Post by Deleted on May 8, 2014 22:48:07 GMT -5
anaïs vendredi lando
CANON OR ORIGINAL: Original
AGE: Seventeen
FACE CLAIM: Mary Elizabeth Winstead
YEAR: Sixth
HOUSE: Ravenclaw
OCCUPATION: N/A for Hogwarts students
BLOOD TYPE: Halfblood
WAND TYPE: 9 ft, veela hair, redwood
PETS: one black cat, NeeChee
ABILITIES:
-1/4 veela
-can communicate with all felines
freestyle
"A" is for absolution.
November Eleventh. Toulouse, France. Your mother felt complete as she held you in her arms, smiling and though the healers kept telling her that your infantile face is incapable of showing or even understanding emotion she insists that she saw you smile back at her. Or least that's what she told you, for you were actually too young to remember. You do remember being six years old. It was then that your mother explained to you that she is actually half veela (aside from being a witch) and how that makes you one quarter of the same. You didn't understand what that meant exactly, but you knew it made you different somehow. All you took away from that is that you were some sort of monster and that that's why the other kids never wanted to play with you at the sandbox. They had other reasons though. How were you to know that it wasn't normal for a six-year-old to quote Godelot? So what if you had begun nosing around your mother's over-sized bookcase as soon as you were old enough to read? You had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and you were only being friendly enough to share it. Sadly the kids around your neighborhood weren't too grateful for your generosity. Their intolerance bothered you a bit, but you were okay. You still had your family- your English father and your french mother- and that was just fine with you. Though how predictable would it be if you had gotten to keep them?
"N" is fornothing noticing.
Stress. You had heard the word many times throughout your childhood. Your father used it as an excuse whenever your mother pressed him about finding a job. Money was tight and your father's drinking addiction was pricey. You had always been an observant girl so you noticed it all. You noticed how your mother transformed from her happy, vibrant self to her a withdrawn and distant shell. Her mental health was glitching, but every once in a while you caught a glimmer of hope. You noticed how her happiness would spike up whenever she worked at her job as a secretary and returned home late. She would walk into your home, humming and though you were supposed to be asleep at that hour your always heard her through the thin walls as you lay in your bed. You wanted to think that everything was going to be okay, but you were too smart for that. You noticed the pattern- Your mother worked, came home late, then acted extremely content for at least one day before returning to her surly self. You noticed that she only grew depressed when she was around your father and the dreaded "D" word flitted around your mind like a stubborn horsefly.
You didn't like to think that you were a pessimist at ten years, but you kind of saw it before it even happened. Still that didn't make it hurt any less when your dear mother announced that she had found someone else and that she was leaving with him. You asked her if you should pack your own things as well but didn't earn so much as a glance in your direction and she remained silent. You had your answer. Your dear mother walked outside without a single glance backwards, but you still followed her. You attempted to choke out a plea through your tears, but your devastation weighed on your vocal chords and you found yourself without any words. Your mother disapparated and you fell sobbing on your knobbly knees, not caring about the pain from the concrete digging into them. You father was standing silently in the doorway through all of this, looking comatose. When you finally ran dry out of tears you turned back to your statue-still father. You wanted to ask him why he didn't try to stop her, but you regrettably felt like it was just as much your fault as his. Father,, you asked him, did she leave because of me? Your father who seemed to be in a defeatist daze looked down at you on the sidewalk and muttered his single reply: "I ain't your father, Kid. Never was." Because that was exactly what your needed- another wound to add to the already massive one searing you across your chest.
That was what you felt you had been left with that day : nothing.
Your father (or whoever the hell this man was) revealed himself to be a Muggle. He had always told that he was a squib and you had always believed him. Even though he had never used any magic himself he seemed to know enough about it. Then you realized how idiotic it all made you feel. Of course he knew about magic. He was married to your mother wasn't he? Or had that all been a lie to? Was that the reason why you and you mother had a completely different last name from his. Whatever the case he reluctantly kept you around. Apparently he had promised your mother that he would take care you of before she left. Lucky you, right? Sarcasm was something you had learned at an early age, by the way.
