons. Having spent many of her years devoting herself to prayer and worship the discovery of her witch blood came as a hindrance for she had no answers. She had found none in the Tanakh and so she had decided that it was her who must make a decision. She chose to keep her faith and accept her bloodline. She was a Jew and a witch and if God had not intended for her to be so than he would have not let her live. She was certain in her decision and there would no longer be any doubts. Although Thera is devoted to her faith she does not believe in forcing others to share the same beliefs. Like much of what dictates her character she chooses to believe in silence and keep to herself.

HISTORY .[/font]
Her mother was an artist. She’d spent her childhood travelling with wayward parents around the globe. After their passing she continued in their ways moving with the changing of seasons. Nineteen ninety one found her in the backwaters of Israel selling paintings for a living. It was at this time in a small town called al Dahabshe she first came across him. Thera’s father was a student studying Paleontology. He came from a deep-rooted and respected family. From a young age his future had been decided for him. He would follow in the footsteps of his father and marry well. The continuation of their line was dependent upon him. Nineteen ninety one found him in al Dahabshe with a team of Paleontologists moving south to a dig site. It was here that he saw her. His parent’s plans for his future had not foreseen the arrival of fanciful white woman and the passionate affair had between the two. He wished to marry her and she wished to move on with the changing wind. Unalike and with eyes set on differing paths their fate was not to be. Thirteen months after their first encounter in the market place she left al Dahabshe and travelled north. He soon left after with his team and moved on further south. Anaïs-Renée settled in Beit Shemesh as the cold winter months crept upon the southern hemisphere and stayed there until the early months of nineteen ninety three. Her young daughter, received by her on the eleventh of December, was five months old when together they arrived in Paris, France. They would begin anew here and put the shadows of the past behind them. Anaïs put all memories of Israel to the back of her mind and would now concentrate only on the upbringing of her daughter. They would carry on as her mother had always and travel with the winds. Gabriel Rheese was to never see or hear from his lover or child again.

Memories of Thera’s childhood are confused or mislaid. Two years after they had arrived in Paris her mother had been taken by a southerly wind and uprooting their life in the large city dragged them south to Montpellier. They stayed there less than eight months before moving on again. In such a life she had little chance or opportunity to befriend others and so it was that Moppet came into being. Perhaps it is not uncommon for a child of four to invent a friend which could not be seen by the eyes of adults. Her mother heartily accepted Moppet as a member of the family and rejoiced in the naive innocence of her daughter. A child at heart herself she saw no wrong in unseen friends and unheard whisperings. Although Anaïs did many wrongs by her daughter having never given her the stable environment she had needed as a child, she did not let her suffer the shame of being uneducated. Taking Thera’s teaching upon herself she educated her on the most important subjects and lessons. The history and understand of art was amongst the foremost important. Thera learnt to paint, sketch and observe nature’s beauty with an artist’s eye. Many teachings she took from her mother but as she grew older she learnt also important lessons of her own. She learnt to be independent at a young age and trust no one. Her mother was not always fit to take care of her and so she had to fend for herself. It was not a difficult thing to do. Rather naturally it had come to her and she supposed this was because of the life they led. She knew by instinct too that trust was something to be earned and not given. Not even flesh and blood could be given the gift of trust without first working for it. Not once during the years of her childhood had she asked about her father. Although she knew now that all children had fathers whether they were present, absent or dead, she cared not to ask. Her father had not been a part of her life and so he was dead to her. Rarely, during the times where her mother spoke of the past, she was told of her father – who he was and what he had been like. Thera had listened with patience but nothing more. He was a man in a story and stories were for children not adults.

Moppet never left her side even as she outgrew childhood and entered the wasteland between the latter and womanhood. A constant companion, he/she could not be replaced even by those others that made the effort. They had settled for the time in Toulouse renting a small apartment in the cities centre. Her mother had found kindred spirits here and refused to move on until a change of mind. Her teenage daughter made no complaints and so they stayed on in Toulouse for months to come. Although her mother made friends and enjoyed her time socialising, Thera did nothing of the sort. She stayed forever by her mother’s side and ignored the other children her age with blank stares. They were a juvenile people and she had no interest in them. She could see no point in such awkward relationships when she already had Moppet and her mother. They were the only friends she needed. While her mother was out, her daughter spent the lone hours keeping in check the household and planning the route to their next destination. Anaïs had not mentioned anything about leaving the bustling city but Thera knew it would not be too long before her mother grew bored and felt the prickling of the changing wind. She felt it often; the pull and the yearning to take flight once more. It haunted her dreams and shadowed her throughout the daylight. She heard it; the whispering of another place and other peoples. Her mother felt it no longer or had chosen to be deaf to its calling. It upset her but she could not leave her mother – her mother relied on her. Thera kept her secrets to herself and continued to live in hope that boredom would send them on their way soon. But months turned to years and the winds left without them. Anaïs had met man who had recently taken on a larger role in their family. He was a wine merchant from Bergerac and had a son from a previous marriage. Noel Moreau and her mother married in the spring of two thousand and six. Thera and her mother moved from their apartment afterward and joined Noel and his son Christian at their house in Quei de Tounis.

She lived elsewhere and with two additional people but little more had changed. Life continued on in silent observation and Moppet also remained. Noel had found his adopted daughter somewhat strange but his doubts were always washed aside by his new beautiful wife. Unlike his father Christian had no qualms about his new toy and enjoyed her silent presence. She was a pretty little thing he could show off to his friends. Their envy was his drug. Each member of the family acted civil to the other but save for husband and wife there was no affection to be felt. At fourteen Thera was sent to join her brother at high school to be educated on such things as maths and science. Once her mother might have protested to this; she had believed that a child’s education was best taught by the parent. Now however her mother was infatuated, poisoned in the brain and she made no comment. Her fate sealed Thera attended. Her lessons proved interesting and her teachers invaluable however the periods between classes were of lesser value. In these short hours she would disappear to the school’s library until her brother found her there and took her away. Although she had kept to herself and talked with no one, not even her brother, she had acquired herself a reputation as the Moreau girl. What this meant she did not know but wherever she went she was hassled.

Two years on and just days after her sixteenth birthday, she received a letter. Eloquently written and beautifully marked by a crest, she overlooked the fact there was no return address and sliced it open with a letter knife. Never had she received a letter previously and she was marked with suspicion and curiosity. The contents of the letter led her to believe she had been played a fool, for who would believe such nonsense? Without thought she threw it away and soon forgot about it. She never mentioned it to her mother. However when a second letter came on the same day, at the same hour after her seventeenth birthday she could not so easily dismiss it. Disturbed by doubt she hid it away from prying eyes in a secret compartment beneath her bed. She would not think on it until such a time came when it needed to be dealt with. That time came three nights later when as they sat around the table finishing their supper there was a knock at the door. Noel went to answer. Minutes later he and a woman odd in appearance entered the dining room. She was rude and robust. She proclaimed she was a witch and here to help the ‘muggles’ as she addressed them, understand that their daughter was too a witch. Immediately the letter had jumped to mind but Thera spoke not a word of it. Everyone but her mother was silent. She had spoken first and asked why they still came for her. Thera soon learnt that her mother had known about the letters and her apparent magical ability for years. The first of six letters had come after her eleventh birthday and fearful that she might lose her daughter Anaïs had torn it up and kept silent. This had continued on until that very day. Later on that night while lying in her bed, Thera would dream of a world beyond all imagination and the next morning she would leave for school and not return. A month later a letter would arrive at the Moreau household and ease her mother’s worries. Thera Ophélie Rheese would attend Beauxbatons Academy of Magic just as fate had foretold.

ROLE-PLAY SAMPLE .[/font]
Spider webs of ice stretched spindly fingers across the length of the glass. A curtain of icy flakes falling from the grey skies obscured her vision. Down below in the cobble stone streets, a thick blanket of snow lay undisturbed as none had yet ventured out from the warmth of their homes. Lights shone hazily from windows down the crooked way like beacons through the night. Her breath cold on her lips, a cloud of mist like air rose as she sighed and turned away from the window pane. Inside it was dark and musky. A flickering candle provided enough light to see by and making her way back to the knobbly bed of which she had been restlessly sleeping on for the past few months, she shivered. Without the fire the chill from outside had crept within and begun to tingle across her skin. The creature that had lit the fires each morning and evening had unnerved her so much that she had sent it away and without the necessary kindling she could do no more than to simply huddle in a corner and wish away the chill. Pulling the mouth eaten shrug around her shoulders tightly she nestled into the bed and stared at the window once more. It had been a few long months since she had left the warmth and comfort of the Moreau household and ventured out to ride the winds by herself. She’d intended to leave without memory of her past, to begin anew elsewhere but guilt had driven her to remember. She’d written to her mother no more than a few days ago, mentioning only that she was safe and sound. It put rest the guilt of her mind and she supposed the worries of her mother.

Rubbing at tired rings underneath her eyes, she slid off the bed and discarded the shrug on the floor. Clothed, she slipped on her shoes and headed out the door, a set of keys jingling at her side. Locking her room, she then descended down the stairs and into the noise and heat of the pub below. It went by the name the Grub Pub and despite its vulgar name seemed to pull in a regular number of witches and wizards every evening. Coming to stand at the bottom of the stairs Thera glanced around her, watching each individual with restrained interest. One very odd being boasted a rotating eye and another continuously changing hair colour. She may have travelled much of France with her mother and in those travels come across strange persons but never had she encountered such that were of the magical nature. They fascinated her and sparked in her a curiosity she understood little of. Questions swirled around her mind. Much like the day on which she had learnt the truth, she felt for the first time in years a want to speak aloud and ask for the answers to her questions. But habit and reason prevented her from doing so and pushing away her thoughts to the back of her mind she stepped away from the stairs and meandered among the crowd.

Finding the fireplace to one side of the room she pulled up a seat and took to people watching from her corner. They were a cheerful lot and those that may have not been naturally had obviously consumed enough alcohol to overlook this. Away to one side sat four or five very short peoples, all of whom were playing an instrument of which she had never seen the likes of. Nevertheless the melody that surfaced and hovered above the noise and heads of the crowd below was hearty and soulful. Mixing oddly with the music was the sound of cheering and howling. It came somewhere from behind the bar but her vision obstructed by a pair of men hugging and crying so she wasn’t able to tell where exactly it came from. Watching the two men she rolled her eyes, a small smile about her lips and turned away. This atmosphere and the sound of crude and brash laughter reminded her of the nights spent adrift all over France; nights spent in cheerful, warm pubs such as this, nights spent at the river side beside burning barrels and river rats and nights spent in the streets with torches and bottles of cider - they were nights to remember. But those days were over now and new beginnings were to arise. Chiding herself she bottled away the past once again and opened her eyes back unto the present. Leaving her place by the crackling fire she made for the door which led to the snow lain, sleepy town outside.

