Avery Adams

[avery]

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{ A B O U T . Y O U }

Name: Birdie!
Preferred Pronouns: Manly man
Age: 19
E-mail: [e-mail]
Twitter: @theealexbird
Years of RPG Experience: 1.5
Other: [removed by staff]

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{ Q U I C K . Q U I Z }

How did you find us? A very nice woman by the name of BIZ.
What about ISS inspired you to join? I mean…I’m back. What else can I say?
Do you have any suggestions for us?

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{ A B O U T . T H E . C H A R A C T E R }

Name: Avery Daniel Adams
Age: 16
Gender: Male
Year: 6th
Face Claim: Francisco Lachowski

Canon or Original?
Original

Facial Properties:

“I cannot help the face that I was born with but I really wish I could. I wish I could put a mask on every time I exit the dormitory. Honestly. You would too if you didn’t have every person with a sexual stigma towards men turn their head to look at you. Every single girl will get her glimpse. I can’t say I hate it, it isn’t terrible. It’s just incredibly awkward and I don’t like being awkward. Having a face that people like to stare at is probably not good for that insecurity. I really can’t find the ‘incredible beauty’ all these girls see. I mean my lips are pretty plump? I bet it’s my eyes. I can’t even deny the allure of my eyes. Damn I don’t even mean to do it, but I squint them and everyone’s ovaries constrict within a ten-foot radius of me. It’s not exactly pleasant but I can’t help how bright the lights are or how bored I am. It’s probably my jaw line. Or my hair, but I don’t even control where my hair goes half the time. I just let it fall on my face. Gosh, I just don’t know. My face isn’t as great as everyone else makes it out to be.

Physique:

“I don’t think I’ve stopped growing. You know what’s funny? Everyone grows both wide and taller, but my body decided to grow long and that’s it. I’m as skinny as a thirteen year old boy but I’m taller than my father who stands at 6’3”. It’s quite outrageous. I mean I’ve got muscle and abs. I love running and sports and all that good stuff, but under clothes it barely looks like my body is toned. I like to wear a lot of open shirts when my uniform is not constricting me. Every year my father has to buy robes at least four inches taller than the last. I wouldn’t doubt it if next year I grew three more inches. I swear we’ve spent a fortune on robes alone. In my fourth year I begged my dad to get me robes for Christmas because everyone was mocking me for how high my pants raised above my ankles. It’s mostly my legs that have grown. I mean, they make up two thirds of my height!"

Wand Type: 13” Oak (polished black) – Dragon Heart String
Wand Expertise: Transfiguration – Dark Arts
Patronus: Hawk
Boggart: Flashes of his mothers Memories (explained in history).

Personality:

“It actually pisses me off when people tell me I’m quiet. I get down right hiked up about that nonsense. Excuse me; did you expect me to be bonkers for you? I’m quiet because I don’t need the world knowing my business. I’m quiet because I’m not being obnoxious enough to make my business anyone else’s. I guess the only time I really break out of that shell is when I’m high or drunk. Otherwise, I don’t necessarily go out of my way to let the world know my business, you know? I normally keep to myself. I’m not the type of guy that goes up to another guy and asks him how the weather is. To bloody hell with that. Sure, if you come up to me and ask me a question I’m not going to deny the friendship, I’m not going to stare at you until you go away. I’m going to be civil and have a nice conversation with you, but don’t stereotype me as quiet when I don’t make it my demeanor to come directly up to you and start a conversation. I probably don’t even know you. Being quiet is just something you can put on me for not giving a damn. I also can’t stand drama. I mean, if you’re going to seek it out you’re not the type of person I’m going to be spending my Friday night with, honestly. Drama is useless. It is a waste of time and energy. If you can find the time to hate on someone for something so small you obviously need a bit more shit in your life. I’m not the person to back up you, and I’m not sorry about it. Your drama is your drama; you can deal with it alone…

