Posts
1
Archived Applications / Beauregard. J. A. Lesauvage
« on: 01/08/2017 at 09:15 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Beauregard Jacques Adolphe Lesauvage
Birthday: 17th April 1935
Hometown: Formally - Paris, France
Currently - London, United Kingdom
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning
Year (pick two): Sixth / Seventh
Biography:
”Bo, darling; tonight is very important, you need to be on your best behavior, do you understand?” The figure of whom he had become to know as his Mère spoke with gentle in her voice. A woman of beauty and radiance, a woman full of love and dedication for her children, always pristinely dressed with her set of three pearl necklaces around her neck, with one adorning each earlobe.
Her smooth, lithe fingers ran across the rich material of the dinner jacket, tailored and pulled tight around the small frame of her eldest boy. “Yes, Mother” He replied, the volume of his voice somewhat silent, head nodding in agreement as he found some way to voice his agreement. It wasn’t his first dinner party, or social gathering, but it was the same routine, the same warning every time before they went down the grand staircase as the chandelier sparkled and danced.
A small tug of the midnight blue bow tie, a small swallow as Bo adjusted to the refined fitting. “Good, but remember, you are allowed to have fun” Her pristine smile washed over her lips, flashing her pearly white teeth, a beauty, his father forever stating she was a descendant of Aphrodite. “Right, let’s go” His fingers entwined with hers, and they walked.
The walk was short, having slipped off his bed, across the room and down the hallway. A bubbling feeling filled his stomach, warm and energising, he couldn’t wait, there was something about dinner parties that meant fun, he could dance and run. Then there was Dash! They played, he was always the Knight and Dash the thief, and they’d race and play and manage to end up on the steps panting as they gasped for breath.
His smile raised across his lips, legs racing as his polished shoes almost skidded against the carpet, almost falling into his father’s arms. “Are you ready to break some hearts?” His Papa joked, girls were… ew. His nose scrunched up. “No, Papa - I’m going to be on my best behaviour” A giggle escaping his lips. He would try at least.
With a ruffle on his hair, he set his son back on the ground. “Come on,” A grin on his lips, he grabbed his father’s extended hand and charged down the stairs like a soldier to war, down towards the pool of guests watching in the sparkling light of chandelier, heavenly sound of the orchestra.
Her smooth, lithe fingers ran across the rich material of the dinner jacket, tailored and pulled tight around the small frame of her eldest boy. “Yes, Mother” He replied, the volume of his voice somewhat silent, head nodding in agreement as he found some way to voice his agreement. It wasn’t his first dinner party, or social gathering, but it was the same routine, the same warning every time before they went down the grand staircase as the chandelier sparkled and danced.
A small tug of the midnight blue bow tie, a small swallow as Bo adjusted to the refined fitting. “Good, but remember, you are allowed to have fun” Her pristine smile washed over her lips, flashing her pearly white teeth, a beauty, his father forever stating she was a descendant of Aphrodite. “Right, let’s go” His fingers entwined with hers, and they walked.
The walk was short, having slipped off his bed, across the room and down the hallway. A bubbling feeling filled his stomach, warm and energising, he couldn’t wait, there was something about dinner parties that meant fun, he could dance and run. Then there was Dash! They played, he was always the Knight and Dash the thief, and they’d race and play and manage to end up on the steps panting as they gasped for breath.
His smile raised across his lips, legs racing as his polished shoes almost skidded against the carpet, almost falling into his father’s arms. “Are you ready to break some hearts?” His Papa joked, girls were… ew. His nose scrunched up. “No, Papa - I’m going to be on my best behaviour” A giggle escaping his lips. He would try at least.
With a ruffle on his hair, he set his son back on the ground. “Come on,” A grin on his lips, he grabbed his father’s extended hand and charged down the stairs like a soldier to war, down towards the pool of guests watching in the sparkling light of chandelier, heavenly sound of the orchestra.
September 1945 (ten years old)
A knuckle rasped against the mahogany desk. Knock, knock, knock; the same dull sound cutting through the even duller words of Dr. Alfred Schindler, the scholar that came to tutor him for at least three hours everyday but Sunday, even then, Mother encouraged him to read a book following luncheon.