Ice crunched beneath her feet as she staggered forwards. The apples of pale cheeks had turned to a ruby red with cold. Long brown lashes gathered the smallest of the snowflakes among them and chilled the thin, moist skin of her eyelids. The tips of her fingers were a shade of blue and numb to her touch. Blowing hot air on them she trembled. Hiding away her hands inside her pockets she continued up the street and towards the bench outside the Book Nook. Why she went there was simply out of routine. Many a days when the sun was high in the sky and the weather kind she had ventured to the store to buy a book or two. Now of course the store was closed and the bench nothing more than adverse but because of habit she found herself standing under the lap post staring into the blacked windows of the boutiques. Staring blankly out into the night a thought struck her. Glancing around her she saw no one and smiling to herself she moved to the closest window pane. Looking down at her finger tips she breathed in. Then tilting her face forwards so that her lips were only inches from the glass she blew out. Hot air spread forth across the glass and turned it to a hazy surface. Moving away quickly before the cold chased away the heat of her breath, she brought a fingertip to the window pane. She wrote one word and then another. Blowing more hot air onto the cold glass she wrote more until she’d covered the entire surface of the glass with her words. They were no longer legible but they were there. The cold winter wind had blown away any trace of her cursive but she knew them to still be there. Words, just words. Nonsense really. Nevertheless she smiled.

Dear Reader,
My name is Thera. I am a drifter and a witch. You wouldn’t believe it though if I told it to you, would you? That’s why I’d rather write it here. You see I’ve written this all on a pane of glass and no one but me can read it. Why then am I writing to you if I can only read it you ask? Well its simply because of this one reason. Hope. That’s why I am writing to you. Hope that one day you might read this. Hope that one day you might open your eyes and read this. So please continue reading. I am seventeen, which is rather old I think. I have a mother, two fathers and a brother. I chose not to speak which seems to irritate others and I see things differently. That is why I can see what is written here and you cannot. I chose to see and you chose not to. That’s what sets us apart Dear Reader. We made different choices once upon a time and whilst you are there, I am here. So perhaps one day you will chose to see what I see and be here with me reading this. That’s what hope is. Or my understanding of it.
Goodbye Dear Reader.[/size]

Good application! Must be Rouerie.[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[holly]

First Name:

Holly

Middle Name:

Dacia (das-ee-ah)

Last Name:

Chevalier (sha-vol-ee-ay)

Age:

Sixteen

Appearance:

Selena Gomez

Personality:

Holly is a very sweet girl who loves having fun with friends and generally being the girly-girl she truly is. She's not completely obsessed with how she looks, but at times she does love to make a good impression when it comes to her fellow classmates and boys (at times). From time to time because of that she can give off that horrible vain or shallow vibe, but that's not her at all. Holly loves helping others however she can, especially when it comes to love relations issues like help someone date someone else and all that. So far she has a pretty good track record when it comes to setting two people up, and there has only been one time where her meddling in another person's relationship has gone horribly wrong, and that would be her parent's marriage.

Holly is very bright for her age and always tries to act older then she really is; her mom would always tell her she was a thirty-year-old trapped in a sixteen-year-old's body. Because of her parent's divorce she's felt the need to watch over her sister 24/7, keeping her out of harms way, but putting herself up front in stead. She's been through so much in one year that if her mother would have ever found out about it all it would probably make her cry. Because of her having to keep watch of her sister all the time she's become a bit more tired, easily annoyed, and is easily upset though she tries her best to keep that side of herself hidden from all eyes, including her own. Holly has a strong heart and mind, she just needs to learn how to truly love someone again like she used to.

History:

Born in London, England as the second daughter from her parent's marriage she took to life easily and was able to make friends before she was admitted into pre-k. Holly was named after her father's grandmother, though she has never met the women she was told she was very funny and beautiful. At the young age of three, her mother began to place her into beauty pageants all across Europe and even some in America. Her father never objected to it since Holly seemed to be taking home crowns the size of her own body and money which was automatically placed into her college fund. When she turned ten-years-old her father's behaviour began to change rapidly as he began to beat the two sisters whenever they did something even slightly displeasing to him.

Holly and her sister never told their mother in fear of what would happen if she would ever try to confront him about it. Since then Holly pretty much made it her job to protect her sister from her father and just about everything else. But even so their attempts to hide their marks from their mother, she found out two years later, as the beating continued and began to get worse and worse. Holly tried her best to keep her parents together, by lying about what happened to the two of them and trying to make their father into a better man, but it only resulted in a divorce filed by their mother. The now family of three moved to France to get away from their ever so persistent father, who would show up where ever they went.

After that Holly's sister began to get mixed up with the wrong crowd, and time after time Holly would cover up her sister's mess and do whatever she could to keep her sister safe. Though one night while her sister was having a party at their home while their mother was away at work, a boy snuck into Holly's room and raped her. She informed her sister of what happened, though she couldn't tell who her attacker was, but her sister didn't care and continued to throw parties at the house. Night after night Holly could clean up after the many teens who would come to their house as well as take care of her sister and friends whenever they had a hang over. Holly grew tired and eventually would give herself a fever from working too hard to protect her sister with magic and muggle tactics.

Sample RP:

(i realize that bars & alcohol aren't allowed at beauxbatons, but i just had a small muse with it after watching this one movie xD but it's still in character so i hope it's all right)

Holly made her way through the dance floor, passing many females grinding upon males and males trying to grind upon her. It was like being in a mall during a 75% sale of some kind; making her think she was either doing to get trampled or worse. Once she finally reached the bar she sat toward the middle next to a man and a women kissing, laughing, and feeding each other strawberries covered in some kind of chocolate. Holly watched as the bar tender placed a napkin down and gave her a friendly and familiar smile as she returned it. "Hey sweetie, umm...can I get a strawberry martini? and make it sweet," said Holly before the bar tender could even ask her what she wished to drink.

'Always drinking the same things, just like your mother,' replied the bar tender. Holly's smiled didn't falter, but grew slightly greater in reply to the bar tender, yes she was like her mother in many ways and being reminded of it just made her smile somehow. Turning around in her seat she leaned back against the bar and looked around the room, watching couples dance, drink, laugh making the atmosphere in the club a welcoming one. 'here you go,' said the bar tender as a drink was placed down on the nearby napkin. Holly turned around to view the drink, seeing it had a normal tooth pick, but instead of olives a red strawberry hung on it's middle.

The drink was a sort of red/pink and smelt of nothing but strawberries. Taking the drink up toward her mouth she sipped it slightly, letting the flavor linger on her tong and then finally took a big gulp. The taste immediately put a smile on her face and took the edge off of her being in a club as this. Holly hadn't been to Element since her father worked here as a bar tender, and that was when she was five or six years old and ever since her parents died she's tried her best to stay away from familiar places such as this.

Must be Rouerie.

[acheronsbella]

First Name: Aurora Grace
Last Name: Bennings
Age: 16
Appearance: Play-by: Reese Witherspoon


History: When Aurora was born, her mother, Veronica, had hid every magical part of her life from Johnathon, Aurora's father. Johnathon was never a violent person to Veronica or Aurora as the years passed. However, once Aurora got older, strange happenings occured and he grew suspicious with each event.

One night when Aurora was 7, her father had come home from work and she went to greet him. She was excited to show him a new "trick" she had learned. She focused hard on a picture that was hung on the kitchen wall and it began to shake. After a few seconds, the picture frame had lifted slightly off the hook and fell to the ground. Her mother and father had a huge fight and Veronica's secret had been revealed. That very night Johnathon grabbed his things and left.

Unbeknownst to Aurora and Veronica, Johnathon was also secretly a witch. With every magical incident that occured, Veronica had covered her tracks in fear of exposure. Johnathon left in anger, for he had been decieved, thinking his child hadn't possessed his magical gene.

Years went by, her mother working a low paying job that produced just enough essentials to keep them healthy. Her mother had home schooled her, but barely touched on magic knowledge in fear of muggle neighbors finding out what they were. Her teachings consisted of pure knowledge always making Aurora use her mind.

She then met her future best friend, Abagail Williams, when Abagail and her family moved next door. The two 9 year olds were rarely seperated. At first, their meeting was uncomfortable because Aurora had never had someone approach her the way Abagail did. Her bubbly and bright persona was overwhelming and confused Aurora. After more confrontations, they began to play together and it grew to be the strongest friendship she'd ever imagined. Her mother was afraid at first of exposure, but although magic slipped occasionally, it was covered up before suspicion began. Since the day Aurora and Abagail met, Abagail has been teaching Aurora when to use her emotions and such.

Two weeks before Aurora went to Beauxbatons, her father appeared unexpectedly. He was a poor man when he left them and he came back with power. He had come home one Sunday night with anger and pride. He had explained that he had to clean up one thing from his past. He then proceeded to take Veronica to a nearby forest only a few properties away. Aurora felt something in her mind that told her something wasn't right and she followed them out, keeping enough distence to not be detected.

Once in the middle of the forest, Johnathon talked to her mother, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. In one quick movement, her father had pulled out a wand from behind. Confusion was clear on her mother's face. With a clear, harsh yell, he shouted the killing curse. Aurora hadn't known what had happened, only the picture of a bright green light hitting her mother was stuck in her mind.

The closest neighbor to the forest, Harriet Woods, an older woman that lives alone, had heard a yell and raced to see what had happened and stumbled upon Aurora sitting silently up against a tree stump. Finally, Aurora told the woman what had happened. She stayed that night at the woman's house. The next morning she told Aurora that she was a witch herself and that she reported Johnathon. Her father was caught a few days later, a dark mark tatooed on his arm.

Aurora was to be present at the trial as a witness to the murder. He never took his angry eyes off of hers through the whole session. From then on, she began a fear of forests and older men.

