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Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Llywelyn Ridley Renn
Birthday: 28th of May
Hometown: Lyon, France
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms
Year (pick two): 5th (4th)
Biography: Cette Vie ParadoxaleLyn Renn, sitting beside a frosty window, thought it was as profound a statement as he could make this far removed from his normal life.
Not much had ever been expected of the Welsh wizard who had grown up French. As pureblood politics went, the living embodiment of flies chasing around a donkey's tail, Lyn was far,
far removed from wielding any sort of influence when it came to Renn matters. While his sisters would say he couldn’t lead anyone but himself anywhere anyway, which was just an abhorrent misuse of English, Llywelyn Ridley Renn considered himself rather unburdened by his place in life. Who needed the approval of his parents when there were eternally superior endeavors to aspire to? It was why his father had left this gloomy isle to France in the first place, Lyn liked to romanticize, after the shunning of his namesake. It was far enough away that the man could hold a measure of autonomy as a third son while still remaining beholden to his family. Yet as his family's tradition went, even
if his father's ambitions stood to gain from moving their family back to Wales, his ruddy sisters would get everything first anyway… unless they proved to be as feckless as the main branch seemed to be.
Life, it would appear, had dealt him what could have been the most boring of hands-- station without responsibility, money without power, a silver spoon in a golden bowl absent hands to feed oneself.
Beauty is subjective and universal. Naturally, he threw his early years into books. Even from the onset, Lyn had his own understanding of new settings having new rules to follow and whoever crafted these worlds made those rules. Fables, philosophies, first-hand accounts of ancient witches and wizards sharing his surname living through the gluttonous times of the Victorian Age. Anything that would make him think, question, and understand why someone as obviously prodigious as himself would be put into his shoes and experience everything this far removed from his homeland, despite the environment around him proving far better at fostering such thinking.
At fifteen, Lyn’s fluid personality is frozen on an Oscar Wilde fascination. A worn copy of
The Picture of Dorian Grey rests on his desk, purchased after seeing the film earlier that year, above a copied script of
Salome he’d received for Christmas. It was the latest in a slew of plays he’d read, recited, and ingrained into his psyche. His mother would only indulge such interest if he also swallowed the words of her own approved book; those that had to do with magic, with history, the wise words that embedded themselves into the fabric of society. It was a fair transaction, by his thinking, as they were just the ones he wanted to leave behind.
Like many who have fallen down a similar rabbithole, the Beauxbaton boy found the novel and subsequent erroneous criticisms life-affirming. Truly, to make a statement in this world, one needed to strive for perfection. The constant chase, the restlessness that a muse presents when your mind gleams that which could be so close you can taste yet proves so elusive you could barely see--
A red, bouncy ball ricocheted off the side of his head.
“ Llywe-LYN!” It was Emily, the eldest, soon-to-be Beauxbaton graduate, and current bane of his existence. This was not going to end well.
The strike had caught him completely by surprise. Wrapped in thought as he was, Lyn had finished tracing a frowning face on the frost of the window as he stared wistfully into the darkness of falling snow. His sister must have been standing there for a moment. If she had tried to alert him of her presence, he hadn't heard it. It hadn’t been his hearing, either, as he could very clearly hear the painful ringing rippling through his ear. A cupped hand reached for the side of his reddening face, seething eyes narrowed into slits upon landing on the pinnacle of condescension she embodied.
She was going to be Minister of Magic one day. May no one that matters live long enough to rue the day.
“What the actua-” he began, storming towards her with his ripe-tomato face before she cut him off swiftly and completely with an upraised hand.
“If mother has to wait any longer for you to set the table,” she began, “I’ve been given liberty to turn your hair into snakes that’ll bite you for every lewd thought that creeps into your mind.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” he threatened, hand still clutched to his face. She would dare. Emily had finally been confirmed as “an adult” in the eyes of the Ministry and she had abused the use of her wand entirely for his benefit or lack thereof. “Can’t you see I’m busy creating ART! Faire de l'art!” His words were whiny. He hated how it sounded coming out of his mouth, half an octave too high and preachy. His sister had that sort of power over him-- a way to revert their dynamic back to their toddler years despite all the time that's passed and how different they’d both become. She was actually nice back then… if still a prissy bootlicker.
“Oh, baby brother,” she would say for the hundredth, thousandth time as the rest of his face soured. “The reviews are in. Shabby, soulless, and aspiring to have the depth of a shallow pond-” Emily’s shriek cut off her words, her hands up absent wand as he swung a pillow at her with the tenacity of a beater’s back-swing. He made contact with her shoulder, the momentum pulling him along for the ride as he took an awkward step forward to balance himself.