“…and you see a lot of people misunderstand my quietness for being lonely or my inclination to not give a shit as me being a jerk. Albeit, at the same time I’m not doing a bang up job at being a good guy, but people automatically assume from me that I’m some sort of loner dickhead who doesn’t give two sickles about you. That’s not true. I do not judge the people that I don’t know, but just because I don’t know you it doesn’t give you room to start assuming who I am. I hate it when people form these stereotypes in their minds and actually start to believe them before they even know the person. Don’t get me wrong; I love playing around and giving people a hard time, sure. I love teasing people for their insecurities even if I don’t know them. This may make me come off as some sort of unimaginable bastard but in reality I don’t actually think of you that way. I don’t actually mean half the things I say. I just like joking around. If we’re standing in a circle of friends, I’m going to bash on you in some way. Take it as it is, in the end I’m just being silly. I can’t stand when people take me so literally. I’m not as mean as my words. I’m not. I think it’s stupid people can’t stand some of me. I think some people think I’m the bearer of all knowledge too because I can keep a secret…

“…my word is my word and I hold that with loyalty. Just because people can actually hold trust in a person, everyone goes insane leaking all these secrets to me. I don’t care, honestly. What I like is that people actually can trust me. That’s why others get so mad if I know something because I’m not going to say a damn thing to any other person if it’s another’s secrets. Secrets are secrets and they are meant for the ears they are told to unless otherwise stated. I can’t stand a rat. I cannot stand stupid bored people wasting their time starting drama. I’m extremely loyal and I stand by that fact. I will never screw someone over for anything. If I give you my word, it is my word. Now when some punk walks away from me and decides to become un-loyal, that is when we have a problem. I have some trust issues, sure, but when you blatantly turn your back on me I will not stand there and let it ride out. You best hope I don’t leave a hole in the back of your head. Loyalty is a very strong part of my relationships and I cannot stand when things are broken. If something is broken, you best hope I’m in the mood to fix it rather than damage it more…

"Normally, I’m into fixing things. I’m generally happy; I just like my alone time. I concentrate best when I’m alone. I can actually create things when I don’t have a person hanging over my shoulder. I get it from my dad. He’s a craftsman and had built things my entire life. From the picture frames on our walls to the floorboards underneath my feet, my dad crafted everything I owned. I learned it all from him. Building things really puts me at peace. He just sent me the sandpaper I’d been asking for to finish the guitar he and I had been working on all summer. I only need to sand it and then polish it and for Christmas he’s sending me the strings. I don’t use magic when I build, just like my dad. My dad grew up in a Muggle household and that taught him how to use his hands for everything rather than magic. He got me to see the beauty of hard work by building things with me when I was younger. Now, it’s all I can do when I’m in a tough spot or having a bad day. It soothes me and I can see exactly why my father ever got into it. He really showed me an amazing way to handle my emotions and I wish I could thank him for that more often. Music really inspires me, too. I’m not particularly good at Piano but I’ve been good at guitar ever since I picked up my fathers old one. Ever since then I’ve been strumming.

Likes:
+ Secrets
+ Guitar
+ House Loyalty
+ Jinxes
+ Rude Jokes
+ Weed
+ Dressing up
+ Alcohol
+ Teasing
+ Journals
+ Building small things
+ Music
+ Conspiracy theories
+ Alone time
+ A fashion sense
+ Quidditch // Flying
+ Apples

Dislikes:
– Annoying women
– Lies
– Butter on his toast
– Waking up
– Homework
– Shaving
– Body Odor
– Bad Hair
– Pensives
– Old memories
– Bad Dreams
– Flirty girls
– Crowded rooms
– “Tough” guys
– People who can’t dress themselves


History:

“Now there are multiple ways I can say all of this and where to begin is incredibly difficult. I don’t talk about this with anyone. Honestly, anyone. Why you’re so damn special is beyond me but I guess it is proper to get to know me at least enough to know the kind of place and people I came from before Hogwarts decided to waste eighty percent of my years. I guess I don’t give two rats about school if I’ve got my friends here and a home as dysfunctional as it is. It’s better now I suppose, but either way. Let’s start with the first three years of my life, shall we? Well, these are the most important ones and I’ll tell you why. Because I don’t remember them. I don’t remember a damn thing the first three years of my life. I guess my dad says that it’s probably just how anyone else is with aging and memories, but I don’t think it’s quite so normal to not have a single memory of your own past. He says I must have blocked them out ’psychologically’ but my father is also a self-employed craftsman, not a therapist, so taking advice from him would give me cause to think you’re a little light in the loafers. Don’t misinterpret that as an insult to my father, either. My father is a genius with his art. Thirteen of his woodworks are sitting in Ministry of Magic offices right now. My father is a great man and I regret making him feel any different in my childish rants and pissy moans and groans growing up with him. He was a muggle born and even though he went to Hogwarts just like my mother, in the end Magic wasn’t his best suit. So he stuck to his craftsmanship and built wonderful things including our house and our restaurant. I never knew my mother, and I should be bloody well happy I never did. From my missing childhood memories to the ones that she replaced, I can honestly say I hope I never see that woman again.

“So I have absolutely no recollection or memory of my little three year old self. I do however have some horrific images imprinted onto my brain that like to haunt my dreams now and again, and it all started in two different places. Firstly, the earliest I can go back is the day I left my mothers home. It all comes in flashes. The very first thing that I will never forget is my mother handing me a small glass vile with a silvery substance that wiggled inside. She handed it to me through gnarled hair and a maniacal smile and I just remember how scared I was. I was so incredibly scared from her. The next thing I know, my father is carrying me on his broom up the winding and mountainous path to his house, my new home. I can still smell the breeze from the harbor just around the edge of the cliff our home sat on. Sea breezes came sweeping up the mountain and brought mist in the morning so everything glistened. The air was slightly brittle and I remember my lip quivering so bad I bled from how hard I was biting down to keep it from shaking. The only things I had were a small sack with a change of clothes, my blankie, and the small vile. My father grasped it in his hands.

“Another flash and I’m in my father’s study, which overlooked The North Sea and the small fishing docks directly below where his restaurant sat. His movements were quick and I remember being extremely confused. I played with the tassels of his polyester armchair as he scrambled about. It wasn’t but a minute later he was standing high over an odd bowl of liquid and a long stream of silver was leaking from the tip of the vile my mother had given to me. I glared at him reproachfully as his odd behavior confused my childish mind. He was sticking his face into what I did not know was a pensive. Five minutes passed and I watched in wonder as his face sunk deeper and deeper into the bowl. His hands grew tight around the edges of his desk and I could feel him struggling to keep his head down. I wanted to wrench him from it, whatever it was, because he did not seem to be enjoying himself. Before I could gather the courage, my father was launching himself across the room and away from the pensive, horrified. His breathing doubled and his face turned from red to white. I remember the look he gave me. It was so tragic…so serious. It was a look no child should ever have to embrace. Of course I had no clue what the actual hell was going on nor did I really want to. But it wasn’t long after that did I find out exactly what my father had seen in the pensive.

“It was two years later, actually; a month before my fifth birthday. I remember distinctly because my father was preparing the restaurant for it. Joseph’s Harbor was a small two-story crab shack that frequented so many sailors my father barely had the time to keep up running it with his craftsmanship and family duties. I hardly minded, however, because that just meant I got to spend time doing my own things like building and learning instruments. This particular day, however, my father insisted I help him with the preparations for my birthday. I was to carry all of the extra empty boxes the kitchen wasn’t using to the second floor of the restaurant. I was confused at first by this because my father kept the upstairs all locked up. He never went up there and I don’t even think he had ever actually taken the time to explore it all. The dust was thicker than a sickle on the steps up and the light was minimal. When I reached the landing I wasn’t surprised at the clutter. My father is not a very organized man. I was intrigued, however, by the chest in the center of the room. It looked the most out of place. In fact, it was out of place because the dust was so thick you could see it had been dragged from it’s spot across the room from the clutter. I wish I hadn’t been so curious as to see what the hell was in that chest. I took three small steps towards it and before I had time to reach for the latch the chest lurched open and out sprang my mother.