Since she had lost her mother and her father was in Azkaban, she'd lost her house and Abagail's parents had taken her in and is her permanent residence during holiday breaks. The day before her trip back to Beauxbatons, she stays with the older witch, Harriet Woods.[/b]

Personality: Aurora is an intellectual person and will sometimes fail to connect to people with emotion. Though she has a bad parental past, she still has a positive attitude. She's very calm and collected when needed, but if she becomes too stressed her mind gets confused and tends to filter random information.

She is more of a follower than a leader because she wasn't taught to fight for herself when she was younger. She favors Winter and the cold because she finds grace and elegance in them. She loves Quidditch and the thrill of the chase. She fell in love with it as soon as she was handed a broomstick.

Her best friend, Abagail Williams, is important to her and she would do anything for her. She unfortunately has to keep her witchly side because Abagail is a muggle. She is her next door neighbor and helped (and still does) with teaching Abagail how to use her emotions.[/b]

Sample RP: Aurora was tired of the Ravenclaw dorm rooms, the room clean and tidy after hours of studying and homework. Her bed was made, the blue covers folded almost professional. Down at the end of the four poster bed sat an antique wood trunk filled with her belongings carefully put away. It held her outfit for tomorrow folded neatly on top, ready for use. The dark blue drapes were tied to the post with blue sting tied in a bow.

She walked swiftly and quickly down the stairs, her intentions on the outdoors. She needed to feel more connected with nature and it was the perfect time. It was pretty chilly outside, her layered shirts and blue jeans with a blue and yellow scarf around her neck was still her usual type outfit. It was comfortable and the temperature was the perfect climate. As soon as the green grass was in view, she wanted to take off her flats and walk around in her bare feet. She smiled and sighed at the beautiful sight of the grounds.

She froze when she saw the never-ending line of trees, her body instantly clinched. With one big gulp, she took one step back and then another. The sound of voices caught her attention, she froze again, and relaxed a moment. With as much strength she could muster, she started toward the forest. Looking deep into the woods, she could see the silhouettes of people, students by the sound of it. Aurora took careful, wobbly steps toward the shadows, her eyes never moving away. She felt like she was going to fall to pieces when she finally reached the clearing.

She vaguely recognized the students' faces from the Ravenclaw dormintries. The thing that surprised her were the glorious creatures that stood in front of her. They were mysterious and elegant in their own way. "Are these Thestrals?"

[zyphur]

STARTED OFF LOCAL

[/size][/font][/color]

name,

[/font][/size] Zypher Sentinel Haven
age,[/font][/size] Seventeen Forever, would be Twenty Eight
gender,[/font][/size] Male
blood,[/font][/size] Lamia Vampire
NOT DONE

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]

[candy101]

First Name: Emilie Lin
Last Name: Rousseau
Age: Sixteen
Appearance: Emilie stands at around 5'6 tall and has a slim and toned body shape.She has long, brown hair which she will either wear straight or wavey. Blue eyes shine out with their brightness. Clothing wise, Emilie can usually be seen in anything from jeans, to skirts and dresses. She likes to feel comfortable.
History: Emilie Lin Rousseau was born in Paris, France to Allison Schellden a witch/veela and Michel Rousseau a wizerd on November 23, 1992 She lived in Paris learning both French and English for 5 years before her parents moved to London so Michel could fulfil his dream of being and Auror. It was about this time that Emilie started showing signs of magic when she accidently caused one of the boxes containing her fathers books to explode as she was angry at moving. Although caring, her parents were both very busy and often left Emilie to herself and she discovered at a young age that she was able to get what she wanted by using charm and her looks. Once in London Emilie attended a muggle school at her mothers request and found that she was able to use her charm to get her own way on most occasions. Despite this she was well liked throughout school and had many close friends and they formed the popular group. This was where her love of fashion was formed, they would often spend their saturdays shopping and Emilie's fathers inheritance meant that she had almost unlimited funds.

Having grown up with magic around her she was unsurprised to get her letter to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic , but was still upset about not being able to attend school with her friends. When they heard that she was going to Boarding school they stopped hanging out with her and started to blank her at school. So Emilie turned her attention to her work, which she was actually quite good at and in her 5 years at Beauxbatons has made few close friends as she spends much time reading and has also become rather judgemental of people which puts people off.

Personality: Emilie takes a while to warm up to most people. You can think she's crazy, or think she's amazing, but either way, she can somehow end up on people's minds. Her tendencies don't often leave her with a lot of friends, but once she makes a friend, it takes a lot to break the trust.
She seems like a totally different person once she's stepped onto stage. She seems cool,confidant and ready to face what ever happens. Once she's on stage she becomes spastic and she's alway jumping around on stage, playing and singing to her heart content. Emilie may come off as a major tomboy, but inside, she's a bit more girly. She likes to keep a healthy balance between the two. She takes pride in being known as someone who can kick some major ass and be one of the guys, but also wants to be someone's girl.


Sample RP: "Do they think that walls can hide you? Even now I'm at your window... I am in the dark beside you, buried sweetly in your yellow hair!" Stelmaria Larfield sung, screeching at the top of her lungs. Obviously her parents weren't enjoying this, and they weren't too pleased to have taken her to see Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street the night before... Her brother and sister both winced in pain as she sung the last, terrifyingly high notes (for her) and conclude the song.

"Er... that was... uhm..." her father started as he continued to drive the car, trying to find a proper word for her singing. New? Beautiful? Amazing? Stella thought, beaming at the back of her father's head.

"You sucked." her brother, Jason said simply, blowing his tongue out of his lips as if to make his point stronger.

"Oh, gee. Thanks so much Jase. At least I'm better then you." she rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She blew some of the straight blond locks out of her eyes as her cheeks reddened with annoyance and slight humiliation. Her father and mother had insisted on everyone going to see her off at the school on her way to their house. Of course, Genevieve and Jason had not been pleased. Who wants to go see their sister off to a new school when they were just too lazy to get off their sorry butts at ten AM and give her a quick hug and a kiss goodbye? Though, Stella was expecting more of a noogie and a tickle-fest rather then a hug.
Please develop your RP sample.

[mercedesbovier]

First Name: Mercedes Abella.
Last Name: Bovier.
Age: Sixteen.

Appearance:

History:

"You're making me dizzy." azalia dooling.

"Those were the first words my mum said to my da. She was frowning at him, arms crossed and not looking the slightest bit amused. Honestly, I think she thought he was mental at first. Clearly, though, she got passed that little opinion and they met. It wasn't love at first sight, though. Mum said that da was walking around London, wearing such boring, unattractive clothing and circling her. His hand was on his chin, his thumb rubbing against his chin as his muttered things like, 'how peculiar' and 'this is all so very fascinating' and such. Mum's all 'violence is not the answer!' and all, but I have a feeling she hit him with her purse or something. Da said she was a feisty, little thing - looked like a pixie. Apparently, I looked a bit like her. I never actually had a picture of my mum when she was young and had just met my da. Though, apparently, her looks were softer than mine, much softer. Do I look rough? I hope I don't look rough. Anyway, somehow, something clicked. They chatted for a bit, exchanging thoughts and cute stuff. I'm not too sure what happened, but they ended up going on a date - er, a few dates. They were together for about a year or two - maybe three - before they got married. There was no big, fancy shmancy wedding or anything. I think da mentioned something about getting married in a little church with their closest friends and family. Da's family was reluctant to attend though, I'm afraid. Mum's family came though, of course.Then, of course, they had me after a while. I love my parents. They're a wonderful couple. I love them muchly. I'd die for them, you know? Really, I would do basically anything they'd tell me to do. They're the biggest part of my life, whether I like it or not. I do like it. I mean, I'm nineteen and I'd like to have a life without constantly thinking of my parents - is that normal? - but they're so important to me. Plus, mum's a muggle and there's chaos everywhere! Mum doesn't deserve to die. She wouldn't even be able to defend herself against those wicked, wicked people."

"You can't give a girl a stupid name. It has to be a good name. Bloody hell, you're a moron." azalia dooling-bovier.
"But you know you love me. You might be embarrassed by it, but you love this moronic arse." oliver bovier.

"When mum and da found out that they were going to have a baby, they were ecstatic - unless they were lying to me, which hope they weren't because that would have been rather Idreadful, I think. I definitely wouldn't have appreciated it much. Anyway, mum wasn't too partial to not knowing the gender of the baby. She was happy to go off to the person who does that ultra sound thing and find out what she was going to have - boy or girl? Clearly, she found out that she was going to have a girl and then, the naming began. Apparently, mum and da had always been found of bickering with each other. Don't ask me why because I have no clue, but they did. The whole while that I was just a wee bun in the oven, they bickered over what their daughter - or, as da liked to call me, 'their lovechild' - would be named. Da thought that boring names were hideous. Mum didn't see what was so great about being named after Greek or Roman gods and goddess, even though my da had a bit of a fascination about them. She didn't believe in that rubbish anyway. They'd come up with many options. In fact, I do believe they had a list due to mum's incessant insisting that a list would make things more organized and then all they'd have to remember, rather than all of the name they thought of, was the list. I bet, if mum had gone to Hogwarts, she would have been in Ravenclaw - just a random tidbit I thought you might find interesting. Anyway, there had been a wide variety of names, ranging from something simple and pleasant to something awful and just ugly. Er, mum told me a few - oh, there was Isolde, Astraia (which I named my Prefect badge), Charlotta, Charis, Tallulah, Matilda, Charity, Chastity, Wendy, Ursula, Gwendolyn and more. They wanted to have a lot to consider, you see. Apparently, though, when a mum looks at her baby, she knows just what to name them. I suppose that's what happened - though it was da who decided on the name. He shrieked out, 'Mercedes! Mercy, Merc, MEME! Name her Mercedes!' and mum was a bit tired and she was all, 'then her middle name will be Abella and you can't say a damn thing, you twat' and that's how I was named! Funny story, innit?"

"Mercy, let's have a tea party. Your father won't be joining us though, I'm afraid." azalia dooling-bovier.
"But mum, da does a better princess iminatatingtion than you do." mercedes bovier.