Then, before he knew it, he was hanging upside down; tethered by an invisible cord around his ankle. The stream of French curses he threw at her would make a devil smitten.
“They weren’t
my reviews,” she disclosed, regaining her composure. Her arms crossed over her chest, a satisfied grin finding its home. Her wand was now firmly in-hand. “Jacque told me you actually went through with the
Magic Killed God thing?,” it was frightening when the French of her accent actually came through. She’d been working so hard to get rid of it, Lyn had started calling her
Duchess since they’d arrived. “He also told me that he catches you staring som--” A flung pillow cut her off right as their mother entered the room, dispelling the magical hold that kept him aloft so that he crashed right on his face.
Penance earned in lieu of whatever retaliatory strike would soon have come from his sister. Ever the peacemaker in their family, Ines Renn wasn’t about to let this continue and knew just when to interject herself.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.House Request: Slytherin
Personality: Lyn has always felt, as a
Gemini, that his being is a constant struggle between two separate spheres of influence. There are the more high-minded values and aspirations: the way he could throw himself without abandon at his art, at the acquiring of knowledge, of debate and an ever-expanding perspective. The principles that have him respect authority; the constantly spinning wheel of society that we are bound to at birth without our say until we grow old enough to continue perpetuating it. In a word, the persistent ascent towards unattainable perfection that crosses gender, language, religion, politics, heritage, tradition, magic. The same words Kant used when describing beauty as falling under subjective universality.
Then there is the temptation; the reassurances of hedonism, the reflections of envy and pettiness, vulgarity, and the rage that was at best simmering and at worst all-encompassing. Both took their fair turns holding the reins which made the fifteen-year-old consistently inconsistent. One day he might praise you, the next he could detest you. Then he’d likely ignore you for some
grand endeavor that required
all of his attention before a pouting face shows itself and asks for a favor.
He’s also vain, insensitive while being sensitive, rebellious, high-brow, androgynous, argumentative, and thinks way too highly of himself and treats the very syllables that leave his lips as currency. The “good” qualities would be him being relatively loyal since he fears retribution as having more to lose than the above-average person, he’s rather studious, athletic (he likes to run and swim to clear his mind of distractions), seldom cheap, and doesn’t like to let himself down so general puts in a lot of effort. There aren't many things he loves more than getting a reaction from someone, especially in knowing he forced it out of you. He believes in pure-blood superiority and thinks muggles have gone unchecked long enough (mainly because he spent an afternoon crying at the thought of the atomic bomb landings in Japan).
(Here’s hoping this is mainly just hormones and he’ll chill out by adulthood.)
Appearance: Lyn has an athletic frame, hazel eyes, and curly brown hair. His hair needs to be long enough to run his fingers through, as he often does. He either dresses comfortably or stylish, depending on his mood. He’s also started sometimes dabbling in makeup, preferably blush and eye shadow, for both the attention that came from taking an axe to convention and the way it actually accentuates his features.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.Option 2:That rat of his was in for it now.
The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.
Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.
Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.
Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.
The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.
As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.
"You blasted rat! Where are you?"
He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.
Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.
Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."
"You blasted rat! Where are you?"All of that destruction for a literal
rat.
Lyn hadn’t made himself known to the boy rushing out of the open doors like his own ghost was chasing after him. He’d been sitting against the rough stone of the castle walls trying to enjoy the beauty of the day. Anywhere beneath shade and near the flower garden was time well spent simply being lazy and clearing his own head of all the chaos that consistently made a home there. If anyone asked, of course, it was
his process and any true artist would obviously understand the need for it.
Though, why he needed to be wearing suncheaters and smoking a cigarette so close to open doors was as good a question as any might ask. Except, after snickering at the sight of Hugh sneezing his sins away, the snot-faced boy had turned and offered the least thought-provoking inquiry. Such a shame, when Llewelyn Ridley Renn was literally sitting right here, laughing at
his misfortune.
The Welsh-born wizard should demand payment for the honor.
"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."In the most mocking tone he could summon, Lyn repeated the two questions back at him. He made sure to make it as nasally as possible, shaking his head dismissively before flicking the butt of his dying cigarette towards the wall of stone. He gingerly stood up, patting down his black trousers and the elbow creases of his leather jacket.
Then, offering only his vain smile, Lyn cavalierly announced, “You just
had to ruin a beautiful moment,” before muttering something imperceptible in French and walking off. Ultimately, the sniffling weasel was not worth anything more than that.
→ ABOUT YOU.Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Adrian Alric & Co.
How did you find us?: Player Referral Ages Ago
Cette Vie Paradoxale: This Paradoxical Life
Faire de l'art: Making art