Not even a month after your mother's departure the man who had posed as your father for all those years announced that he was moving his real family into your apartment and out of nowhere you gained a Muggle "step-mother", complete with a Muggle "step-sister and brother". A "lovely" set indeed. You used to hope that you would gain two friends in your older "siblings", but if they had been anything but nasty to you then this would be someone else's story. Now wouldn't it? They mostly teased you about being a "houdini, wannabe with an absentee mother and no father". Though there are rumors about who your real father is. Names of Weird Sisters pop up occasionally. Between your "siblings'" occasional taunting and your father treating you like you were a burden you yearned to start school. You should have started attending Beauxbatons at eleven, but your birthday fell a couple months short of their start date and you were stuck at home for another year with your "lovely" family. Yay?
One year later. You made it a point to wake up early that expected morning just to beat everyone else in picking up the post. You stole the mailbox key from your father's room and tiptoed outside. From the mailbox you pulled out a single envelope addressed to you and didn't wait to go back inside before eagerly ripping it open. You remembered how you had discreetly watched two Muggle kids play a game called Monopoly at the park the previous week and you thought about how they would get excited when they pulled a "get out of jail free" card. Now you had exactly that and for the rest of the day even your sister's taunts couldn't discard the smug smile from your pale face.
"A" is for analysis
Money was still tight. Your "father" was hardly generous enough to cough up some change for your school supplies. You did however receive a package containing your wand, but it was void of a return address (you suspect your mother). You journeyed to Beauxbaton with only that and a knapsack full of every random, precious thing you could manage to stuff into it. Your school was a little bit more generous, but you were forced to use supplies from the lost and found that you barely got by on. It wasn't enough to really deter you though. Still you didn't make friends easily. You had already been an outcast at home, but the cause of your isolation at school can be pinpointed by your very fist day in your very first lesson of the day. Your professor had set your class the task as a sort of "ice breaker", she called it. You all were to fill out a questionnaire and then trade with someone and read their answers aloud. You watched, amused as the snobbish girl who sat next to you reluctantly read your answers:
-Name: Snob Girl didn't know any better and pronounced it "Uh-nayce". (It's "Ann-eye-eece)
-Father: dead (or at least that's what you tell anyone who cares to ask now)
-Mother: Aurelie Lando
-Favorite past time: reading, improving my aim, escaping from various prisons
-Favorite color: black
-Favorite food: preteen souls
-Things you like: projectile weapons, books, astronomy, dueling, animals
-Things you dislike: when others pretend to be interested in anything i'm doing
-Favorite magical creature: thestrals (you had to explain that you cannot see them, but wish you can)
-What do you hope to be when you grow up?: not regretting my career path because i was forced to choose a career at the early age of twelve
-One word to describe yourself: cynical
You looked back at your classmates, rolling your eyes. Of course some of your answers (the ridiculous ones) were meant as joke. However your classmates didn't appreciate your humor while your professor didn't seem to appreciate your smart-alec answers. You watched as everyone around you scooted away from you. You watched a lot of kids scoot away from you throughout your childhood. Still, you wore your unusual sense of humor like a suit of armor and with it you learned not to care that you were labeled an outcast. You enjoyed your studies and they kept you busy enough. Even between serving detentions for your random outbursts on other students (attempting to use various spells on them) and trying out Shakespearean insults on your professors, you find life a tiny bit more bearable. At least you did at school anyway.
"Ï" is for ïnjured.
That summer after your first year at school was the first time it happened. You remember standing in the stale, shadowy hallway of your family's decrepit old apartment building. You perched under the stairs, trying to cope with your anger. Your "father" had caught you smoking the cigarette you had stolen from your step-mother and knocked it from your mouth without caring to watch out for your face. You remember running outside into the hallway to escape whatever remained of his wrath. Now you watched as the blood from your nose dripped down onto your shirt. You didn't care. You had swiped it from your sister and it was a size too small even on you and exposed your midriff. You continued to watch the thick, red carnage leak down your face for several more seconds until you finally wiped it away with the back of your hand. You, void of any remorse lit the same cigarette with your wand again and took a puff. One of the local stray cats approached you, tilting his head curiously. Surprisingly the black cat spoke, telling you how bad smoking was for you. You figured you had literally been smacked silly, but you played along for the hell of it. Can't be much worse for me than what's in there. You nodded towards your apartment. Does life only suck this much when you're a kid, or is it always this bad?