"Anyway, I was a happy child growing up. My parents loved me. I didn't have a thing to worry about. True, they tended to bicker quite a bit, but then I'd find them kissing after a few minutes of arguing over stupid things. Believe me, it was scarring. I can not get the image out of my head, as much as I'd like to. My mum didn't work, I mean, she went to college and stuff, but that wasn't much. I think she went for journalism, but she ended up being a stay-at-home mum with a bit of painting on the side. She sent me off to elementary school with all those muggle children when I was old enough. I guess it wasn't to bad. I mean, I thought it was all pretty boring. I couldn't exactly find anything interesting in the work we were given. I loved to read though. That was daddy's fault. One of his friends owned a bookstore - and they still do - and they gave him books for him to read to me or for me to read to myself. I would spend most of my time with my nose in a book. I liked them, okay? My mum thought it was pretty silly, seeing her little six-year-old rading. True, it wasn't big chapter books that I was reading though; just picture books and fairy tales. Still, she wanted to read to me, rather than have me reading to myself. But, come on, they weren't difficult books! My favourite books to read - well, glance through - were all about adventures, with dragons and castles and swordfighting and battles of wits! Mum liked those ones too. My da and I would always sit together and come up with adventures that I would go on. We'd make up the most ridiculous stories and laugh about it. Weird things started to happen around me though. I mean, things would change colours. Things would explode, or disappear. Daddy to me not to mention it to my friends though, so I didn't. Though, I'm sure they all thought I was a bit mad anyway. I was a good, obedient little girl - probably because my parents spoiled me and I loved them and they loved me. My grandparents were sweet too. Well, the ones from my mum's side. I do believe the ones from my father's side had him at a pretty old age so I guess they'd already died from old age or something. Anyway, mum and I would giggle during the night when I slept in her room with her and daddy. He just found it funny and was happy to see that his babygirl and the love of his life enjoyed the idea of going on an adventure. I'm sure he'd be a bitter man if we'd decided to hope that I'd be 'normal'. Ugh, that wouldn't have been fun. I thought it would have been excruciatingly boring, no offense to anyone who lived or lives a boring life, of course."

"Mum, mum! Look! There were bubbles and they were just like, 'poof' out of... of nowhere! Just 'poof'! Teehee! And.. and it cleanded the tableee! Loookkk! It's clean." mercedes bovier.
"Well that's great and all, cupcake, but I told you not to dirty the table cloth." azalia dooling-bovier.
"Oh... well, sorry mum." mercedes bovier.

"A little after I turned seven, it happened again. I was sitting in my room, playing with my dolls as usual. We were having a tea party, but we didn't invite one of the dolls because she had been gossiping about the others too much. We didn't tolerate such actions. We drank real tea, by the way, and had yummy cookies and treats that mum made - well, us. One of the dolls (okay, it was me) tipped over one of the cups. The tea in it spilled on the tablecloth. Of course, I gasped. Mum had said that I could only use it as long as I kept it clean and I had made it dirty. My eyes welled up with tears because I was childish like that and I didn't want to get in trouble. Besides, it was such a pretty tablecloth. I panicked. I looked this way and that way, trying to find a way to clean up my mess. Well, for starters, it was white. Tea was brown. Mum had trusted my little seven-year-old self and she was definitely going to be mad at me. I was sure of it. Then, as I was pulling my hair and staring at the soon-to-be-stain, a whole bunch of bubbles appeared on the spill. Then, they disappeared, taking the stain with it. I freaked out. I ran to my parents and told them my story. At first, they didn't believe me. Things like that didn't happen. They didn't. It was weird. It wasn't normal. They looked at me as if I was insane, but they didn't push me away or send me to a mental institute. No, they just... looked at me and then at each other. They told me not to tell anyone, not to show anyone. I didn't. I promised I wouldn't. When I asked what was so wrong, they told me that they just didn't want to see anyone hurt me. They didn't know why it was happening. I didn't either. It went on for a few years after that, scaring all of us, confusing all of us. Anyway, when I was eleven, we got a visit from an old man. However, he wasn't one of those old men that walked around with a walker or a cane or anything. He looked smart, dignified, if not a bit oddly dressed. He told me of a school that taught children magic. 'Magic?' I'd said, surprised. 'Magic doesn't exist.' but he told me I was wrong, that it didn't exist, that I was proof. Of course, I believed him. And, smiling, he handed me a letter, addressed to me with information about this school. I couldn't help but grin and do a little dance of victory. Honestly, I was incredibly happy - no, I was happy in a way that was so great, so vast, that it couldn't possibly be described in words. I just was. For a while, I had thought I was a freak. I thought that there was something wrong with me, but I was proven wrong and, for once,. I was happy about that. Shopping in Diagon Alley was probably one of the most amusing situations that I'd ever been in. Daddy was going on and on about something while mum was just going everywhere, being all, 'oh, would you look at that' and running from one store to the next just to look at something. Seriously, it was both hilarious and embarrassing, but I'd gladly do it all again if I could. I truly do love my parents."

"Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!" mercedes bovier.
"How the bloody hell did you remember that?" random first year.

"My first day at Beauxbatons was like a dream, sort of. It was just so amazing, the school, I mean. The people confused me though. Some odd things were said, passed from one person to another. I kind of felt like screaming at them to hush up because it was getting a bit annoying. Plus, they were repeating things that they'd already said. I didn't scream at though. I didn't think that having a large group of people glaring at me would have made the day very wonderful. I stuck to being quite, attempting to ignore the sound of people bickering as I awkwardly tugged on my robes. Sorting had been quite fun though. Having a last name that starts with an 'M', I was about in the middle, I suppose. I got sorted into Ravenclaw, which was pretty rad though I don't know why I was put there. Some people were talking about their houses, talking about things that described each House. Anyway, I thought it was pretty damn amazing at , still do. I didn't care what anyone else said. Some of them had siblings and relatives who were there. I didn't have any family there, coming from a muggle family and all. The classes were pretty brilliant, I have to admit. I liked to learn. No, it wasn't one of my favourite pasttimes or anything, but I definitely found it more interesting than muggle schoolwork. I mean, it was so boring, muggle schoolwork. History of Magic was my favourite subject, bit of a snorefest though. It definitely could have been more interesting though. Sadly, it was not and I had to suffer through the lectures during those calsses. Mostly, I was kind of an over-achiever, actually. I did too much and spent a lot of my time doing my work. Sometimes I did assignments and such way before they were due and that gave me much more time to do as I pleased. Yes, call me a dork, but I preferred to get things done right away. I definitely did not procrastinate - well, until fifth year, I changed a bit because I noticed boys much more than I did before. I've always had friends, of course. I liked to meet people, still do. I like boys, still do. I didn't like dating all that much though. I had, well, I could count them on one hand, really. Honestly though, they weren't that great. I'm not too big on commitment. Snogging's great fun though. I definitely had a blast though."

Personality:

talkative , -- A DISPOSITION TO ENJOY CONVERSATION

"I used to be a very quite girl, you know? I'd keep my mouth shut and play with my dolls. I was obedient. I was... polite? I mean, I still am, but I followed the whole 'don't speak unless spoken to' rule. My father said that to me once with a smile, but I think he was just teasing me now that I think about it. Hmph, not very nice of him, but that's all right. I literally didn't speak much though. It got a bit different as I grew up though. I wanted to be heard. I wanted tohave my say and I wanted my opinions to be heard. I wanted to cheer people up and having conversations that could lead up to basically nothing. I started to talk more, you see. And, when that happened, it was really hard to stop, you know? I just kept going and going. I ramble, a lot. And I have this tendency where I'll talk to anyone who will willingly talk to me, you know?I ramble on and on. Give me something to talk about and I can go on about it frorever! I absolutely love to talk. No, my reasoning sin't that I love the sound of my voice or something ridiculous like that. No offense to anyone who likes to hear themselves talk or anything, but it's not my thing. Honestly, I just like to talk. Most of the time, I can get interesting replies too, unless that person isn't feeling too happy with me and decides to, you know, snap at me. Most of the time, though, I have fun talking. I like having conversations. I like hearing people speak. I like speaking to people. Awkward silences? I could do without them, really. I'm usually in a fantastic mood too, so I just chatter on. Some people hate it, but I love talking!"

optimistic , -- TO ANTICIPATE THE BEST POSSIBLE OUTCOME

"I like to think that the world will end up being a better place. I like to think that the chaos will soon come to an end and that everyoene will get their only little happy ending, their own little happily-ever-after. Let's say that it will happen. I truly believe that we're going to live through this disastrous time, that we will survive. I truly believe that this scenario will have an impact on the world, show us what is wrong and what is rght in a way that would benefit us all. I'm optimistic like that. That's how I'm usually in such a good mood. I don't like to think about the bad things in life. I absolutely loathe thinking about bad things, like pain and death and suffering, things like that. I like to think that everyone will find their someone and they will be happy, forever and ever. I like being happy. I like being in a good mood. Who likes pessimism anyway? I sure as hell don't. I hate pessimists. They ruin my days. Let's be happy. Let's remember that we still have some of our friends and family. I'm happy with my life. I'm not happy with this stupid idea of getting rid of muggle-borns and such, but, you know, it could be worse. It won't get any worse though, I'm sure of it! Everything will get better in... in no time. I know it will. And, in my opinion, there's good in everyone though it might be buried deep, deep down and it could be near to impossible to find, but yes, I think that everyone has good in them somewhere."

defensive , -- DEVOTED TO RESISTING OR PREVENTING AGRESSION OR ATTACK

"People who hurt me get hurt by me. People who hurt my friends get hurt by me too. Oh, and if you lay an offensie hand on my family, you better cancel all of your plans for the future. You better start digging your grave if you think that you can come along and say some unkind things to people without there being an consequences. Also, I like being right. I tend to defend people, whether they want or need me to or not. I thoroughly enjoy proving that I'm a marvelous person that's capable of doing wonderful things. I am pleased to say that, if I believe in something, I will defend it until the day that I die. Like my belief that everyone deserves to live their lives the way they want to, not because some stupid, mean person says that they should live a certain way or act a certain way for some pointless reason. I defend that. I defend people who are too afraid to defend themselves. I'm like some odd sort-of protector that doesn't even defend their own self most of the time. What's another phrase for that? Anyway, I'm really defensive about other thingd too. If I think I'm right, I will defend my answer unless you prove me wrong or soemthing. My sensitivity sometimes makse me think that someone's purposely offending me or something, so that would cause me to feel the need to defend myself. I don't really talk loud. My voice doesn't get very loud, even when I scream. Though, I don't like screaming so my screaming is very, very rare. However, I might just talk - er, ramble - so much that your ears could hurt just a bit and then I'd be told to shut my bloody mouth, please and thank you."

