Post by Deucalion Malfoy on May 6, 2008 21:24:19 GMT -5
ABOUT YOU;;*[/color]
Name; Amy
Age; Seventeen
Location; Mmm...somewhere.
Time Zone; EST
YOUR CHARACTER;;*
Name;[/b] Deucalion Malfoy [/size]
Age;[/b] Eighteen[/size]
Year;[/b] Seventh[/size]
House; Slytherin
Blood;[/b] Pure as any[/size]
Parents;[/b] Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson[/size]
Wand;[/b] Eleven inches, holy, dragon heart string from Romanian Longhorn[/size]
Patronus;[/b] A cheetah[/size]
Boggart;[/b] Used to be his grandfather, who terrified him as a child. He doesn't know if it still is and doesn't want to know.[/size]
Animagus;[/b] He is not one. If he was, I think it would probably be a gray wolf.[/size]
Alliance;[/b] Defaeco[/size]
Pets;[/b] An owl. His name is Locke.[/size]
History;[/b] So, on a snowy winter's day just like any other...or rather, it was not like every other as it heralded the birth of one Deucalion Caelum Cepheus Malfoy. However, he was born the second son of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, and therefore was exceptionally useless. They did, however, have a very nice teddy bear for their second son, which to this day, remains on his dresser at home. Because he tried to get rid of it and his mother threw a seven.
So Cal grew up, in many ways, an indulged child. As long as he wasn't disgracing the Malfoy name or breaking any important objects during his, er, destructive age, the boy was left well enough alone to do as he wanted. This worked out splendidly for him; let Kalypso and Scorpius seek the attention, he was quite happy doing whatever the hell he wanted and not being nagged.
Hogwarts allowed him to stem farther away from his father, while happily not fulfilling any of his wishes. Headboy or Prefect were out of the question. His grades remained well enough, but it was only too clear that he would have shirked any responsibility that was not absolutely required. By fifteen he had discovered the wonders of cigarettes and of drinks stronger than butterbeer. Not the fall-down-laughing drunk type, he merely preferred the pleasant buzz. By sixteen he'd begun
At eighteen, though, responsibility was forced on him when he joined the rank of the Defaeco. Being the son of a long lived pure blood line, it was expected that he should join up to lead the new revolution against the mudbloods and the blood traitors. Cal joined, as was expected, working closely with the heads and earning his rank. For now, that's where he stays, working under the newest dark lord while attending school.[/size]
Appearance;[/b] Pale blonde hair sweeps back from a widow's peak at his forehead, revealing a pale face. His features are less sharp than his father's, perhaps the only way in which his mother had influenced how he grew to look. His pale gray eyes which girls have sometimes swooned over ("The color of the sky before a storm breaks!") are usually hidden by the bangs falling into his eyes.
He's always been slender for his build, though in the past few years he finally reached his growth spurt and stands around six feet or so. He tends to be wiry more than anything, and despite having the build for it would not touch a Quidditch broom if you payed him. (Not that he, y'know, technically needs the gold.)
If he's forced to wear muggle clothes, it's usually a plain shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans. All of them are well made, but in general, he prefers to just wear the school uniform, sans robe. The white shirt, tie loosened, and slacks, is what he is generally seen in.[/size]
Personality;[/b] He has distance issues, would be the first thing that would needed to be mentioned. He doesn't find it an issue, but most people are put off by the fact that he can and will ignore someone sitting a foot away from him in a train compartment for the entire ride down to Hogwarts. If he likes someone he's more than talkative and can be good company. If he doesn't know or like you, you don't exist to him.
His temper is virtually non-existent unless pushed past a certain point. However, getting to that point takes tenacity and thorough understanding of his psyche...so, usually only Kalypso ever gets him there. Once past that point, though, running might be your best option. Apparating would be better--it's faster. There is only one other way to get to his temper. It's brash and cruel, though, and it would be to go after someone he cares about.
He doesn't have too many close friends, but rather an extraordinary number of acquaintances which he is capable of smiling at and creating small talk when needed. Once you get past that, he tends to be rather shallow, with a tendancy for addictions, and a bit too arrogant for his own good.[/size]
Likes;[/b]
Cigarettes
Alcohol
Inadvertently making his brother and sister angry
Intentionally making his parents angry
Peace and quiet
Good books
Skipping classes
The idea of finding a girl whom he likes
Rain[/size]
Dislikes;[/b]
Non-purebloods
Blood traitors
People in general, usually
Overly social situations (see; parties)
The few attempts at finding a girl whom he likes (it failed and he's sworn off annoying ditzy girls as long as he lives)[/size]
Model;[/b] Boyd Holbrook[/size]
Anything Else?;[/b] ...Likely to die of lung cancer?[/size]
Roleplay Sample;[/b] The afternoon sky was a cloudy cover to the mildly windy day. The clouds were transparent smoke, gliding in sinuous shapes over the sun. Rain threatened, but as of yet, had not fulfilled its promise. It was, by far, a balmy and generally gloomy afternoon.
