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Post by salemsloan on May 10, 2009 19:34:17 GMT -5
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About You - -
Name: Anni
Gender: Male
Age: Sixteen
Years of RPG Experience: Almost five
Other: [Removed by Staff]
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Quick Quiz - -
How did you find us? Marauding Mischief
What about ISS inspired you to join? It seems very well organized and rather friendly as well. I like it.
Do you have any suggestions for us? I don’t think so, no.
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About the Character- -
Name: Salem Oliver Sloan
Age: Fifteen
Gender: Male
Year: Fifth
Face Claim: Izzy Hilton
Canon or Original? Original
Facial Properties: His hair is a pale blond, cut lazily—messily, in far too many layers to count. The longest reaches his shoulder blades, edges frayed and uneven. It takes a grungy appearance with a slightly thin nature, soft to the downward stroke, coarse upward. His eyes are oval shaped, fairly thin on the edges, though thick lashes make it up. The irises take on a dominantly green color with a blue tint. Each has a dusted effect, though none taking away from the technical color, still bright. His skin is rather pale, as he doesn’t spend much time outside—he burns quite easily, you see. Too, freckles tend to pop up whenever he does burn, and he despises them greatly. His face is oval with a soft jaw and slightly smaller nose, thin in nature. His lips are full, but tend to be rather chapped from nervous biting and red from teeth picking at the skin.
Physique: He stands at a mere 5’ in height, with little hope of growing any taller. Of course, he tends to slouch, so he appears even shorter than he is. As a whole, his body his rather feminine, with girlish curves (though not womanly in the least) on the small of his back and shaped thighs. Of course, the curve along his back enhances a bony spine that bruises easily from rubbing against chairs he slouches against. His hands are thin and slightly rough, especially his left hand’s fingers due to a recent taking up on violin. He’s light on his feet and, though they’re rather small, he tends to trip over them quite a lot.
Personality: Salem is generally one that can easily get along with at least most people. He prefers an extreme lack of confrontation, so he tends to put others before himself in smaller standards, especially when he doesn’t know them very well. With his friends, he’s more likely to take himself into consideration to that which he’s more thinking of himself first instead of his friends. Generally, this is because he trusts his friends not to ask him of anything that he would have to make the choice in the first place—this is excluding the mundane examples such as asking him to fetch them something, in which case he will either get up and do it, stare at them until they get the point and fetch it themselves, or flat out refuse. Depending on the friend, his choices differ. Too, in more important decisions than food or clothing, etc., he generally thinks of himself first—what he would gain or lose, before others, and if both are left unresponsive, or gaining, he’s less likely to be hesitant to speak up.
He generally prefers to be noticed. Be it his strange fashion sense or personality, Salem tends to like the spotlight unless it’s a bad one. He recognizes the difference and often the bad side of being the center of attention, but he has little care for rumors or what others assume behind his back. If anything, he finds these ‘scandalous’ rumors quite amusing and listens attentively, though mostly just about himself. Either way, he especially likes teachers to notice him, but for grades and personality and little else. Good grades, at that, as he truly hates the thought of failing, much more the action—even with other people. He has a tendency to be almost too goal oriented to the point of losing focus on short term rather than future. Too, he gives teacher too much leeway in his own confidence. A harsh word cuts very deeply from those in authority than from a friend or random person, and a positive lifts him up far longer and higher in the same regard. This adoration generally causes him to be seen as a kiss-up or emotionally weak.
Salem doesn’t much care about his pessimism. He’s rather open about it, really. Of course, just to see them deflate, he gives the good news first before outweighing it with the bad. Generally, this is to those that are not very close friends, to whom he keeps his thoughts to himself. Even so, Salem is rather pessimistic and worries very often. Trying not to worry over things he has no control over just gives him headaches (as he’s very prone to having,) but he does it fairly often. He’s a worrier by nature, mostly about himself and success in whatever he attempts than his friend getting a bad grade or something. His worrying generally makes him sick, especially when exams are coming up, and it isn’t uncommon for him to be seen in the Hospital Wing for a potion or two to get rid of it. Of course, his worrisome nature also comes with some better responses. At least, one: he’s considerably hardworking. If he’s worried about failing a test, he’s more likely to stay up until three every night for a week until he’s more comfortable. However, if he’s not worried about grades or goals, he can be rather lazy with his work and end up putting it to the side for something deemed more important.
He’s of an ambitious sort. Yes, he knows when to lay low and when to take a chance and grasp for what’s in reach. He’s more sly and clever than he lets people think. He’ll think on something for a while before making a decision if he has the time, but quickly if he doesn’t. He tends to find that kissing up to teachers and the like often pays more than not. He’ll bite his tongue and hold it for as long as possible in front of anyone with authority over him or those that might possibly freak enough to knock him down by whatever means. He’s wary of those of a vindictive sort, needless to say. Salem himself doesn’t much have such a sort, unless he’s absolutely positive he won’t get into any trouble that could harm him in the long run. He’s always focused on a goal, almost too much, which feeds into his prior-mentioned worrisome tendencies.