childish , -- IMMATURITY; A LACK OF POISE

"I'm not mature, not at all. I'm like a little kid, minus the temper tantrums because temper tantrums totally aren't my thing, you know? I giggle over silly things. I say the most ridiculous things because I don't know how else to say them and - and I guess I'm a little bit clueless like a kid sometimes. I stick out my tongue and make funny faces just because I can. Sure, I can act like a mature adult, I just don't see any good reason too. Sure, it might earn me some reason, but where's the fun in that? I really want to have fun. That's one of the most important things to me - having fun. What's life if you're not enjoying it? I'm still a little girl, really. I might be getting older, but I'm still a little girl at heart. I still want to be a princess when I grow up. I still want to fly away to Neverland with Peter Pan. I still want to twirl in my skirts and have a tea party with my dolls. I still think that life is full of wonders! I'm immature. Sure, it's stupid sometimes. Sure, it does make some people angry and even though I don't want to make people angry, I can't help but be who I am! I'm a kid at heart, wanting to play and ebe reckless. I don't want the responsibilities of being an adult, of being a grown woman. I hardly even see myself as a woman though people might ask me what kind of woman I am, acting so roguishly? Is that a word? I think it's a word, but I might be wrong. Whatever. I don't see myself as a woman. I still see myself as a little girl. I don't want to grow up. I don't want to take responsibilities. I don't want people to expect something from me because of my age. I'm still a little girl and I have a tendency to act like one."

sensitive , -- DELICATELY AWARE OF THE ATTITUDES AND FEELINGS OF OTHERS

"As some people have become aware, I'm not exactly a stone wall that is affected by absolutely nothing. Uhm, well, I'm pretty much the opposite of that. I always react to everything. There's never been a time that I didn't react to something. It pretty much goes hand-in-hand with my irritableness. I'm sensitive to what people do and/or say, okay? There's nothing wrong with that. True, it makes me feel a bit weak and silly (which are big no-nos) but I can't help it. My mind just registers soemthing a certain way and it's like, bam! I just have to react. I don't cry a lot or anything. I'm just prone to be greatly affected by even the smallest, simplest things that someone says or does. I'm an oddball like that, I guess. I pout a lot too, or I smile too much. I usually shirnk away from someone if they say the 'wrong' thing to me. It's a bit of a problem, I know, but it happens. Someone people are like that, okay? or, if someone says something that I find mean about someone I care about, I scream at them. That is where my defensiveenss comes in. Things affect me too easily, which is pretty depressing and pretty annoying. It's almost a weakness, or maybe it is. I don't know. I never was the most intelligent person anyway. I get ticked off easily. I can become happy quite quickly. It's not hard to have an affect on little, ol' me. I'm a very sensitive person, okay? I'm human. I am completely capable of feeling a large range of emotions. It happens."

loyal , -- UNSWERVING IN ALLEGIANCE, FAITHFUL

"You would never catch me turning my back on a friend. I would never do something like that. I would never purposely hurt someone I cared about. Honestly, I never did understand why people would break someone's trust for any reason. I don't care if it would benefit them or something like that. Why would you betray your friends? I would never betray any of my friends. I would never, ever do something just to benefit myself by doing something as stupid as ditching my friends and reaching for what I want. Personally, I hate it when people step on each other to get something, to reach a goal of theirs. I find that is the highest offense, turning your back on your friends. It doesn't matter if Voldemort's going to murder you. I would rather die, to be honest. I'm completely loyal to my friends and my family. I'm loyal to anyone who I think is loyal to me. Once I've made a decision, I don't swerve away form it. I stick by my choices, as stupid as they can be sometimes. I have belief that people can be loyal to each other. The Order of the Phoenix will, forever more, be loyal to each other until the minute we die. No matter what reasons people have, betraying the person that has complete trust in you is one of the worst things someone could ever do. I wouldn't given up on someone even if they decided that they wanted to give up. I would still be there for them even if they didn't want me there, even if they screamed at me and hurt me. I'd still try to be there for them."

perfectionist , -- A DISPOSITION TO REGARD ANYTHING SHORT OF PERFECTION AS UNACCEPTABLE

"I like things to be in order. I have to have things done to the point where I think things are done right, near to perfection. Of coures, I know that nothing's perfect, no mater how hard you try to make it seem perfect. Still, that won't stop me. When it came to getting my work done - schoolwork, really, seeing as I don't have a job, I worked endlessly for hours and horus and horus until I was positive that it wasn't just good, that it was freaking mind-blowing fantastic, really. Good wasn't even 'just good'. That wasn't good enough. Good would have to mean 'really good' not just 'good enough'. It had to prove that I put all of my effort into it, that I spent hours doing it until I thought it was spectacular. When I do something, I awnt to finish it and really be proud of it. I want to look at what ever it was that I did and be unable to keep myself from grinning with pride. When I do something, Idon't want to look at the finsihed product and frown because it doesn't look good enough. Nowadays, I have collected enough books to call my collection my own little library. That's how cool it is. They're always in order; alphabetic, of course. I absolutely hate it when someone decides to go through my books and messes it up. It's like, 'hello, I just spent a lnog time organizing it and you just had to go and ruin it? How dare you!" really. It's annoying. I like my things to look nice and almost perfect, thank you."

whimsical , -- PLAYFUL; LIGHT-HEARTED AND AMUSING

"I've never been that cold-hearted girl, you know? I rarely took things seriously. I've always been smiling and grinning and attempting to make a joke out of something, though I tended to... Uhm, well, I wasn't very successful when it came to making jokes. I could be cute, but I wasn't the jokester or anything. Anyway, er... I can take things seriously, you know? The problem is that it makes things so awkward and uncomfortable. Situations where you feel like you want to just run away and not look back aren't my favourite kind of situations, you see. I like keeping things light-hearted. Seriousness? No, it dfefinitely wasn't something that stayed with me out of class, seeing as I took my work seriously. Everything else? Golly, no - I was and I still am bent on enjoying life while I can. Someone once told me that it seems like I only have three different expressions: grinning, pouting or just looking plain confused. Really, I tended to smile more often than not. There's something incredibly ugly, in my opinion, about frowning and scrunching up your face when you're displeased because of something. I don't know. I like to play around. I tease, I joke, I try to lighten the atmosphere if it feels uneasy. I want things to go well, not badly. I've been told I was sweet, that I was a real doll. I've made people smile and I'm proud of that. I like having fun. I play games - like spies or house or hide n' seek. I'm little kid at heart, no matter how old I get. I live life to its fullest. I take any good opportunity I get. I try not to regret anything. I live in the moment for the future, if that makes sense."

erratic , -- PRONE TO UNEXPECTED CHANGES; INCONSISTENT

"Everyone knows that I'm a scaredy cat. It's easy to make me scream in fear or to jump in surprise. But I'm not going to sit back and let life pass me by. I'm going to live, you know? Not just... Live and live quietly - okay, so I am quiet sometimes, but whatever! I'm not talking about that kind of quiet. I mean, I'm not always loud and crazy and wild or anything, but I want to have an adventure, as ridiculous as that might sound. I like having fun. I want to have fun. I, uhm, try not to do the same thing twice - or iI try to be spontaneous. To be honest, I'm a bit of a roller coaster. Rarely am I capable of actually making up my mind about what I want and how I feel. Plus, I'm a bit sensitive to what people say to me and/or about me. One minute I can be happy then sad the next, and then I'll be laughing and giggling all over again after a second or two. It gets a bit ridiculous, to be honest. I like changes. I don't like it when things are the same. I constantly rearrange the way i have my things in my home. I think it's more fun when things are chaotic, but not disastrous. And, you know what? I don't like being seen as the exact same thing to everyone. My mum saw me as a little princess. My daddy saw me as a warrior princess - possibly because I love dresses and frills, but then here i am, wanting to save the world. Someone said I'm trying too hard to be a superhero. My friends say I'm adorable, that I'm cute and trustworthy and totally sweet. Usually, i'm incapable of staying still too. I always have to move around, to fiddle around with something. Might be a bit of a problem, but I like it. I hate it when things are the same. I like to spice things up, watch things change. Clearly, I'm not one of those people who hate change or who are afraid of change. I embrace it! I, myself, constantly change. I adapt - like... like frogs. I think it was frogs. Whatever. But yes! I'm always moving, always changing. I'm happy then sad then angry then happy then confused. It's funny. I like being like a roller coaster. It's really, really funny!"

Sample RP:

Christmas was supposed to be a time for joy and happiness, a time to spread cheer all around the world and accept each other. Her own family had always celebrated Christmas together for the past several years. However, this year would be different. The students of Beauxbatons had been snowed into the castle after particularly nasty weather. The weather in England had never been particularly patterned, but this was just proving that it could be quite bizarre. It meant that this time around she’d have to spend it with her friends, rather than her own parents and extended family. Everything would still be the same, she’d still done all the usual rituals with her close friends. Dustin and Merc had decorated a little Christmas tree together for the common room, and she’d already started working on plum pudding. Everything was planned perfectly, the only thing left to do was set up a small nativity scene, which they’d both planned to do that afternoon. Thank goodness she’d gotten all her presents for everyone before the snow storm had kept them all in, the shopping trip with Seth being an utter blessing. It was a time to share and give, a time to come together. It seemed one particular group of people weren’t doing that, and those were the Sournis'. Even at this time of year they all had their little smirks on rather than genuine smiles. She doubted they’d even thought much about the holiday season. This was precisely where her plan came in.

The girl walked casually across the dungeons level, trying to play it off as if everything was completely normal and she was just heading off to a class. While others had the period for class, a few students had a free period meant to be used for study. The perfect opportunity to put her plan into motion! A Sournis boy walked in front of her, obviously heading for his own common room. As he began to slow, the girl quickly and quietly jumped into the shadows, slowing her breathing down as she followed him. This one was a stranger, so there was absolutely no chance of a ‘conflict of interest’ in her mind. Watching the boy intently, she wrinkled her nose up. Oh no. She couldn’t sneeze now, her plan would fail if he heard her. Pinching her nose with two fingers, Mercedes fought to hold it back. The layer of dust on the bottom floor wasn’t helping anything. Blinking swiftly, the tingling in her nose faded away and allowed her to come to a stand still, the very moment the Sournis boy had done so. He muttered the password, just loud enough for Mercy to hear. Grinning to herself, she watched him enter. Give him a few minutes, Merc, she quickly told herself, rolling back her robe and glancing at the gold-chained watch she’d bought on her shopping trip.

