Post by josh on May 13, 2011 23:12:17 GMT
remington cygnus lestrange
THE SCARS OF YOUR LOVE
[/size]remind me of us - - - - - -[/center]
full name: Remington Cygnus Lestrange
nicknames: He generally goes by Remy (because Remington is a ghastly name), Rem
birthday: March Nineteenth
age: Seventeen
house: Slytherin
blood status: Pureblood
face claim: Sean Faris
WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL
[/size]rolling in the deep - - - - - -[/center]
likes:
Charms
Wizard’s Chess
The Stinging Hex
Being Right
Laughing
The Forbidden Forest
Sleeping In
Exploding Snaps
A Challenge
Nighttime
Magical Creatures
dislikes:
His First Name
Halitosis
Potions
Boredom
Injustice
Auntie Bella
Pumpkin Pasties
Arrogance
Stereotypes
Discrimination
Being Compared to his Father
Failure
Straight-laced People
Going to the “dark side”
Losing those he loves
Losing his wand
Underachieving
His Parent’s Crimes
The Dark Arts
Losing
strengths:
Confident
Charms
Hiding his true intentions
Determined
weaknesses:
A bit of a showoff
Has rather explosive temper
Tends to be rather fickle in terms of his love life
Very Impulsive
Damsels in Distress (whether they be male or female)
veritaserum:
- Remy is not a pureblood supremacist. Nor does he have any intention of supporting his family in their bid for world domination. In fact, if he had the chance, he would stop them. He is sure that if he were to tell any of his family this, they would kill him. Or, at the very least, use the Imperius Curse on him to ensure that his interests lined up with their own. So he holds on to this secret with every fiber of his being and he must often act the part that his family expects of him.
- Remy keeps his sexual preference a secret, at least from his parents. He’s sure that they’ve already picked out a girl for him to marry, a nice pureblood girl, to keep the power in the family and he doubts that they would be supportive of his choice. The Lestranges aren’t known for being understanding.
dementor:
Remy’s biggest fear is that he loses his temper and kills someone. He is terrified by those things that his family revels in and he is scared that he might one day succumb to the darkness that lives within his own heart.
patronus:
As cliché as it may sound, Remy’s best memory was the day his letter arrived from Hogwarts. For most of his childhood, he had been terrified by the things that his parents were teaching him, things that they deemed essential for him to know. Hogwarts was his escape from that torment. His patronus takes the form of a White Rhinoceros.
sexuality & relationship status:Homosexual & Single
I HEARD ONE ON YOU
[/size]ill make your head burn - - -[/center]
father: Rabastan Lestrange, 54, death eater, currently working as a financial consultant for Nimbus
mother: Romilda Lestrange (nee gaunt), 52, death eater
siblings:Katerina Lestrange, seventeen, slytherin
others: Isabella Lestrange, sixteen, gryffindor, cousin
Aerilon Lestrange, seventeen, slytherin, cousin
- ---- ---- Lestrange, seventeen, slytherin, cousin
Bellatrix Lestrange, fifty eight, death eater, aunt
overall history:
Remy was born the second child to Rabastan and Romilda Lestrange. Born into a house of dark wizards, Remy’s childhood was tailored towards shaping him to follow in his parent’s footsteps. Throughout this childhood, his parents ensured that he was taught not only the fundamentals of magic, but also all they could about the dark arts. Terrifying things that would make even the most hard-hearted of wizards shudder in their boots. He was taught about Inferi and exactly how to reanimate a corpse. He was taught spells that would make even the strongest of wizards quake in their boots. He was taught the Unforgivable Curses and while he was told that he should use them sparingly, he should never hesitate to use them if the time was right.