"I wouldn't know. I'm a cat."
Then how come I can understand you?
"Because you were meant to."
Several seconds of silence were followed by an exchange of blank stares. The cat sighed, impatiently and continued in his deep, pompous voice. "It should be obvious by now that you can communicate with felines."
Or that I've finally gone crazy like my mother. You heard your father yelling for you from inside the apartment. I'm gettin' outta here for a while. You hastily start toward the door. You stop and turn back around when you realize the cat isn't following you. You comin' or what? The cat stretched his front legs and started after you. You two end up wandering around the neighborhood together until you feel confident that Daddy Dearests' wrath has subsided. You eventually named the cat NeeChee (with his permission of course) and you two become inseparable ever since.
"S" is for settled.
A few weeks before you start your sixth year at school your "dear" step-mother convinces your father to relocate the family to England and you all settle into an equally crappy (totally see the appeal, right?) apartment on the sketchy end of London. To your dismay you are forced to switch schools. Hogwarts is not really better or worse than Beauxbatons, just different. The food is different. The scenery is different. The students are pretty much the same though. Most of them are anyway. You are sorted into Ravenclaw with other brainy peers. You still don't have very many friends besides NeeChee, but know you wonder if that's more your own fault for being so standoffish. You come to love Hogwarts though as it offers more activities than your old school. You find yourself wanting to be more involved and even consider joining your house's quidditch team. You develop a slight need to stay physically active as well academically. You're not exactly sure why you're drawn to things like archery and dueling, but somehow you feel more in control of your life while you're doing them. Somewhat. You're finally even learning how to use your veela charm to your advantage. The physical changes that one usually experiences throughout her teen years also helps you a little there. Though the benefits don't go much farther than you convincing some of your peers not to rat you out for your occasional after-hour wandering.
Your home life is still less than comfortable. Your still find yourself having to dodge your father's wrath and even your of age siblings still come around to offer their "affection". Perhaps you'll find a happy medium someday? Perhaps your mother will return and you'll find your real father? Or maybe you'll fall victim to head trauma and get to live out your fantasies while remaining comatose for the remainder of your life? Maybe you'll eventually learn to adopt a more positive outlook on life? Maybe.
November Eleventh. Toulouse, France. Your mother felt complete as she held you in her arms, smiling and though the healers kept telling her that your infantile face is incapable of showing or even understanding emotion she insists that she saw you smile back at her. Or least that's what she told you, for you were actually too young to remember. You do remember being six years old. It was then that your mother explained to you that she is actually half veela (aside from being a witch) and how that makes you one quarter of the same. You didn't understand what that meant exactly, but you knew it made you different somehow. All you took away from that is that you were some sort of monster and that that's why the other kids never wanted to play with you at the sandbox. They had other reasons though. How were you to know that it wasn't normal for a six-year-old to quote Godelot? So what if you had begun nosing around your mother's over-sized bookcase as soon as you were old enough to read? You had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and you were only being friendly enough to share it. Sadly the kids around your neighborhood weren't too grateful for your generosity. Their intolerance bothered you a bit, but you were okay. You still had your family- your English father and your french mother- and that was just fine with you. Though how predictable would it be if you had gotten to keep them?
"N" is for
Stress. You had heard the word many times throughout your childhood. Your father used it as an excuse whenever your mother pressed him about finding a job. Money was tight and your father's drinking addiction was pricey. You had always been an observant girl so you noticed it all. You noticed how your mother transformed from her happy, vibrant self to her a withdrawn and distant shell. Her mental health was glitching, but every once in a while you caught a glimmer of hope. You noticed how her happiness would spike up whenever she worked at her job as a secretary and returned home late. She would walk into your home, humming and though you were supposed to be asleep at that hour your always heard her through the thin walls as you lay in your bed. You wanted to think that everything was going to be okay, but you were too smart for that. You noticed the pattern- Your mother worked, came home late, then acted extremely content for at least one day before returning to her surly self. You noticed that she only grew depressed when she was around your father and the dreaded "D" word flitted around your mind like a stubborn horsefly.