A pair of eyes, grey to match the storm, peered through a window blurred by the cold. The face reflected in the glass was a beautiful one, though, the eyes held a bored, arrogant note, and the lips turned into a downward slant of unhappiness. Though the weather discouraged most from venturing outside, he would have risked it, for the lure of fresh air. The castle was stifling to him, for all its size and vast amounts of space, to others.
With a soft sigh, the youth turned away from the window and began to stalk down the stone paved halls, his blond hair, usually swept away from his widow's peak, brushing along his cheekbones with evident carelessness. For Deucalion Malfoy, this day had little in the way of nice.
Deucalion, who by and large went by Cal, causing much confusion, was dealing with a hysterical younger sister, who wouldn't say why she was hysterical. He suspected his family, but she was also stealing his cigarettes, and talking about his dying of lung cancer. Kallie was upset and Astride was being his usual pain in the ass, suck-up self, which wasn’t helping. Cal also had a paper, which he hadn't started, due in two days, which was why he was not allowing himself to go outside, despite the fact that he actually liked this weather.
So, in summarization, his younger sister was upset, his younger brother was annoying, he had school work, he couldn't escape, and Cal wasn't allowed to smoke because his sister was about to millimeters from having another break down.
Things were not good.
Without thinking, his strides had begun to lead him back towards the familiar territory of the dungeons where he spent most of his time while at school. Once there, he leaned against one of the cool stone walls and exhaled with a soft sort of sigh. His hand traveled to his jeans pockets, feeling the small carton and butane lighter which his little sister hadn't confiscated. He'd sworn to cut off his smoking somewhat, but not entirely, and right now, he could certainly use one.
Cal pulled out the small red and white box and tapped it against his palm before removing one and lighting up. He put away the lighter and box, holding the stick for a moment between his lips, before he leaned back against the wall once more with a sigh.
His school uniform had been halfway shed, to the point where he wore the button up shirt, first few buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, and his green and silver tie hanging loose around his neck. The jeans he wore were faded with age and wear, and his sneakers had seen better days. The disarray of his appearance (for even his hair looked as though it had merely been finger combed) reflected perfectly how Cal felt at the moment. As though he was slipping into disarray, and he couldn't find a handle.[/size]
Name; Amy
Age; Seventeen
Location; Mmm...somewhere.
Time Zone; EST
YOUR CHARACTER;;*
Name;[/b] Deucalion Malfoy [/size]
Age;[/b] Eighteen[/size]
Year;[/b] Seventh[/size]
House; Slytherin
Blood;[/b] Pure as any[/size]
Parents;[/b] Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson[/size]
Wand;[/b] Eleven inches, holy, dragon heart string from Romanian Longhorn[/size]
Patronus;[/b] A cheetah[/size]
Boggart;[/b] Used to be his grandfather, who terrified him as a child. He doesn't know if it still is and doesn't want to know.[/size]
Animagus;[/b] He is not one. If he was, I think it would probably be a gray wolf.[/size]
Alliance;[/b] Defaeco[/size]
Pets;[/b] An owl. His name is Locke.[/size]
History;[/b] So, on a snowy winter's day just like any other...or rather, it was not like every other as it heralded the birth of one Deucalion Caelum Cepheus Malfoy. However, he was born the second son of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson, and therefore was exceptionally useless. They did, however, have a very nice teddy bear for their second son, which to this day, remains on his dresser at home. Because he tried to get rid of it and his mother threw a seven.
So Cal grew up, in many ways, an indulged child. As long as he wasn't disgracing the Malfoy name or breaking any important objects during his, er, destructive age, the boy was left well enough alone to do as he wanted. This worked out splendidly for him; let Kalypso and Scorpius seek the attention, he was quite happy doing whatever the hell he wanted and not being nagged.
Hogwarts allowed him to stem farther away from his father, while happily not fulfilling any of his wishes. Headboy or Prefect were out of the question. His grades remained well enough, but it was only too clear that he would have shirked any responsibility that was not absolutely required. By fifteen he had discovered the wonders of cigarettes and of drinks stronger than butterbeer. Not the fall-down-laughing drunk type, he merely preferred the pleasant buzz. By sixteen he'd begun
At eighteen, though, responsibility was forced on him when he joined the rank of the Defaeco. Being the son of a long lived pure blood line, it was expected that he should join up to lead the new revolution against the mudbloods and the blood traitors. Cal joined, as was expected, working closely with the heads and earning his rank. For now, that's where he stays, working under the newest dark lord while attending school.[/size]
Appearance;[/b] Pale blonde hair sweeps back from a widow's peak at his forehead, revealing a pale face. His features are less sharp than his father's, perhaps the only way in which his mother had influenced how he grew to look. His pale gray eyes which girls have sometimes swooned over ("The color of the sky before a storm breaks!") are usually hidden by the bangs falling into his eyes.