After roughly six minutes, the little blonde girl walked over to the portrait and mimicked the password the boy had murmured only moments before. Slowly it opened, to her own relief. Slinging the enchanted shoulder bag further up her shoulder, she stepped in side. Just as Mercedes had suspected, they hadn’t really decorated for Christmas. A pathetic tree sat by the fire place, with hardly any decorations, but that was it. Shaking her own head in disgust, the girl was grateful to see no one was in the room to catch her… yet. Everything was going perfectly to plan for her! If the schedule she’d drawn up had been right, it would take only roughly half an hour to bring joy to the Sournis common room, and get out in time before the period would end. “What are you waiting for, get started!” she told herself aloud. Oh golly, this was going to be fun.

Setting her bag down on the floor, she opened it. The bag had been a present from Dustin several years ago, a magically enchanted bag that could hold as many objects as she wished. Grinning, she began to pull out some green and red tinsel. “Rudolph the red nose reindeer, had a very shiny nose…” she sung quietly, laughing as she did so. Walking over to the fire place she began to drape some of the tinsel over it, winding it around the sides. After the fireplace had been decorated, she pulled out a wreath and stuck it on the front, using her wand. Grabbing some Christmas lights, she walked over to the pathetic tree and began wrapping them around it. Oh, this was the most fun she’d had in a very long time!

I'm sorry to say this but you have to write your history and personality in 3^rd person.

[adeledelacroix123]

First Name: Adele
Last Name: Delacroix
Age: 13

Appearance: Adele has dark brown hair with the hints of blonde, ginner and light brown/dark blonde. I have brown cat eyes, the change when Adele's Mood Changes. She usallys has her hair in pig tails tied with ribbons. She has a very special beauty mark on her right cheek, it is completely natural and came with her freckles that are dieing away. She has her ears pieced, and usally has studds or specail earrings in.

History: Adele came has always lived in England. But she is from a lot of different places. Manly English and Scottish, Adele also comes from France but does not live there or have family there. She does have plenty of family in Germany and Australia.

Personality: Adele's personality is always different. Her mood can change instanly. She is very smart but can have very bad blonde moments sometimes, once it went for a whole month! If she is too tierd she can be in a very bad mood. In her muggle school one of her best friends accesed her as evil. But she didn't mind!

About Adele: She went to a muggle school till she was 13 years old. She has great friends there. One started to go to Hogwarts in 2009. She is known in her town as the angel because her gran is well known in the town. Her gran was mayor for two years!

You need to develop each section.

[☀ Jaime o. R H O D E S]

FIRST & MIDDLE NAME:

Camille Audrey

SURNAME:

[/size]

Collet

AGE:[/size]

Seventeen

RESIDENCE:[/size]

Auteuil-Neuilly-Passy, Paris, France.

APPEARANCE:[/size]




HISTORY:[/size]

FAMILY
Lea Angeline Collet (nee. Arnette): Age Unknown. Mother. Two Children from Fourth Marriage. Lives in Paris. Comes From Old Money. Proud. Unforgiving. Refined. Particular. Fussy. Nit-picks. Weak to her Husband. Delicate. Elegant. Observant. Loving at times, From a Distance.

Theo Alexandre Collet: 45. Father. Married Once to Lea Arnette. Two Children. Mostly Absent. Business Man. Comes From New Money. Generous. Forgiving. Believes Money Solves Everything. High Morals. Aristocratic. Calm. Imposing. Intimidating. Archaic View of Roles Played by Women. Good Sense of Humour.

Celia Niamh Collet: 12. Sister. Dedicated playwright. Nosey. Selfish. Insolent. Kind. Loving. Proud. Self Confident. Critical of Self and Others. Excitable. Adventurous. Observant. Thinks She is Much Older than She is.

Ed Theodore Collet: DECEASED. 21. Brother. Strong willed. Care Free. Kind. Dreamer. Wild Child. Traveller. Humble yet Proud. Confident. Intelligent. Witty. Closest to Camille. Dreamt of being an Auror. Killed in action.

James Thomas Lowe: 18. Betrothed to Camille. Comes From Old Money. Has Tender moments. Occupied. Does Not Trust Easily. Lavish. Aristocratic. Good Sense of Humor. Cares Very Much About Camille - Tries Not To Show It Too Much. Confident. Charismatic. Educated. Honest. Protective. Admirable.

Noah Dornan Cole: 18. Comes From No Money. Care Free. Intelligent. Charismatic. Has Travelled The World. Put Through School by James' Father. Kind. Witty. Tends To Do Things Spur of The Moment. Went to School With James. Stays With The Collets often alongside James. Stubborn.



ONCE UPON A TIME IN OLD PARIS

Born on the 23^rd of January 1992, to Lea and Theo Collet, on the frostiest night that month, Camille Audrey Collet was perfect. To her mother’s delight she had all ten toes and fingers, chocolate brown eyes with honey coloured flecks, like her own, and a fluffy tuft of dark hair which sprang messily in all directions. She was the second to be born of all three Collet children, although unlike her brother she was born on the outskirts of Paris, not far from the Collet Summer Villa in Nanterre. Healers were sent through port keys to the nearest muggle hospital, to which Lea was rushed during the early hours of the morning, - 'an overcrowded and disgraceful monstrosity' as she described it in later years. Theo made sure all the provisions were immediately attended to; the healers, the room, the muggles memories, though he, himself, was not present and the arrangements were done over the floo network by his assistant. The particulars of their relationship need not be discussed, but it is safe to conclude that they were no Romeo and Juliette. Even in their youth the day to day ran as was expected and centred itself on the magnetic pull of careers and dinner parties, with moments of affection. Then, as to this day, you could say that Theo loved his wife - they were never passionately in love, they were not a fairytale - but they did, in their own way, in fact care for each other dearly. They were never destined to be lovers; they were matched through lists and talks, like those of million galleon mergers, with tactless conversations of wills and prenuptial arrangements, and not the way it was perceived by those on the outside. In fact, the wedding was grand, with over six hundred guests, who poured in with their luxurious summer dresses and oversized hats, and for days after it the newspapers gushed over the handsome couple who were so smitten... and so in love.

Ed was the first born, late in the spring of 1989, and instantly he became the over-achiever, the son that every pseudo-upper-class noble envied, with his charming smile and mysterious coffee coloured eyes which wandered around the room eagerly. Even early on it became clear being doted upon never suited Ed, neither did the suits and combed over hair, or the sensation that he was a doll to be presented to the public, and whose duty it was to inspire ‘oohs’ and ‘awws’ at the appropriate moments. He threw his fair share of wildly public tantrums in defiance of the limelight he was so readily forced into, but it didn’t take long for the rebellion fever to dwindle. Even at the tender age of four he was protective of his sister, when Camille was born he took it on himself to protect her and felt he should let go of his dislike for the plastic parades in order to do so; as he was to be her most dedicated and loyal friend. When she could finally walk he would hold her hand and take her everywhere with him - though at times he was distracted from his brotherly duty and would lock her in their tree house as punishment for her less than agreeable displays of annoyance. Admittedly, despite the odd childish prank against his little sister, he was always by her side, he was determined to be everything she needed - adamant that he would be the one to teach her how to tie her laces, how to ride a broom, to say rude words, not some over paid au-perre with long greasy hair and a stern face – something Ed never had. Their life was of grandeur, and even with its upsides and downsides it was never thought they should have felt left wanting - or at least Camille never thought she’d felt that way in all her years.

In a home which is never a home, with an almost-always absent father and a self-absorbed mother, one becomes independent and accepts the moments of familial bliss even though they are few and brief. Those few moments hardly ever felt like calanderised appointments - in fact mostly they were real and honest and heartfelt. Both Ed and Camille were home schooled throughout their childhood, their tutor Luis, a tall bright eyed man with a full head of white hair and a short bushy beard, would come to the house with books, instruments, and anything wildly imaginable so as to give the two children every possibility to enrich themselves. He took them to museums, and markets, and libraries, and somewhere along the way it grew from simple trips to taking part in classes in the Lycée Louis-Le-Grand alongside a multitude of Parisian muggle children. Louis, though he knew Lea would never confess her knowledge of their secret day trips, asked the Collet children to avoid mentioning them outside of their circle. Lea may have been much too needy and selfish to even consider planting the seed of possibly sending her children away to magic school by banning their trips but Theo would not have had such a problem. Unlike Lea he was not weak and desperate to keep the only voices in her pampered prison a permanent fixture and would have been furious at the thought of his children spending their days with their half-blood tutor associating with muggles rather than their own kind, learning about their own that he most probably would have sent them away. Of all the places Louis ever took them Cammie’s favourite was the Bibliothèque nationale de France, which stood proudly overlooking the River Seine with its large windows and endless bookshelves, and somewhere in its corridors she met her first muggle friend, Aryka. Aryka was a tall girl with beach blond hair and a ‘me against the world’ attitude which undoubtedly filtered through to Cammie as the years went by. She came from a family of one, no parent or carer in sight, unless her foster family counted – they were rich and showered her with unnecessary gifts to evoke some sense of familial bond, but for the most part they let her do her own thing. She didn’t mind putting up with the petting if they put her through Healer School – or Medical School as the muggles called it.

Celia's arrival into the Collet family, when Cammie was five, could not have been more perfect. Theo, again, was not present, although he had planned everything to the tee, and Celia had arrived just as expected and on the dot. She was welcomed and loved by both Camille and Ed - who played with her till their eyes were tired and sore and still they wanted to keep her awake. She was their favourite toy for a long time.

Cammie should have started her attendance at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic from the age of 11, as soon as she received her letter, just like Ed had done, and Celia should have done later. But those letters were tucked away in her mother’s dresser. Instead Luis’ classes and day trips to Muggle School and the Library felt more like home to her than her houses ever had, it seemed the dream was when she was at home, even on days like Christmas - the odd unsettling feeling that what was really there wasn't at all, and she felt no real staying connection to it. Months before Cammie's 15^th birthday, only two days before Christmas a young boy with striking features and espresso coloured hair was invited to sit next to her at dinner. He had done this a million time before but they both knew that time had been different. She had known James most of her life, and so had Ed. He had been the most sensible of the three, although far be it for him to not join in when there was a food fight in the kitchen or when they'd accidently burnt down one of the stables with fireworks. Her father stood up, glass in hand, then took Cammie's smaller one in his own large hand and placed it gently on top of James'. With a nod to James’ parents who, that night, had been sitting comfortably in tall dining chairs across the table, it was done, like an unspoken binding contract. Ed's fork dropping unsubtly onto his plate was the only noise heard. She was betrothed. Disgusted by his father’s blatant disregard of his disapproval of such a barbaric and ancient custom he stood, rather loudly and abruptly, from his chair and exited the dining room.