Likes:
+ Loud engines
+ Rain/Snow/Mist
+ Taking walks
+ Reading (generally muggle Fantasy)
+ Singing
+ Playing Piano
+ Listening to Music
+Bright colors
+ Landscapes
+ Painting
+ Daydreaming
+ School
+ Horses, cats, dogs, and deer
+ Mexican, Japanese, and Italian food
+ Cuddling
+ Blankets
+ Castles
+ Writing
+ Violin
Dislikes:
– Sudden noises
– Screaming
– Ice
– Sunny weather
– Skating
– Sketching
– Dark colors
– Winter
– Chinese and Indian Food
–Romantic relationships
–The dark
–Attempting to play Guitar
–Birds, snakes, spiders, and eels
–Yelling
–Arguments
– Ignorant People
–Romance novels
– Memorizing
History: Nathaniel Sloan was not a well-known man. He was moderately wealthy from a long line of half-bloods though with few actual muggles intertwined. He was born and raised in Ireland, made fair grades in Hogwarts with heightened skill in potions, and worked with an apothecary in Diagon Alley. It was in said shop he met Adelaide Wienn, a Swedish pure-blood very well off and fairly well known, lest in her own country. She had a bright mind and petulant human. With parental consent, the two married within a year of their sparked infatuation. Two years later, Madeline was born, and a little under two years after her, Alan. From Ireland, the small family moved to England in time to give birth to Katherine. It was four years in waiting before Salem, named from past male figures in his father’s line—the fact his initials were S.O.S. was merely coincidence, so his parents claim.
For the most part, Salem’s toddler years were extremely uneventful. Steps were taken and words were spoken. It wasn’t until he was four that anything worth while occurred, and it wasn’t exactly a good thing. See, Katherine, ever the helpful one, attempted rather unsuccessfully to help dear Salem up the stairs. She pulled and pulled on his arm until it simply popped out of place. It was simple, however painful, to put back into place, but since then, his left arm has always been considerably weaker than his right. In the September after his fifth birthday, Salem and his family moved to be closer to family after the death of his brother. A year later, Damien was born, the new focus of any attention. Salem paid little mind to his brother, preferring to travel the surrounding woods with his elder siblings than to shoulder any bitterness over the lack of parental spotlight.
When Salem turned seven, months after Damien’s first birthday, his brother Alan worked to convince him to take up flying. Salem wouldn’t have anything of it, claiming that a magic stick holding him up twenty miles in the air was not a fun thought. Alan merely claimed he spent way too much time with Madeline, who had used almost the exact same words during her first year. She was ever the Ravenclaw of the family, after all. However, Salem, being rather close to his sister, took her words to heart, and it was a good month or two before he finally gave into his brother’s pestering. In the beginning, Salem rather enjoyed himself.. until he lost control at ten or so feet and ran right into a tree, that is. Since then, he’s refused even touching a broom, claiming them to be hazardous, murderous, and just down-right foolish…not to mention frightening. His mother, being the more sporty type, was severely disappointed in his lack of ability and enjoyment, while his father didn’t mind as much. However, Salem soon found he had a wonderful talent for music, if not for games. A few months after the incident, he began violin lessons after years of pestering his father, and piano soon after as his ability was discovered. He even went as far as to join ballet—although inherited clumsiness tampered any hope of being any sort of a prodigy, he was fair in a sense. And thus sparked a more aggressiveness in his already effeminate nature.
Salem started Hogwarts with as much excitement as anyone, if not a bit more. Due to his younger age, he didn’t start Hogwarts with Madeline, which was a severe disappointment to him. She had graduated a year earlier before moving in with an old friend in Osaka, Japan and starting a writing career in muggle fantasy and sci-fi. Alan had also graduated, but had since not done much besides go see old friends to play Quidditch. Katherine was a seventh year in Gryffindor. All of his siblings had taken to betting on his house since he’d shown his first magical incident (a rather small flame at the age of six, something their living room would remember vividly). The stories his siblings had fed him didn’t exactly make him very exited about going to Hogwarts, and for his first four years, he promptly refused to make any friends.
He worked through confusions about his orientation near the end of his third year, and made the sudden mistake of telling his parents about his decisions. His father, he supposed, took it better than his mother. He stopped speaking with him for most of the summer break. His mother? She yelled like there was no tomorrow. With his stubborn nature, he wouldn’t even think of refuting his words. His siblings offered sympathy, all except for Damien who had little mind of what was going on, but he was all together even more quiet during his fourth year. The summer before his fifth year was either quiet or filled with arguments with both his parents and his siblings after they were cued off about his ‘antisocial’ behavior at school. His sisters demanded he get some friends—Alan was more worried about him finding a boyfriend, as he was ‘far too old to not have a kiss… even if it would be from a male’. Salem relented to his sisters, but he was far too red to comment to his brother. He decided he’d let himself loose this time, make sure he was acting himself, as he did around his siblings and his parents, before they’d freaked at him.