You didn't like to think that you were a pessimist at ten years, but you kind of saw it before it even happened. Still that didn't make it hurt any less when your dear mother announced that she had found someone else and that she was leaving with him. You asked her if you should pack your own things as well but didn't earn so much as a glance in your direction and she remained silent. You had your answer. Your dear mother walked outside without a single glance backwards, but you still followed her. You attempted to choke out a plea through your tears, but your devastation weighed on your vocal chords and you found yourself without any words. Your mother disapparated and you fell sobbing on your knobbly knees, not caring about the pain from the concrete digging into them. You father was standing silently in the doorway through all of this, looking comatose. When you finally ran dry out of tears you turned back to your statue-still father. You wanted to ask him why he didn't try to stop her, but you regrettably felt like it was just as much your fault as his. Father,, you asked him, did she leave because of me? Your father who seemed to be in a defeatist daze looked down at you on the sidewalk and muttered his single reply: "I ain't your father, Kid. Never was." Because that was exactly what your needed- another wound to add to the already massive one searing you across your chest.
That was what you felt you had been left with that day : nothing.
Your father (or whoever the hell this man was) revealed himself to be a Muggle. He had always told that he was a squib and you had always believed him. Even though he had never used any magic himself he seemed to know enough about it. Then you realized how idiotic it all made you feel. Of course he knew about magic. He was married to your mother wasn't he? Or had that all been a lie to? Was that the reason why you and you mother had a completely different last name from his. Whatever the case he reluctantly kept you around. Apparently he had promised your mother that he would take care you of before she left. Lucky you, right? Sarcasm was something you had learned at an early age, by the way.
Not even a month after your mother's departure the man who had posed as your father for all those years announced that he was moving his real family into your apartment and out of nowhere you gained a Muggle "step-mother", complete with a Muggle "step-sister and brother". A "lovely" set indeed. You used to hope that you would gain two friends in your older "siblings", but if they had been anything but nasty to you then this would be someone else's story. Now wouldn't it? They mostly teased you about being a "houdini, wannabe with an absentee mother and no father". Though there are rumors about who your real father is. Names of Weird Sisters pop up occasionally. Between your "siblings'" occasional taunting and your father treating you like you were a burden you yearned to start school. You should have started attending Beauxbatons at eleven, but your birthday fell a couple months short of their start date and you were stuck at home for another year with your "lovely" family. Yay?
One year later. You made it a point to wake up early that expected morning just to beat everyone else in picking up the post. You stole the mailbox key from your father's room and tiptoed outside. From the mailbox you pulled out a single envelope addressed to you and didn't wait to go back inside before eagerly ripping it open. You remembered how you had discreetly watched two Muggle kids play a game called Monopoly at the park the previous week and you thought about how they would get excited when they pulled a "get out of jail free" card. Now you had exactly that and for the rest of the day even your sister's taunts couldn't discard the smug smile from your pale face.
"A" is for analysis
Money was still tight. Your "father" was hardly generous enough to cough up some change for your school supplies. You did however receive a package containing your wand, but it was void of a return address (you suspect your mother). You journeyed to Beauxbaton with only that and a knapsack full of every random, precious thing you could manage to stuff into it. Your school was a little bit more generous, but you were forced to use supplies from the lost and found that you barely got by on. It wasn't enough to really deter you though. Still you didn't make friends easily. You had already been an outcast at home, but the cause of your isolation at school can be pinpointed by your very fist day in your very first lesson of the day. Your professor had set your class the task as a sort of "ice breaker", she called it. You all were to fill out a questionnaire and then trade with someone and read their answers aloud. You watched, amused as the snobbish girl who sat next to you reluctantly read your answers:
-Name: Snob Girl didn't know any better and pronounced it "Uh-nayce". (It's "Ann-eye-eece)
-Father: dead (or at least that's what you tell anyone who cares to ask now)
-Mother: Aurelie Lando
-Favorite past time: reading, improving my aim, escaping from various prisons
-Favorite color: black
-Favorite food: preteen souls
-Things you like: projectile weapons, books, astronomy, dueling, animals
-Things you dislike: when others pretend to be interested in anything i'm doing
-Favorite magical creature: thestrals (you had to explain that you cannot see them, but wish you can)
-What do you hope to be when you grow up?: not regretting my career path because i was forced to choose a career at the early age of twelve
-One word to describe yourself: cynical
You looked back at your classmates, rolling your eyes. Of course some of your answers (the ridiculous ones) were meant as joke. However your classmates didn't appreciate your humor while your professor didn't seem to appreciate your smart-alec answers. You watched as everyone around you scooted away from you. You watched a lot of kids scoot away from you throughout your childhood. Still, you wore your unusual sense of humor like a suit of armor and with it you learned not to care that you were labeled an outcast. You enjoyed your studies and they kept you busy enough. Even between serving detentions for your random outbursts on other students (attempting to use various spells on them) and trying out Shakespearean insults on your professors, you find life a tiny bit more bearable. At least you did at school anyway.