Like every young witch or wizard in Great Britain, Remy began his matriculation at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry at the age eleven. He was ecstatic when his letter came. It meant that he could finally escape the horrors that he faced everyday at home. He was a bit disheartened when he was sorted into Slytherin, a house known for its dark wizards. Of course, his father’s reputation preceded him. Half of the school hated him for his father’s crimes. The other half was scared that he would curse them into oblivion. He was sure that there was at least a portion of the teaching staff that kept an eye on him, probably due to their suspicions that he, or any of the other children of Death Eaters, would rise up and try to become the next Dark Lord.
And it’s possible he might have tried, due to his parent’s influence over his life. Though it pains him to say it, he is a lot like his father. He has a raging temper, which he’s afraid may one day get out of control. He doesn’t like being taken advantage of and people who dare cross him usually don’t like the consequences. But he fought his parents all the way. In secret of course, for if they ever found that he was defying, he would be labeled a blood traitor and be disowned, if not killed. He was terrified of what he could become and he was determined to not let that happen. He didn’t give in to the stereotype that all Slytherins had to automatically be evil, stuck up prats. He refused to actively torture anyone, be it physically or mentally, like his father would have wanted. Why else would he have been taught about the Cruciatus Curse when he was only nine? He is much more of a relaxed, go-with-the-flow kind of guy, rather than the do-my-bidding-or-die kind of guy. He never believed in the idea of blood supremacy.
In his first years at Hogwarts, he found that he had a natural proficiency for Charms, a class he took to like a fish to water. He’s always been proud of the fact that he breaks the conventional idea that all Slytherins are great with Potions. He’s actually rather shite with potions, no matter their complexity. Follow directions has never been his forte. He also excelled in other classes that required complex magic, such as Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He sure the only reason he’s o good in DADA is because of his knowledge of the dark arts. You have to know your enemy to defeat it. Now, in his seventh year, he aspires to be a Curse Breaker but he’s not sure if his parents will allow it. They have plans for his life after he graduates and he’s sure that they’re not going to be geared towards helping the Wizarding World. He is torn because, on the one hand, he loves his family, but he simply cannot live with the way they are destroying the world.
YOUR GOING TO WISH
[/size]you had never met me - - - - - -[/center]
name/alias: Josh
gender: Male
age: Eighteen
contact: PM, preferably
how you found us: Caution 2.0
other characters: N/A
experience: Somewhere in between 5-7 years, I’m not exactly sure
role play sample:“Cut the sopophorous bean in order to release the juice within.”
After reading the directions for what felt like the thousandth time, Adrian carefully held the bean with two fingers while trying to angle his knife between said fingers so as to cut the bean without losing his appendages. A careful downwards slice, and the bean instantly shot from between his fingers, bouncing off somewhere under one of the desks scattered throughout the room. The knife he clutched in his hand dug deep into the table as he stabbed it viciously into the wood in his anger.
Yes, it’s true. Believe it or not, Adrian was inside on this wonderful, school free, sun shiny day, in the dungeons no less. He was in an empty classroom, his only companions being his Potions cauldron and textbook and the ingredients needed to make the very difficult Draught of Living Death. They had been studying the potion the previous day in Potions and trying to brew a perfect batch. Unfortunately, Adrian, who normally was more than adept at the fine art of potion brewing, had been having more than a little bit of trouble with this particular potion. The potion did not turn out quite as he (or anyone for that matter) had planned. Maybe he added too much wormwood. Or asphodel. Either way, the potion had ended up a strange and rather revolting puce color. And it killed the mouse that they had been testing the potions on. It had been more than a little frustrating knowing that the skill he usually had in the subject seemed to be deserting him. It had burned him up all day long and even haunted his dreams that night. As he recalled, in the dream, he had been hanging over a boiling cauldron full of a perfectly brewed Draught of Living Death that seemed to have the power of speech, taunting him over his inability to not brew the potion correctly.