Sample Post:  So, so what?
I'm still a Rock star
Got my rock moves
and I don't need you!
He'd decided that he hated owls.
Not only did the things smell something awful, but they were rude as well. It wasn't, to say, that Salem was angry at all birds. Some birds were very nice, thank you very much--merely that owls had to be knocked down a few notches in the scheme of things. In a large sense of the fact, however, Salem disliked birds as a whole--sure, they could be nice, but hell.. they were frightening! It wasn't as if he'd tell anyone as such, but--whatever. This morning, however, he'd learned some things that made owls much, much worse than any other sort of bird in existence--except for, perhaps, parrots.. those freaks..
One, they apparently did not appreciate flopping around in the room because they were sent at four in the morning and their owners' son decided not to wake.
Two, they did not like not being fed before offering the letters attached to very, very sharp talons.
Three, their beaks hurt like hell.
Four, they were bastards and were determined to wreck a room if, by chance, you happen to leave in a huff after not receiving the letter and without feeding whatever owl you happened to have been blessed with.
Five, if you happened to be the one in number four, then your owl will promptly leave before you even have a chance to reply to said letter you'd received.
Six, they were just arrogant little brats.
And so, Salem found himself out on the fields, grumbling up a storm as he marked furiously on a potions essay that was due just a day from now. He'd completed most of it days ago--but had promptly forgotten about it since then. Now? He was well irritated enough to finish it with time to spare. He disliked potions, after all, and, as such, he always found himself procrastinating on the homework. But what did it matter? He got it done, did he not? And he didn't cheat (most of the time) or copy the answers down or anything. Ugh! He was just glad it was Sunday, else he'd be growling up a storm in class, and that just wouldn't do. Growling was socially inept.. though, considering he was currently clad in tight, dark blue jeans with a yellow and black plaid skirt over it to his thighs and a loose black turtle neck, growling wasn't the only thing he had to 'worry' about to make him socially inept.
There were worse things--
like failing, or having bird crap in his hair.. or being attacked by said bird. That said, he self-consciously rubbed at the makeshift bandage around his hand. He had little interest in going to the Hospital Wing. It was too much of a walk and, besides, it was just a few scratches, nevermind the depth. If it'd been his writing hand (his right,) then he'd have gone to fix it with magic, but he saw no need otherwise. No, he was currently focused on his essay, an essay which was now finished with very crap handwriting that was barely legible. What? He was much better with thinking of the words than writing them, for even if he placed his thoughts onto his paper, his craft would only allow skilled teachers to make it out.
For this reason, he knew he’d have to redo it…with a whole new sense of craft, one that took more time but was much easier to read.
It was good manners, so his mother said.
Well, simply stated, manners were overrated, and as such, he generally claimed he didn't have enough time to rewrite essays. Time was strange, though. For instance, the incident with that pesky Owl of his mother's had occurred that morning, too late to wake any dormmates, but too early for Salem himself to wake. What? It was Sunday. He liked getting his rest, thank you very much. Now, though, it was nearing the end of the afternoon and he hardly felt as if he'd done anything at all but mope and finish an essay. Then again, he tended to pause his actions to stare at the sky and think before returning with half as much enthusiasm.
Salem sighed.
And sighed again soon after.
His book and papers were settled back into a very worn brown bag, the thick material damp with due from an earlier rain. He'd tied his hair into a low pony-tail with a slick black ribbon, curled ends brimming a crouched back. His face was toward the sky, eyes closed, and his shoulders were hunched, inches above raised knees, boots spread and level on the ground, his hands clasped against the grass. The breeze was cool, slow, and he gave it little mind beyond, at times, thinking his ribbon to be a bug on him and losing any 'Slytherin' composure he may or may not have acquired over his stay in the school to promptly freak out in an attempt to relieve himself of said 'bug'.
The fact that it was a ribbon was, thereafter, realized, and embarrassment ensued, along with cautious glances to make sure no one saw.
They seldom did.
Thank Merlin.
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And Finally - -
I, Anni
[/u], 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.[/color][/blockquote] |
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Post by Professor Albus Dumbledore on May 10, 2009 22:34:17 GMT -5
Righto. I’m going to take this opportunity to be an annoying admin and request that you please fixy the form. Black text, red color-coded titles, blockquote, lines centered, etc. It’s all clearly displayed in the application form itself as well as other accept applications. Iiiiiiiiiiiif I’m making no sense please say so. XD
And while you’re doing that, I’ll be reading this, aha. ^^;;
``IZZY |
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Technically speaking the red coloring is still incorrect but I’ll let it slide just this once. =P