“Of course it wasn’t actually my mother but out of all the things my three year old mind could comprehend, the woman I had been taken from three years ago was standing before me with that same bat crazy smile. I screamed as she scuttled towards me and held out her palm. Her face contorted when I refused to take the vile from her and I can only remember screaming as I backed myself into the stairs. But before I could stumble backwards and down the steps, my father had caught me. He was there in a split second and pushed himself past me toward the Boggart. In this instant I found out exactly what my mother had put into that vile and given to me.

“The Boggart swirled for a moment in midair before taking the form of a circular mirror. Misty and glistening, the Boggart ripped through scenes I wish I had never seen.

My mother standing over me in our large foyer screaming, ”Avery Adams you are of pure blood and you will act that way. Do I need to show you exactly what it is like to be as powerful as we are? How important it is to be the best?” And then we’re whisked away to a patch of woods. Four muggles are strapped to four large oaks, their blood spilling from their shirts. My three year old self stands next to my mother as she screams in disgust, ”THIS is power, my Avery. Show the muggles who will rule in the end!” and with this she sent a shaft of orange light from her wand, ripping another hole in an innocent mans chest. His cries shock the little me and I sob. My mother walks to the man and pulls her clean hand across his bloody belly. ’Do you smell it, Avery? Do you smell the filth?’ I am not comprehensible to respond so she scuttles towards me and smacks my tiny face with the bloody hand.

“’Enough’ A man from the bar had heard the ruckus and had come to investigate. My father lay sprawled against the wall, sobbing. A few moments later and a big snake was trying to bite things in the room with candy-corn fangs. I didn’t know whether to laugh at the snake or help my father as he wept but before I could choose, the man from the bar had recruited me into laughing. ’C’mon! You know it’s funny little guy! Help me out and laugh!’ I giggled only slightly and in a matter of minutes the Boggart had vanished.

“Do not ask me what was wrong with my mother. Do not judge me on account of my insane mother. My mother was an extremist. She took things too far. Her dark mind was something even my father could not handle, and in the end it over took her. She was set up in her beliefs and took everything to a level I don’t even think she knew she could get to. I did not know my mother. I can tell you now she is in Azkaban for life and I can tell you I don’t want to know anything more. If the Dementor’s have a soul to even kiss away from her I’d be surprised. She was nothing but horrendously terrible and I wish the same adjectives define the rest of her life.

“I can’t tell you much more about my life. It was pretty happy besides that. I grew up with my father in his large hand built home in the nook of a seaside mountain overlooking The North Sea. We ran his restaurant until Hogwarts decided I needed to learn a few things and I spend my summers in the fishy village where we live. Things are fine now. It took a couple of years to get over and used to each other. I try not to let the things like my mother make or break me, but at the end of the day when I’m defining myself I can’t help but think about the things that got me to the end of that day. I can’t help but look back at my past. I will never forget the true terror my mother had caused my father and I will never understand it. He will always welcome it as his mistake and sometimes I feel like a damn git when I let him.”



Sample Post:

The brass clock on Avery’s nightstand had just clicked past eleven forty five and he was still sitting on his bed. He was going. Of course he was going. Avery hated missing out on most things, and something this large would be quite ridiculous to skip out on. This wasn’t class. This was important. Avery played with the metal around his wristwatch as he glanced towards the doorway to his empty dormitory. A couple of first years had zoomed past noisily, obviously making enough of an uproar as they could since they weren’t allowed to the dance. Avery was the only one left of his classmates left in the dormitory. Avery wanted to take his time. He had to time it out right. First of all, he didn’t have a date to impress so he didn’t have to act like he loved dancing or like he wanted to get her another glass of punch. He would have done it all willingly, but tonight he didn’t have to worry about impressing anyone. So there he sat, on the edge of his bed waiting for the clock to strike twelve so he could venture into the mass of people waiting for him. Going to early would mean that he would have to sit at a table awkwardly for however long it took for someone to come up to him sheepishly and ask him for a dance he would later regret because every damned female in this bloody school took the tiniest form of politeness as a ticket into his pants. And then when he had to regrettably inform them that he was not in fact, interested in anyone being in his pants but himself, he was the ‘bad guy’ for leading them on. It always happened that way. No, if he rode it out in his room long enough the stragglers would leave the Great Hall and most everyone would be tuckered out from the amount of dancing. He would then sneak in, act like he’d been there all night long, dance with someone deserving, and then slip back out and back to bed. Big loud parties never got Avery in the right mood. He enjoyed more intimate hangouts.

