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Messages - Montserrat Archer

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Suggestions & Questions / Re: Vault?
« on: 04/05/2015 at 16:07 »
Thank you so much! <3

Suggestions & Questions / Vault?
« on: 03/05/2015 at 21:13 »
Hi! I don't seem to have a gringotts vault? I searched throw all the pages and I can't find it!
Help please?
Thanks a lot!

Archived Applications / Montserrat Archer
« on: 05/04/2015 at 17:25 »

Application for Hogwarts School

Montserrat Archer

January 7th 1930



Magical Strength (pick one):

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Year (pick two):
4th (or 3rd)

Born to Malcolm Archer, an English magizoologist, and Victoria Navarra, a Colombian muggle literature professor, Montserrat had a somewhat lively childhood.
Her family lived in England until she was two years old, and then started a somewhat nomadic journey so that Malcolm could study the different horse breeds in southamerica. This went on for a year, with them going from Chile to Uruguay, Brazil to Colombia, and so, and so, until- thanks to Victoria’s insistence- they took residence on the biggest magical community in Argentina, where his father established a winged horse ranch, a place to study, breed and rehabilitate winged horses.

Montserrat was raised in between books and animals, riding and reading,  being encouraged to explore the world since an early age and to ask as many questions as she wanted.
When she turned 10, Victoria put her foot down on the matter that ‘Montserrat needs a proper magical education, for God’s sake’, so her parents decided to send her back to England to live with Malcolm’s father and enrol her at Hogwarts, since her (non-muggle) family went there for generations.

Currently, when not in Hogwarts, she resides with her grandfather, Matthew, in Nottingham, and goes visit her parents for Christmas and three weeks on summers.

House Request:

Montserrat is highly curious by nature, although not particularly talkative on a day-to-day basis; she’s known to ask a million questions about any subject that she’s honestly interested on. She puts education and culture on the highest of regards, thanks to her mother’s life lessons, and is always willing to try new things, even if she happens to be very bad at them.

She also has the habit of tuning out someone’s voice if she’s focused on something else, reading, or simply finds what they’re saying  to be remarkably boring. When thoroughly angered, she develops a sudden way with words in which she can insult someone in both English and Spanish in several ways without them noticing, but she’s usually hard to anger.

Montserrat is a relaxed girl; she enjoys the company of animals, has a wry sense of humour- another one of her mother’s inheritances- and prefers to stay out of other people’s business unless asked directly to take a part of if, and even then she has her reservations.
She absolutely abhors overly sweet things and people pointing out she has an accent- she tries hard to drop it, but it never works. She also hates when people can’t pronounce her name right, but she has resigned herself to simply instruct them to call her Archer if they can’t roll the r’s right.
For all of her understanding with the animal kingdom, this girl can’t take care of a plant to save her life- unless they’re cacti, and even though she has to try *very* hard so that they don’t die on her.

Regarding her interactions with people, she has the tendency to act as some sort of big sister to younger kids, but prefers the company of people her age or older. She doesn’t mind big gatherings of people from time to time, but prefers to have one-on-one conversations more often. She never says no when asked for help, but would rather don’t be asked unless it’s extremely necessary.

Montserrat is short and slight, making her parents joke about their daughter having the perfect body for a rider. She takes after her father’s looks: she’s pale with dark brown straight hair and big doe greyish -green eyes, making her look like she’s always innocent or even somewhat lost.
She has a small scar on her upper lip from a riding accident when she was seven she’s oddly proud of and never tries to conceal with magic nor makeup, and a poorly healed fracture on her right wrist that she swears can predict rain, which, in England, is more often than not.
As for her style, she usually puts her long hair on a messy bun to get it out of the way, and wears mostly jeans and flannel shirts underneath her school robes, although she does enjoy dressing up to the nines if the occasion arises.

Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.
Option I:

Blimey, the Great Hall was packed. It seemed like everywhere a guy looked there was some clown waving around a House banner or yelling about the game.

'Can you believe it?' 'No way!' 'This must be the biggest upset in Hogwarts Quidditch history...'

Stupid Quidditch.

James flopped into an empty seat at the end of the table, shoved an empty plate out of the way, and let his head sink onto his crossed arms, squishing his freckled nose down flat against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to come here, since he definitely wasn't hungry. He'd probably never eat again, in fact. He didn'tdeserve to eat. He hadn't stopped in the locker room to change out of his muddy, sweaty uniform after the game either, because he was pretty sure he probably didn't deserve to be clean too; and anyway he couldn't stand to see the looks on his team mates' faces after he blew their chance at winning one of the biggest games they had ever played.

Just one lousy shot. That's all it would have taken. If he could have just got that one stupid foul shot to go through that one stupid hoop, they could have won and he wouldn't have been the biggest blockhead in the entire school.

As if to prove the point, half the people at the next table suddenly broke into a loud victory chant. James pressed his face further into his arms to hide the bright red blotches he could feel creeping up his cheeks. That was it. He was just going to have to run away and move to Nova Scotia. He'd just cost the three-year-in-a-row Champions the Quidditch Cup! How do you ever live that one down for crying out loud? He was only a second year and he was going to spend the rest of his life as 'that dumb cry-baby kid who dropped the Quaffle!'

It felt like every set of eyes in the room was boring into him, and James couldn't stand it anymore. He jerked himself back up from the table and stomped right back out of the Hall the same way he had come in. As he stormed into the quieter hallway outside, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind him. James rounded on the sound and began to shout, his brown eyes shining with tears. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"

Montserrat was taken aback by the sudden outburst of the kid in front of her. She blinked owlishly a few times trying to come up with an answer.
“Uh.” She started. “I was just going to say that this bit of parchment fell from your pocket, but... yeah...”
The kid seemed younger than her, though not by much. She had been sprawled on the hallway trying to figure out the theory for a transfiguration spell she definitely wasn’t supposed to practice at her age, when he had stormed by and lost the bit of paper. She had barely got up when he had snapped at her.
And he looked about to start crying.
Oh boy.
She should have kept to herself- it was already hard enough, with the people on the Great Hall causing a ruckus thanks to the outcome Quidditch Cup- her House had won, she should have been there celebrating with her housemates, and had planned going to... right after she could figure the spell out, of course, when this sour and watery-eyed kid changer her plans.
What was his problem anyways? And that bit about a loser?
She put two and two together. Now, she wasn’t the biggest Quidditch fan of the world, but she had heard that the victory was only possible thanks to some kid dropping the Quaffle. So. This must have been the kid.
Montserrat sighed- seems like spell theory would have to wait. She made a mental note to get this over with quickly and then go with the rest of her House; she could read on bed anyways.
“Listen, kid.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “So you dropped a Quaffle. Yeah it sucks, I know, but sometimes you’ll drop a metaphorical Quaffle in real life too. And it’ll suck. You can’t let it get you down though, fix it if you can, and if you can’t” She shrugged her shoulders. “To the next thing then. Be better at it. Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Cry it out and be all shades of miserable tonight or write angsty poetry- whatever helps you. But move on tomorrow, mmkay? Just my two cents.”
She smiled and started to gather her things.


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