He had woken up this morning, way earlier than was usual (or necessary, due to the fact that it was Saturday), with an intense feeling in his gut that he would never be satisfied until he was able to perfect that Draught of Living Death. And so, gathering his cauldron and all the necessary ingredients, he had made his way to this empty classroom to make the potion. Where he was still having trouble. He grabbed another bean and, pulling his wand from his pocket, magically stuck it to the table. “Try to move now,” he growled angrily at the bean. Needless to say, he was extremely irritated. Very few happy people found themselves growling at vegetables. Pulling the knife from the table he again set about to cutting the bean. This time, the bean stayed still.
About thirty minutes later, after adding the last of the ingredients, Adrian stirred the potion vigorously, not caring that the liquid was overflowing the edge of the cauldron, splashing all over the table and his clothes. He was annoyed with that infuriating bean. Most of the last half hour had been spent trying to get even a thimbleful of liquid from it. He had cut it in all directions, lengthwise, sideways, top-to-bottom, yet it stubbornly withheld it juices. He had had to cut up six more just to get enough to add to the potion. His fingers were still stinging from the cuts from his knife slipping, even though his healing charms were very effective. Adrian stirred as fast as he possibly could, despite the mess, hoping that the purple potion would turn to clear. But it wasn’t meant to be. The potion settled into a cloudy white color and refused to change again. Pulling the spoon from the cauldron, he slammed it down on the table. That was the third time that had happened!
Sighing in defeat, Adrian picked up his wand and, for the third time in perhaps as many hours, with a wave of his wand and a murmured “Evanesco,” vanished the mess made from his stirring from the desk and his clothes. Another wave and another mutter and what was left of the potion in the cauldron vanished as well. Adrian turned again to his ingredients on the table behind him with every intention of trying to brew the potion again. However, before he could even pick up the first valerian root, his stomach alerted him of its dire need for food. He had awaken before breakfast and had been trying to make this potion ever since. Maybe he could stop with this nonsense and go get something to eat. He could always ask the Potions master for help with the Potion tomorrow. Or on Monday. Or maybe next month. Whichever came last. If he never saw this potion again, it would only be too soon.
With a wave of his wand, the potion ingredients flew into the empty cauldron. Leaving it where it was, he left the classroom, stowing his wand in his pocket. He could always come back for it later. He strolled quickly down the dark stone corridor, making his way towards the kitchens. It was almost ten o’clock, meaning that breakfast was almost over, if it wasn’t already. It would just be a lot easier to go straight to the food source. Standing in front of the large portrait of a fruit bowl, he paused for a moment as he tried to remember which part of the picture you were supposed to tickle. Was it the apple? Or maybe the pineapple? It had been a while since he had been here. The last time was in his…third year, perhaps? The painting had seemed a lot taller then. Suddenly struck with inspiration, he reached upwards and tickled the big green pear. It squirmed and seemed to laugh before transforming into a door handle. Pulling the door open, he stepped inside and was immediately met with the sight, sound, and smell of hundreds of house elves preparing for lunch. The smell alone was enough to set his stomach to rumbling again.
“Can I be helping sir?” A high squeaky voice piped up from around his knees. A glance downward revealed the owner to be a house elf.
“Can I get something to eat?”
“What would sir be wanting to eat?”
“Um…how about some eggs, pancakes, and bacon?”
“Right away, sir.” The elf bowed and then turned away to rush back into the bedlam of the kitchen.
“Oh, and a goblet of pumpkin juice!” Adrian yelled after the retreating elf, who turned around again and gave another bow before rushing off again.
Now just to wait. Turning around to look for somewhere to sit and await his breakfast, he noticed a girl sitting in a corner. He recognized her. She was in Hufflepuff , he knew that much. He had seen her around the common room and they did have a few classes together. Her name just escaped his mind. But she didn’t look very good. She looked tired and drained. Adrian couldn’t help wanting to try to make her feel better. He never could resist a damsel in distress. He’d just have to shock her out of her depression with his charming wit and rhetoric. Walking over to the table, he took a seat across from her and asked her.
“Are you okay?”
Yep. He certainly had a way with words.
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