Post by hugo charles weasley on Mar 29, 2010 20:49:58 GMT -5
Looks like this is
HUGO CHARLES WEASLEY’S
Wallet...
Here's the ID..
HUGO CHARLES WEASLEY’S
Wallet...
Here's the ID..
FULL NAME: Hugo Charles Weasley
AGE: Sixteen
GENDER: Male
BIRTH DATE: June 1st, 2007
HOUSE: Ravenclaw
YEAR: Sixth
OCCUPATION: Student
Oh, look, here's some photos.
Wonder who they're of…?
Wonder who they're of…?
MOTHER: Hermione Weasley ‘nee Granger
FATHER: Ron Weasley
SIBLINGS: Rose Weasley
OTHER IMPORTANT PEOPLE: The Weasleys, the Potters, the Grangers
Your wallet says a lot
about you, you know...
about you, you know...
LIKES:
- Quidditch
- His family
- Women
- Practical jokes
- Sleeping
- Food
- The night time
- Good company
DISLIKES:
- Blood discrimination
- Rules
- Disloyalty
- Punishment
- Cats
PERSONALITY:
SENSE OF HUMOR: There’s nothing Hugo loves more than a good joke. Inheriting the trait from his father, Hugo’s usually the one to have the entire dinner table in fits of laughter. Quick witted and jovial, it’s no surprise that his name means ‘bright in spirit and mind’. His wide grin is almost always present, unless he’s put on a serious face for a joke or otherwise. Leave it to Hugh to keep the crowd happy.
ATHLETICISM: The Weasleys are definitely a Quidditch family. Hugo also inherited this trait from his father’s side of the family. Raised on Quidditch from a young age, Hugo fell in love with the sport, and began training at a very young age. He participated in many different ‘little leagues’ and began to favor the position of chaser. By the time he reached Hogwarts, the sport had become a part of him, and exercising and training became a daily routine.
CHARMING: Hugo’s a smooth talker, and he loves to chat it up with girls. A sweetie at heart, Hugo’s the romantic type (but he would never want you to know that!). The flirtatious attitude frequents any conversation with any girl; Hugo simply can’t help himself. To butter up the trait even more, he believes in old school chivalry.[/ul]
There's some notes in here...
Were they writing their freaking life story?
Were they writing their freaking life story?
HISTORY:
Wonder what this wallet's
made of...?
made of...?
YOUR NAME: Jiggy
YEARS RPING: Lots
CONTACT INFO: You know where to find me…
You've got
style!
style!
RP SAMPLE:
As Alecto Carrow, Marauders Era*
She pictured the house clearly in her mind. It had been large and stately in its day, no doubt a manor house for a rich family who lived on an extensive estate of land. In its time, it would have been beautiful, but ages of wear and tear had brought the dwelling to shambles. Many of the large, leaded glass windows were cracked, and their borders were covered in scratches and holes, no doubt from the variety of bugs and other such creatures that covered the outside of the abode. The grey paint was fractured and peeling, the door’s so much that it was seen as moist, tattered wood. Shingles on the roof were hanging for dear life, the wraparound porch’s spindles broken, and the steps wobbly and prone to breaking. The graveyard nearby housed a small number of tombstones, all teetering on the edge of hitting the ground, dirty, and scattered carelessly. The mansion served only one purpose now. She shut her eyes, and turned quickly on her heel.
Instantly, she felt the freezing air whip at her face. Cold rain was slapping her hair and cheeks, relentless to abide by the laws of gravity. Without hesitation, her eyes flew open. Wide and empty, they stared at the house ahead of them. Exactly how she’d pictured it, it stood before her. A small, wicked smile appeared on her face, and she admired the house from afar, allowing the elements to attack her, unafraid and unmoving. A magenta evening coat was pulled about her frame, tied with a large bow. The high collar protected her neck from the rain and wind that continued to hit her and it framed her jaw line just so, creating an iniquitous air about her. Beneath the coat she wore a tight-fitting black dress with long sleeves. From her clavicle to just above her bust line, and all the way down the tops of her sleeves, was a winding pattern of crisscrossed black bands, revealing her pale, tan skin. On her hands, a pair of lace gloves, and on her feet, high-heeled booties with small, descending oval cut outs. A pair of teardrop rhodolite earrings adorned her ears, accented with diamonds. The front of her blond, untamed curly hair was pulled back, leaving a variety of fly-aways to tickle her forehead. Pinning the hair back was a large, magenta flower with purple accents, which was visible from all angles. Her lace gloved fingers reached up to hold the flower in place as she began to approach the house, following the cobblestone-grey path towards the front door.