Which was why he was slightly depressed he had no one to share his weed with. It was his fault for wanting to stay behind until the crack of midnight to actually make an appearance so he hadn’t asked anyone if they wanted to light up, but now that Avery had actually sat there for a couple of hours he sort of regretted doing it alone. He knew once the smoke hit his lungs and settled for a minute or two he’d feel completely different so he didn’t let his troubles bother him too much. Avery took the tip of his wand and ignited it so a small flame danced around. He brought the tip to the end of the joint and held it there for a second to get the paper going before he brought it to his lip. Blowing the tip of his wand out, he brought the joint to his lips and sucked. He liked smoking. Smoking made him more personable. It didn’t help with his paranoid personality, but he got over that quick enough by not giving a shit about anyone else. He was a lot more personable and let loose when he smoked. He didn’t worry about being stupid in front of people. A couple of hits and he was perfectly fine. Avery blew out a cloud of smoke and glanced through it at the door to make sure no one was coming. He had learned a few spells from fifth year Ravenclaw he had been smoking with last year that got rid of smoke and a dealt with the stench. As soon as the joint was at an inch and he was pinching it to hold on, he pulled out his wand and waved it through the air twice. The smoke immediately vanished and then a light lemon smell filled his four-poster area. He took a deep breath and enjoyed it before getting up and looking into his mirror beside his table.

He was wearing a tan-ish gold suit with a yellow tie he refused to tighten that he stuck roughly underneath his vest. He rolled his dress pants up past his ankles just to piss the people who used to mock him for being so tall off. He showed off his brown penny loafers. Pulling at his vest one last time, he smiled through his hazy eyes and left the common room with a couple minutes to spare until midnight. It only took Avery a few moments down the hallway before he heard the music. What was that band? The Whozards? He didn’t even know. All he knew was that the music was bumping so loudly one of the portraits he passed was even rumbling against the stone. Avery laughed as the disgruntled wizard inside shouted in protest for someone to help him. Not another corner did he turn and the music nearly knocked him off his feet. He was in the great hall surrounded by a bunch of sobbing singles or single minglers. They all stared at him and he glanced around at them awkwardly before continuing on into the Great Hall. He was right as soon as he had entered. Only the couples were standing around slow dancing and all the stragglers had gotten too tired to dance. He smiled through his cloudy eyes and enjoyed the band for a moment before making his way over to the snack table. From far away it had looked slightly empty but it was probably the fairy lights around him because as soon as he had reached it the table was completely stocked full with snacks. He grabbed at a pumpkin pasty and some apple juice. Food was his downfall when he was high, and Avery couldn’t believe he had already found himself pigging out.

Tori Macmillan had pulled on his shoulder halfway through a bite of cake. She gave him a silly wiggle with her eyebrow, inclining a dance. Before he knew it, the band had drifted into another upbeat song and he was on his feet being pulled by Tori onto the dance floor. He liked Tori. Tori was cute. Tori was also short for Victoria. Victoria was his mother’s name. This thought automatically brought his high down. He grimaced as Tori pulled at his sides and danced around him foolishly. They were just friends at this point. He forced a laugh that actually turned out real when she started to slip and fall. Avery pulled her up and she barely was at his chest. He held up her chin, ”How much have you drank tonight, Miss Tori?” He said through a laugh and grabbed her hand. He swayed his hips to the music with her for another moment before he made the call. Avery pulled Tori off the dance floor and thanked her for the dance, kissing her hand. He glanced down at his watch. It had already been an hour and he was incredibly bored. This was the perfect time to slip away, when everyone wasn’t looking. He backed out of the Great Hall and played with his tie as he gave the band one last glance. Just as he was going to make way for his common room, Avery backed into someone.

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{ C O N T R A C T }

I solemnly swear that I, Bird, have read the rules, understand clearly what my responsibilities are now that I am joining ISS, and will abide by these standards set by the staff.

[Imogen Sauveterre]

accepted!