It might have been more bearable if the air wasn’t so… it was so stuffy which was somewhat ironic considering the ceiling he sat under was about thirteen feet high, walls adorned with bookcases, leather bound books with golden titles filling the space. Dr. Schindler was probably nearly eighty by the looks of it, draped in black robes, a pointed cap and a moustache coating his upper-lip. He was the best apparently.
Latin was boring, his attention was short, he knew this anyway but he let the voice drivel on as his eyes fixated on the moving figure outside the window, his palm pressed against his jaw, propping himself up. Why didn’t Dashiell have to sit through this? They were the same age, why did he have Latin lessons why only Dashiell had… normal tutoring.
“Sir,” His voice raised, no need for hand raising, but simple words as he looked at the old man, gaze returning from Dash, who seemed to be having fun with that ball. “Why does Dash get to play outside, and I don’t?”
A simple question with a difficult answer. All Beauregard could do was watch as the older gentleman stuttered for a moment, he could see the clogs ticking behind his eyes, the inner mechanisms of his brain. “Well, well; you can go out afterwards, your father only asked me to tutor you Latin, not Dashiell” Dr. Schindler replied. “You are my only concern”.
There was times when he needed to voice his words, and his concerns, but he figured that maybe this was not one of them. Perhaps, as Dr. Schindler had mentioned, maybe it was Papa he needed to speak to, and not the man teaching him. A small smile, yes, that’s what he would do.
It might have been more bearable if the air wasn’t so… it was so stuffy which was somewhat ironic considering the ceiling he sat under was about thirteen feet high, walls adorned with bookcases, leather bound books with golden titles filling the space. Dr. Schindler was probably nearly eighty by the looks of it, draped in black robes, a pointed cap and a moustache coating his upper-lip. He was the best apparently.
Latin was boring, his attention was short, he knew this anyway but he let the voice drivel on as his eyes fixated on the moving figure outside the window, his palm pressed against his jaw, propping himself up. Why didn’t Dashiell have to sit through this? They were the same age, why did he have Latin lessons why only Dashiell had… normal tutoring.
“Sir,” His voice raised, no need for hand raising, but simple words as he looked at the old man, gaze returning from Dash, who seemed to be having fun with that ball. “Why does Dash get to play outside, and I don’t?”
A simple question with a difficult answer. All Beauregard could do was watch as the older gentleman stuttered for a moment, he could see the clogs ticking behind his eyes, the inner mechanisms of his brain. “Well, well; you can go out afterwards, your father only asked me to tutor you Latin, not Dashiell” Dr. Schindler replied. “You are my only concern”.
There was times when he needed to voice his words, and his concerns, but he figured that maybe this was not one of them. Perhaps, as Dr. Schindler had mentioned, maybe it was Papa he needed to speak to, and not the man teaching him. A small smile, yes, that’s what he would do.
April 1949 (fourteen years old)
There was a manner of pomp and circumstance; something that Bo found incredibly fascinating. He was the heir, and he knew it, and he knew what it meant when he became fourteen, when he managed to come of age. A ritual bathed in tradition, a golden crown placed upon a head as they all sang happy birthday. A golden crown passed down through the ages, a golden band that balanced on the forehead, a delicate diamond place into the center.
His hand ran through the strands of his hair, eyes fixated in the mirror which spouted back his image. Tall, they all said he was tall, whoever it was that managed to observe him always managed to report the same things back; tall, handsome, a prince, a young man that would be breaking hearts.
But… there was someone else. Alice.
Honour, and duty above the rest. His smile travelled through the mirror, a glance to the girl with the brown hair, the girl that had lived with them for seven years now. She was kind, she was pretty… it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? He reached out, fingers extended as he offered her a proper smile, wide and gleaming, it was his birthday, they were to be the stars of the show. “May I?” He smirked.
She looked… he wasn’t sure but she looked up from her lap with a smirk, a smirk that played with his own as he felt the warmth of her palm as it slipped into his own. “Don’t step on my toes” She warned, and he could not do anything but offer a chuckle as he held her soft palm. “I’m not sure if I can promise that” Another joke, another warmth of his stomach, another smile upon his lips.