He's always been slender for his build, though in the past few years he finally reached his growth spurt and stands around six feet or so. He tends to be wiry more than anything, and despite having the build for it would not touch a Quidditch broom if you payed him. (Not that he, y'know, technically needs the gold.)
If he's forced to wear muggle clothes, it's usually a plain shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans. All of them are well made, but in general, he prefers to just wear the school uniform, sans robe. The white shirt, tie loosened, and slacks, is what he is generally seen in.[/size]
Personality;[/b] He has distance issues, would be the first thing that would needed to be mentioned. He doesn't find it an issue, but most people are put off by the fact that he can and will ignore someone sitting a foot away from him in a train compartment for the entire ride down to Hogwarts. If he likes someone he's more than talkative and can be good company. If he doesn't know or like you, you don't exist to him.
His temper is virtually non-existent unless pushed past a certain point. However, getting to that point takes tenacity and thorough understanding of his psyche...so, usually only Kalypso ever gets him there. Once past that point, though, running might be your best option. Apparating would be better--it's faster. There is only one other way to get to his temper. It's brash and cruel, though, and it would be to go after someone he cares about.
He doesn't have too many close friends, but rather an extraordinary number of acquaintances which he is capable of smiling at and creating small talk when needed. Once you get past that, he tends to be rather shallow, with a tendancy for addictions, and a bit too arrogant for his own good.[/size]
Likes;[/b]
Cigarettes
Alcohol
Inadvertently making his brother and sister angry
Intentionally making his parents angry
Peace and quiet
Good books
Skipping classes
The idea of finding a girl whom he likes
Rain[/size]
Dislikes;[/b]
Non-purebloods
Blood traitors
People in general, usually
Overly social situations (see; parties)
The few attempts at finding a girl whom he likes (it failed and he's sworn off annoying ditzy girls as long as he lives)[/size]
Model;[/b] Boyd Holbrook[/size]
Anything Else?;[/b] ...Likely to die of lung cancer?[/size]
Roleplay Sample;[/b] The afternoon sky was a cloudy cover to the mildly windy day. The clouds were transparent smoke, gliding in sinuous shapes over the sun. Rain threatened, but as of yet, had not fulfilled its promise. It was, by far, a balmy and generally gloomy afternoon.
A pair of eyes, grey to match the storm, peered through a window blurred by the cold. The face reflected in the glass was a beautiful one, though, the eyes held a bored, arrogant note, and the lips turned into a downward slant of unhappiness. Though the weather discouraged most from venturing outside, he would have risked it, for the lure of fresh air. The castle was stifling to him, for all its size and vast amounts of space, to others.
With a soft sigh, the youth turned away from the window and began to stalk down the stone paved halls, his blond hair, usually swept away from his widow's peak, brushing along his cheekbones with evident carelessness. For Deucalion Malfoy, this day had little in the way of nice.
Deucalion, who by and large went by Cal, causing much confusion, was dealing with a hysterical younger sister, who wouldn't say why she was hysterical. He suspected his family, but she was also stealing his cigarettes, and talking about his dying of lung cancer. Kallie was upset and Astride was being his usual pain in the ass, suck-up self, which wasn’t helping. Cal also had a paper, which he hadn't started, due in two days, which was why he was not allowing himself to go outside, despite the fact that he actually liked this weather.
So, in summarization, his younger sister was upset, his younger brother was annoying, he had school work, he couldn't escape, and Cal wasn't allowed to smoke because his sister was about to millimeters from having another break down.
Things were not good.
Without thinking, his strides had begun to lead him back towards the familiar territory of the dungeons where he spent most of his time while at school. Once there, he leaned against one of the cool stone walls and exhaled with a soft sort of sigh. His hand traveled to his jeans pockets, feeling the small carton and butane lighter which his little sister hadn't confiscated. He'd sworn to cut off his smoking somewhat, but not entirely, and right now, he could certainly use one.
Cal pulled out the small red and white box and tapped it against his palm before removing one and lighting up. He put away the lighter and box, holding the stick for a moment between his lips, before he leaned back against the wall once more with a sigh.
His school uniform had been halfway shed, to the point where he wore the button up shirt, first few buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, and his green and silver tie hanging loose around his neck. The jeans he wore were faded with age and wear, and his sneakers had seen better days. The disarray of his appearance (for even his hair looked as though it had merely been finger combed) reflected perfectly how Cal felt at the moment. As though he was slipping into disarray, and he couldn't find a handle.[/size]