With her free hand, she pulled out her wand, and tapped the doorknob lazily, whispering a couple words harshly under her breath. After a moment, as if it had considered her, the door popped open with a large creak, and she giggled excitedly. Stepping into the home, she slammed the door behind her, wide eyes surveying the interior of the manor. One would never know that it belonged to the exterior. Lavishly decorated and warm, the main hall boasted a grand staircase, lined with a velvet carpet. The railings, and other molding, were sheer silver, which sparkled from the light of the glittering diamond chandelier, which hung from the top of the high ceiling. Portraits lined the walls, geometrically equal and spaced between lit, silver candelabras on the wall, of famous dark wizards, and ancestors of many death eaters. Above the staircase was the largest portrait of them all, lined in glorious platinum. The face of the Dark Lord himself was brilliantly visible, looking down onto the large hall with an air of authority and dictation. Her eyes stared up at it momentarily, with an expression of utmost admiration.
With a flamboyant flick of her wand, her clothing dried instantly. Her hair popped up to its natural, chaotic springs, and the flower sprang back up to its fluffy before. A quiet squeal came from her as she touched her hair carelessly, pocketing her wand, admiring herself without a mirror. She pulled her jacket off and tossed it sloppily onto the nearby coat rack, backtracking for a moment to grab her black wand, which had winding ivy engraved into the handle. Tugging at the fingers of the lace gloves in turn, she stuffed them into the pocket from whence the wand had came, and turned quickly to face the hall again. “Hellooo!” she called, a feral undertone in her faux high voice. “Anyone there?” She cackled to herself, stepping further into the hall, spinning around, staring up to the high railings leading to other floors.
Alecto Carrow had arrived.
She pictured the house clearly in her mind. It had been large and stately in its day, no doubt a manor house for a rich family who lived on an extensive estate of land. In its time, it would have been beautiful, but ages of wear and tear had brought the dwelling to shambles. Many of the large, leaded glass windows were cracked, and their borders were covered in scratches and holes, no doubt from the variety of bugs and other such creatures that covered the outside of the abode. The grey paint was fractured and peeling, the door’s so much that it was seen as moist, tattered wood. Shingles on the roof were hanging for dear life, the wraparound porch’s spindles broken, and the steps wobbly and prone to breaking. The graveyard nearby housed a small number of tombstones, all teetering on the edge of hitting the ground, dirty, and scattered carelessly. The mansion served only one purpose now. She shut her eyes, and turned quickly on her heel.
Instantly, she felt the freezing air whip at her face. Cold rain was slapping her hair and cheeks, relentless to abide by the laws of gravity. Without hesitation, her eyes flew open. Wide and empty, they stared at the house ahead of them. Exactly how she’d pictured it, it stood before her. A small, wicked smile appeared on her face, and she admired the house from afar, allowing the elements to attack her, unafraid and unmoving. A magenta evening coat was pulled about her frame, tied with a large bow. The high collar protected her neck from the rain and wind that continued to hit her and it framed her jaw line just so, creating an iniquitous air about her. Beneath the coat she wore a tight-fitting black dress with long sleeves. From her clavicle to just above her bust line, and all the way down the tops of her sleeves, was a winding pattern of crisscrossed black bands, revealing her pale, tan skin. On her hands, a pair of lace gloves, and on her feet, high-heeled booties with small, descending oval cut outs. A pair of teardrop rhodolite earrings adorned her ears, accented with diamonds. The front of her blond, untamed curly hair was pulled back, leaving a variety of fly-aways to tickle her forehead. Pinning the hair back was a large, magenta flower with purple accents, which was visible from all angles. Her lace gloved fingers reached up to hold the flower in place as she began to approach the house, following the cobblestone-grey path towards the front door.
With her free hand, she pulled out her wand, and tapped the doorknob lazily, whispering a couple words harshly under her breath. After a moment, as if it had considered her, the door popped open with a large creak, and she giggled excitedly. Stepping into the home, she slammed the door behind her, wide eyes surveying the interior of the manor. One would never know that it belonged to the exterior. Lavishly decorated and warm, the main hall boasted a grand staircase, lined with a velvet carpet. The railings, and other molding, were sheer silver, which sparkled from the light of the glittering diamond chandelier, which hung from the top of the high ceiling. Portraits lined the walls, geometrically equal and spaced between lit, silver candelabras on the wall, of famous dark wizards, and ancestors of many death eaters. Above the staircase was the largest portrait of them all, lined in glorious platinum. The face of the Dark Lord himself was brilliantly visible, looking down onto the large hall with an air of authority and dictation. Her eyes stared up at it momentarily, with an expression of utmost admiration.
With a flamboyant flick of her wand, her clothing dried instantly. Her hair popped up to its natural, chaotic springs, and the flower sprang back up to its fluffy before. A quiet squeal came from her as she touched her hair carelessly, pocketing her wand, admiring herself without a mirror. She pulled her jacket off and tossed it sloppily onto the nearby coat rack, backtracking for a moment to grab her black wand, which had winding ivy engraved into the handle. Tugging at the fingers of the lace gloves in turn, she stuffed them into the pocket from whence the wand had came, and turned quickly to face the hall again. “Hellooo!” she called, a feral undertone in her faux high voice. “Anyone there?” She cackled to herself, stepping further into the hall, spinning around, staring up to the high railings leading to other floors.
Alecto Carrow had arrived.
Better leave this where it is...
...don't want to get in trouble.
...don't want to get in trouble.