She hadn't known what to think at the time, all she knew was that part of her was thrilled that her father had picked James, someone who she cared for and felt free around, while another part tugged, nagging at her chest. This was it. There would be no surprise, no climbing of any tower, no charging white horse, no butterflies. Since Ed had risen from his seat and left the table in a huff, after staring at his father with his mouth agape, appalled at the events of the evening she couldn’t talk to him. James had squeezed her hand reassuringly - in the dream land he was the only thing that seemed real. He would know exactly how she felt, yet like her, could do, and would do nothing about it.

As far as her expectations in terms of James he well surpassed anything she could have imagined. Her oblivious childish vision of him had been swept away by the man he had unexpectedly become, without her really noticing, and she saw him differently - he was her prince, and she did get butterflies, and although it was a tree house, there was a tower. They wrote to each other regularly and that year she spent her weekends with him in Paris, whenever he could get back from Durmstrang Institute of Magic. For the wealthier students perks were easy to come by, and although he never came alone Noah always found somewhere he, conveniently, had to run off to. Noah was James' oldest friend and he and Cammie had met many times before. Since James and Noah had gone to Durmstrang together for years and he himself had sat on the table the night Theo betrothed Cammie to James, he was almost part of their little dysfunctional family. He was nothing like James, it was a miracle that their friendship was so strong and had lasted for all the years it had. When they were much younger James’ father had paid for Noah to be schooled with his son at what he considered was the finest wizarding school in the globe, though in her memories and her world he had played a minor role. They had never gotten on. In fact, her only prominent memories of him she associated with pain - he'd cut her hair, tied her to the tree house, broken her dolls, stolen her strawberry cake and really just got on her nerves whenever he could.

One grey October morning, three months before her 17th birthday, Cammie stood stone-faced and pale staring into the hole in the ground where her brother lay. The casket was varnished pine, with tints of black and gold hinges, she could remember that. Her dress was black, as was acceptable when mourning the death of a loved one, and she never really heard what the minister said, or when the aurors, in their lines, pointed their wands to the sky in respect, all she remembered was the reassuring squeeze of the warm hand clasped around her own. The strange thing was it wasn't James this time, it was Noah. For days since she'd heard the news she couldn't cry, which was definitely not the customary reaction, she knew she should feel it more, he deserved more, but her chest didn't feel like it had a truck smashed into it, her eyes wouldn't cry for him. After the funeral she mounted her broom and flew into the gardens, on either side Ed and her had built goal posts, and in the middle drawn a crooked circle in an attempt to make their own Quidditch pitch. She flew around in a circle as if she were doing drills, as hard as and as fast as she could, angry at herself for not feeling. How it happened didn't ever matter much, or how she lost her grip and plummeted to the ground, all that mattered was that he caught her and the truck which she had been begging to hit her in the chest finally did. Later she remembered thinking it felt like drowning, the weight and unfathomable force with which it sucked the air out of her lungs, like her chest was bursting to explode was unimaginable.

That night she couldn't grab hold of anything, it flew by in a blur or liquor and loneliness and she took little notice of the vows exchanged and the new ring on her finger - not silver anymore but a plastic-y bright green. Noah had comforted her, held her up and let her talk until her throat was sore, and he was so much like Ed. Charming, caring, care-free, stubborn.

Without memory of the night just past, and a throbbing headache, dawn broke and slipped out of a large hotel room bed, which was still occupied by Noah’s sleeping form, and with her acceptance letter in hand she boarded a carriage to Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, little did she know the boy she was always annoyed by, the boy who had comforted her, the boy she'd woken up next to was her husband.

PERSONALITY:[/size]

KIND. Cammie is not perfect and has selfish intents as well as any other human being but for the most part she wants to help and keep her family happy – her heart is generally in the right place.
EAGER.
CALM. Cammie does not get nervous often, she's quite upfront about the way she feels but she is however not exempt from jittery moments, as rare as they are. She's learnt, over the years, to keep collected and calm in the required situations.
EXCITABLE. She's easily excited and loves the stimulating and jovial things in life, especially adventures – be they to the market down the street or to Peru.
INTELLIGENT. As a child she was given everything to enrich her mind - books, musical instruments. She excelled the most at piano and plays wonderfully whenever she can.
ONE OF THE BOYS. Cammie was always one of the boys in all senses; she spent most of her time with her brother and his friends and had a lot of the idiosyncrasies and reasoning of a boy for a long time.
ADVENTUROUS. She loves the spontaneous, anything that springs unexpectedly from a moment and excites her.
IMPATIENT. Without a doubt Cammie lacks patience, she becomes restless easily if she is bored, or if she's waiting for something and even more impatient when she doesn't get her head around something quickly enough. She does, however, have her moments of surprisingly unexpected patience.
CONFIDENT. The fact that she has always been uncomfortable in her own skin made Cammie stronger – living with a mother who with the same ease of giving a compliment makes criticisms, on a daily basis, makes ones skin thicker than it looks.
FEARLESS. She likes to think she's fearless, and in most situations she is, and she will be the first to volunteer for something others seem to want to avoid. Though the comparison may be rather unattractive she's like the puppy who thinks she's much bigger than she actually is - not scared of the bigger dogs. When it comes to relationships it's quite different, her first reaction is to run.
COMMITMENT-PHOBE. It's a shame that her commitment-phobia was worsened after her brother’s death - she became even less likely to let herself get too close to people, so as to prevent the feeling that would inevitably come if she were to lose them. Certain situations and types of people trigger her commitment-phobia more so than others - for example Noah - because he was like her brother in so many ways and it was so easy for her to feel comfortable. Admittedly, she has some issues. She always admired her brother and loved him and unfortunately he was the only real constant male figure in her house, the only real example of a good man she had. Ed was never good with relationships, and those qualities which he had were the ones she felt she should imitate if she was going to survive in relationships, till she found someone who really cared for her. It makes her predictable because, like clockwork, as soon as someone gets close she will pull away. Without the control she gets from distancing herself she doesn’t know how to cope.
HONEST. Cammie will always say what she thinks or feels with as much honesty as she can, she is not however perfectly honest. She does lie. She lies to her family to keep them happy and blissfully unaware of anything that they need not stress over, she lies to Luis to cover her mistakes and misbehaviour at times. She has come to realise over the years that honesty, as good as it can be, it can be selfish in certain situations – being honest simply to make yourself feel better is almost as bad as lying.
HUMOROUS. Her sense of humour she inherited from her father - he always did make her laugh. She feels closer to people who can make her laugh – laughter makes anyone feel comfortable.
OBSERVANT. The art of reading people, she was told, was special. She never really thought of it as an art, far from it, but she has always thought of herself as a good judge of character, although one of her many faults are her lack of hesitation when making those judgements. It keeps her, at times, from giving chances to people who might surprise her. And though she is sometimes naive in a sense she's very perceptive.
STRONG.
LAID BACK. Cammie is not an easily stressed person.
GENERALLY GOES BY THE RULES BUT IS NOT AFRAID TO BEND OR BREAK THEM. She doesn't go around causing trouble, in fact in most aspects of her life, especially her family life, she abides by the set of rules demanded, but she plays her fair share of pranks, and runs naked around the quidditch pitch for a dare, or sneaks into forbidden places for god knows what if she knows it will be fun.
FUN-LOVING.
POSITIVE OUTLOOK ON LIFE. The way Cammie looks at things is generally positive, she hates being moody and people who look at the bad side of things all the time. She doesn’t have time to spend her life thinking about all the ways things could possibly go wrong and she doesn’t generally make time for people who do.
KNOWS WHO SHE IS DESPITE WHAT OTHERS THINK. If you could fit yourself into stereotypes you might as well add boring to the list. When people comment on the way she is around her family, proper and the way a lady of her age and social status is supposed to be, though around others she is louder and less pristine, they say she might as well be a double agent. To them she is two people - in fact she's just one. She likes being the socialite she's supposed to be when she is at home but when she goes back to school she likes to relax and be loud and playful with her friends - she's one person with millions of different sides to her, she does not feel she needs to fit a specific category or box.

ROLE-PLAY SAMPLE:[/size]

Cammie decided to walk all the way to the station from the hotel. The vivid memory of the bright red alarm clock numbers by the hotel bedside table, which she'd left behind her almost 20 blocks ago, told her it was too late to call for even muggle transport. Eighteen gorgeous blocks. The distance didn't faze her as much as the cold did, and the snow which covered the streets further than she could see only made it a little harder to walk. Despite the drawbacks she enjoyed the cold air, and no matter how rosy it made her nose it had a way of clearing her mind and it let her concentrate on just her feet as she put one in front of the other. Walking had ended up to be exactly what she needed, although she was hardly strolling down the rue de Maubeuge to the Gare du Nord station in central Paris, the cold inspired no less than a half power walk which sped her along the windy streets with barely lit lanterns, all somewhat still asleep with their flickering lights from the night before. There were moments she didn’t have a clue where she was. She started to piece the signs around her and figured out she was just near Notre Dame Cathedral, near the Berthillon Wizard shop where James had taken her a little over two weeks ago. The darkness felt like a mocking stranger as she watched a muggle taxi cab swerve carelessly around the corner. She acted instinctively and recklessly, and flailed her arm in the air and somehow managed to grab the cab she'd almost thought was imaginary.

“Gare du Nord, sil-vous-plait.”

As her voice breached the silent air she felt sick to her stomach that she sounded like she was begging. Ed had been right, the archaic rules in their way of living were wrong. Once the station was visible she paid for the taxi and hobbled inside, looking like a homeless girl with smudged makeup. She was still draped in last night's attire which consisted of a strapless black dress and 'too-high-to-walk-in' heels. Not exactly what she had in mind and hardly anything she would normally wear let alone in the freezing cold.