"Ï" is for ïnjured.
That summer after your first year at school was the first time it happened. You remember standing in the stale, shadowy hallway of your family's decrepit old apartment building. You perched under the stairs, trying to cope with your anger. Your "father" had caught you smoking the cigarette you had stolen from your step-mother and knocked it from your mouth without caring to watch out for your face. You remember running outside into the hallway to escape whatever remained of his wrath. Now you watched as the blood from your nose dripped down onto your shirt. You didn't care. You had swiped it from your sister and it was a size too small even on you and exposed your midriff. You continued to watch the thick, red carnage leak down your face for several more seconds until you finally wiped it away with the back of your hand. You, void of any remorse lit the same cigarette with your wand again and took a puff. One of the local stray cats approached you, tilting his head curiously. Surprisingly the black cat spoke, telling you how bad smoking was for you. You figured you had literally been smacked silly, but you played along for the hell of it. Can't be much worse for me than what's in there. You nodded towards your apartment. Does life only suck this much when you're a kid, or is it always this bad?
"I wouldn't know. I'm a cat."
Then how come I can understand you?
"Because you were meant to."
Several seconds of silence were followed by an exchange of blank stares. The cat sighed, impatiently and continued in his deep, pompous voice. "It should be obvious by now that you can communicate with felines."
Or that I've finally gone crazy like my mother. You heard your father yelling for you from inside the apartment. I'm gettin' outta here for a while. You hastily start toward the door. You stop and turn back around when you realize the cat isn't following you. You comin' or what? The cat stretched his front legs and started after you. You two end up wandering around the neighborhood together until you feel confident that Daddy Dearests' wrath has subsided. You eventually named the cat NeeChee (with his permission of course) and you two become inseparable ever since.
"S" is for settled.
A few weeks before you start your sixth year at school your "dear" step-mother convinces your father to relocate the family to England and you all settle into an equally crappy (totally see the appeal, right?) apartment on the sketchy end of London. To your dismay you are forced to switch schools. Hogwarts is not really better or worse than Beauxbatons, just different. The food is different. The scenery is different. The students are pretty much the same though. Most of them are anyway. You are sorted into Ravenclaw with other brainy peers. You still don't have very many friends besides NeeChee, but know you wonder if that's more your own fault for being so standoffish. You come to love Hogwarts though as it offers more activities than your old school. You find yourself wanting to be more involved and even consider joining your house's quidditch team. You develop a slight need to stay physically active as well academically. You're not exactly sure why you're drawn to things like archery and dueling, but somehow you feel more in control of your life while you're doing them. Somewhat. You're finally even learning how to use your veela charm to your advantage. The physical changes that one usually experiences throughout her teen years also helps you a little there. Though the benefits don't go much farther than you convincing some of your peers not to rat you out for your occasional after-hour wandering.
Your home life is still less than comfortable. Your still find yourself having to dodge your father's wrath and even your of age siblings still come around to offer their "affection". Perhaps you'll find a happy medium someday? Perhaps your mother will return and you'll find your real father? Or maybe you'll fall victim to head trauma and get to live out your fantasies while remaining comatose for the remainder of your life? Maybe you'll eventually learn to adopt a more positive outlook on life? Maybe.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
HEY MY NAME IS SNOWIE, AND I ALSO PLAY NO ONE ELSE YET. I FOUND THE SITE THROUGH SHINE I THINK?
TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & RCR