She wasn’t allowed to take taxis home, so normally she would call for someone to pick her up. One thing about the station is that it was quite safe compared to other places. On the other hand, she could catch the subway, or she could catch a train. Train? That was an odd thought, why would she want to catch a train, and to where? Beauxbatons. She laughed to herself, it was dry and meaningless and she almost burst into tears afterwards, but she held her composure. She wiped the smudged makeup from her eyes; she was going to do something stupid and spontaneous. She was going to run away, looking like a complete head case. She wasn't this person - Luis hadn't even told her how to get to the Academy, her mother had made him swear, or so he'd said. The acceptance letter they sent every year was ignored and tucked away in her mother's dresser, like a secretive note, although Cammie never understood why she didn't burn it, it was clear she was completely against magic school, something else Cammie had never understood.

“What’s the next train you have out of Paris?”, she asked as she looked through the glass at the man in the ticket booth, although his eyes seemed to be on the oddly dressed gentleman staring rather obviously at her near the waiting benches. Taking no notice of either of them she turned to the huge Train Times board and stepped away from the booth. Marceille, 5:10am. She was lucky, only ten minutes. She swung her bag off her shoulder and let it drop on the end chair of the platform waiting benches and sat down on the following one. Before she could think herself crazy her hands dived into her large bag and dug out a pair of jeans, which she pulled on over her dress after she’d stepped out of her shoes and felt the cold stone floor against her feet. There was a loose fitting camisole near the top and she slipped that over her head only to wiggle out of her dress by pushing it down over her jeans once it was on. There was little she could do in the foot situation, the only store open was a tourist stand with bright white ‘J’aime Paris’ t-shirts hanging on the windows, she hardly doubted they have a more comfortable pair of shoes. In one quick move she zipped her bag back up and rushed across the platforms to find the right one, as she surveyed her surroundings. There were large archways built with brick, still clinging to the only reminder of its history, its foundations. Over the bricks metal beams were built to reinforce them and large electronic ‘Eurostar’ signs hung on the walls shining in their bright white and blue and she felt sad. Luis told her muggle children loved riding on trains, it was an adventure and half the time the amount of attention they paid to where the train was actually going was only minimal. The windows were always too black to see out of at night, even with the little side lamps on, and people in uniforms were always running up and down the aisles with coffee and champagne on little trays while selling glossy books. Luis called them something she couldn’t remember. Her train of thought was disrupted by the shove against her shoulder which pushed her into a wall, although she never hit it, instead she hit the floor on what appeared to be the other side of the wall.

“Hey! Watch it!” she called as she lifted herself from the floor and the man she’d spotted earlier ran off in his strange clothe-. Wizarding robes! She spun round faster than her head could handle and her eyes widened in shock as she took in her surroundings. He’d pushed her through a wall into another station alright, but most definitely not for trains. She tugged at the strap on her shoulder as if it could be reassurance of some sort. She’d never been here before, she knew every wizard place in Paris but she’d never even heard of this before. Curiously she walked away from the spot she’d just picked herself up from and stared down the platforms...or platform. One giant platform which looked nothing like any other platform she’d seen before, without train tracks and equipment, just a long brick bay and in the middle a tiny ramp resting at the doorway of a huge silver carriage. Twelve winged creatures rested by the reigns, they were Abraxans, a rare breed of winged horse; they were said to be gigantic, and indeed they were, and extremely powerful. Madame Maxime, the headmistress of Beauxbatons, breeds them, or so she’d read in one of her books, and the winged horses that pull her carriage are Abraxans. They drink only single malt whisky and require "forceful handling", as she remembered.

Without hesitation she wandered over to the carriage, examining its tall form, and attemped to look through the open door and down what she presumed should be aisles, with her fingers lingering on the door frame. A head popped out of the doorway and her body shot backwards like a naughty child caught peeking at an adult conversation with her hands immediately dropping by her sides. The body attached to the floating head moved out of the doorway and into her sight, its smiling features reassuring her a little. He was donning a pale blue uniform, much like a guard's, only much simpler and without a hat, which only made her think he must have been an attendant. He studied her for a moment then raised an inquisitive brow.

“You’re a little early; the carriage doesn’t leave for another three hours”

“Oh, sorry, I was just looking around” she replied, after the smiling man spoke, and ran a hand through her dark tresses carelessly. He nodded towards the carriage and shrugged his shoulders as he spoke again, “You’re welcome to come inside for some pumpkin juice, if you like, since we’re not off to the Academy any time soon.” At that she didn’t reply, Academy? Her gaze shifted to the Abraxans, then back to the attendant and her rosy lips parted in realisation.

“You are going to Beauxbatons, aren’t you?”

Cammie shifted on the spot and smiled, “Er, yeah. I am.”

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[/blockquote]
Must be Rouerie!

[junebywaters]

knowing the basics is pretty basic.
name.

june marie bywaters.

age.

seventeen.

appearance.

click.

relationships always go indepth.
history.

If I told you that June's life was perfect, I'd be lying. Nothing is ever perfect, and her background is no exception. Life is tormenting everyone at one point, and it doesn't pick favorites. June is a perfect example of this.

One year in August, mister Arstone Bywaters was having lunch in Paris. You could call this a 'traditional' meeting of two people, I guess. Arstone was discribed as a player of girls in every town, almost famous for the slxts he picked up off of the streets. He made them into high class ladies who made money, not just prostitutes. After the girls left in the morning, he would make his way down to a little coffee shop on the north side of Paris for lunch and a latte. The waitresses loved him and called him by name, and the waitors loathed the peice of crap. They saw him as a evil man who stole their women and turned them into broads with enough money that they could buy the damn coffee shop. Arstone didn't cause trouble, but many of the other people tried to pester him to the point where he would pounce. He gave off the Mobster vibe - he donned black slacks with an off-white pinstripe shirt and a black vest everyday. That was his casual attire that made him look dangerous and daring, it also called the ladies in one by one.

The waitress this time was fairly new to the coffee shop and had never served him before. Her name was April, and she was very petite. April was a total people person and was absolutely sweet. Her attire included a little red and white striped dress with an apron over it, and she had her auburn hair tied back with a bow. She started serving him and having breaks with mister Arstone everyday, and they began to fall slowley in love. Around nine months later, they got married and eventually had two kids.

The first of the kids had a brain tumor when he was born, and he died when he was three. His name was Arstone Junior, after his father. He was a very happy kid, which made his parents love him so much that they couldn't bare to give him up to the hospital. April saved him and held him close for another three years until he sadly passed away.

After the horrible death of Arstone Junior, they decided to have another baby. She was a healthy little summer baby named June who had a love for nature. Despite her slight anger issues, June slowley became the light of the happy couples life. She was soft, outspoken, and very passionate about things. June had a motivation that no one had in Paris. Unfortunately, the child got sick at the age of five and had to be in the hospital for four weeks of chemotherapy. She, like young Arstone, had cancer. This time, they caught it early and April decided to give her up for a while. The cancer was treated, and she became healthy again. Arstone and April never let her get sick ever again, sending her for regular check ups with the wizarding doctor instead of the Muggle one.

When June was just fifteen, her mother passed away of undetermined causes. Arstone and the rest of the family believed that it was a crime, most likely caused by Voldemort who was reaking havoc all over the globe at this point. June was certain it was just a strain of an illness that went horribly wrong, but even the autopsy couldn't tell the family how she died.

personality.

Love. When love is involved, June is the most awkward bee in the hive. She doesn't know how boys work and is a social outcast whenever love strikes. She's only had one serious relationship before, and she wasn't very romantic. June doesn't know when to kiss or hug, and can't tell if someone likes her or not to save her life. It's quite sad, but it's adorable to her friends. She's very sweet, but not too bright on the whole male situation.

Sweet. This girl is probably the nicest thing you'll ever meet. June has a certain tone to her voice that makes everything sound so caring, so poliet. She can get a bit sarcastic, but other than that she's very nice. She lives up to her mothers name, being nice to everyone even if they're different. She has a love for people who aren't like her, and who are nice in return. June seems like the classic Little Red Riding Hood, but since her father seemed to be a mobster, she kind of inherited that, too. She's more like a Little Red Riding In The Hood.

Anger. June has a powerful sense of anger, and when you piss her off, she won't just throw pillows at you. She'll get up and throw a vase at you if one is in reach. She tends to break things when she gets angry, and if you're not around her when she gets pissed off at you, she'll kick and punch all around her and will never tell you that she's mad at you. June is such an odd little character. She loves to be violent, which I believe to be quite odd in such a loving girl. Her anger seemed to be progressing around her mothers death.

sample my skilllzzz.

June traced the veins in her wrist with care as she sat in the garden outside her front yard. Her black nails danced upon the palm of her hand once she reached it, tickling the writing upon her hand. The sun glared down on her hands and feet as she giggled like a little girl. Who said it was impossible to tickle yourself, anyway? They must be dumb, because June just proved them wrong. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that this was just one of those happier moments in her life where she just laughed for no reason or if she was really tickling herself, but she still loved the feeling of laughter. It made her smile, and brought the corner of her lips up to the top of her ears. She knew she had a pretty smile, but it hardly ever came across her face anymore. She got up off of the ground and ran into her two story house to find her father.

"Arstone!" she called, her voice booming across the hall. "When's breakfast? I'm starving over here!" June giggled slightly, knowing it annoyed her dad when she called him by his real name. She wasn't sure why, but she assumed it was because of her brothers death. She tapped her foot impatiently as her father appeared in the door frame.

"Damn it all, June. I was trying to read the paper. Don't you know not to interrupt a man when he's reading the paper?" he inquired, rubbing his eyes. He was still a handsome man even though his looks had long since disappeared.

"You never answered my question, Dad," June stated, her voice ringing. She had a quite comforting voice that tickled everyones ears.

Arstone sighed, walking into the kitchen with lazy steps. The boards below his feet squeeked quietly, mumbling to each other that they needed to be replaced. Her dad muttered something under his breath and the oven started making eggs and bacon. Soon breakfast was ready for the two of them, and they both sat in the living room watching the television that their old Muggle neighbores once bought for them. Their house was fairly nice, although quite old, and it needed a touch up. There weren't people for two miles now since a lot of homes nearby were being foreclosed on. June smiled to herself, loving the peace of the house. She scraped her fork against the plate so that it let out a horrid sound. She loved to annoy her father like that. June giggled quietly as her father groaned. "JUNE! Stop that nonsense, you're seventeen," Arstone grumbled.

"And you're how old? You still watch kid shows on the television, dad," June reminded him lightly.

Must be Sournois!

[claudia]

full name; claudia mary knowles
age; 13
blood; pure-blood
appearance; stella hudgens
history;
personality;
sample rp;

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