She let out a small laugh. “You need to work on your humor” A defiant comment, unwilling to allow him to make her laugh but rather than concern, a giggle escaped his lips once more. “You laughed, didn’t you?” An eyebrow raised, questioning.
Another smirk, another form of beauty, a definite son of his mother. A God. A young gentleman destined for the best, at least, that’s what his Father's prophecy told him. He was unsure of prophecy, and rather took his father’s words with caution, he was the only person that could decide his future. Correct?
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Gryffindor (?)
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
For it being almost winter, he was surprised that the sun was still shining in the sky. High it rose, and low it should fall, but for now, the warmth admitted allowed him to sit, legs bent, back (somewhat painfully) resting against a bench, white silk shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a button or two left undone.
He glanced down, by his side, where his jet black leather bound journal, and opposed to a bird feather quill, it was ostrich. To him, they always wrote that little bit more neatly, and managed to hold the ink that little bit better too. Did he write now? A glance at his watch, it was getting close to supper, better than writing it later, was it not?
It only took a couple of moments to find his decision was made up for him. (Not that he wrote much in it anyway). "You blasted rat! Where are you?" His attention span could be limited… it was how he hid it.
His eyes narrowed a little bit, watching the boy. He couldn’t be older than… thirteen? He was little, almost half his height maybe? He had lost his rat, which he was obviously looking for. There was part of him that called to help him, and another, the watch, to teach him a lesson to look after his pets better.
"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare." He laughed, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he looked at the boy with a perplexed expression. “It’s not polite to snarl, either” He replied, making no effort to help the boy.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Hermes & Co.
How did you find us?: Google search, once upon a time.
His hand ran through the strands of his hair, eyes fixated in the mirror which spouted back his image. Tall, they all said he was tall, whoever it was that managed to observe him always managed to report the same things back; tall, handsome, a prince, a young man that would be breaking hearts.
But… there was someone else. Alice.
Honour, and duty above the rest. His smile travelled through the mirror, a glance to the girl with the brown hair, the girl that had lived with them for seven years now. She was kind, she was pretty… it wouldn’t be that bad, would it? He reached out, fingers extended as he offered her a proper smile, wide and gleaming, it was his birthday, they were to be the stars of the show. “May I?” He smirked.
She looked… he wasn’t sure but she looked up from her lap with a smirk, a smirk that played with his own as he felt the warmth of her palm as it slipped into his own. “Don’t step on my toes” She warned, and he could not do anything but offer a chuckle as he held her soft palm. “I’m not sure if I can promise that” Another joke, another warmth of his stomach, another smile upon his lips.
She let out a small laugh. “You need to work on your humor” A defiant comment, unwilling to allow him to make her laugh but rather than concern, a giggle escaped his lips once more. “You laughed, didn’t you?” An eyebrow raised, questioning.
Another smirk, another form of beauty, a definite son of his mother. A God. A young gentleman destined for the best, at least, that’s what his Father's prophecy told him. He was unsure of prophecy, and rather took his father’s words with caution, he was the only person that could decide his future. Correct?
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Gryffindor (?)
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
For it being almost winter, he was surprised that the sun was still shining in the sky. High it rose, and low it should fall, but for now, the warmth admitted allowed him to sit, legs bent, back (somewhat painfully) resting against a bench, white silk shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, a button or two left undone.
He glanced down, by his side, where his jet black leather bound journal, and opposed to a bird feather quill, it was ostrich. To him, they always wrote that little bit more neatly, and managed to hold the ink that little bit better too. Did he write now? A glance at his watch, it was getting close to supper, better than writing it later, was it not?
It only took a couple of moments to find his decision was made up for him. (Not that he wrote much in it anyway). "You blasted rat! Where are you?" His attention span could be limited… it was how he hid it.
His eyes narrowed a little bit, watching the boy. He couldn’t be older than… thirteen? He was little, almost half his height maybe? He had lost his rat, which he was obviously looking for. There was part of him that called to help him, and another, the watch, to teach him a lesson to look after his pets better.
"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare." He laughed, a small chuckle escaping his lips as he looked at the boy with a perplexed expression. “It’s not polite to snarl, either” He replied, making no effort to help the boy.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Hermes & Co.
How did you find us?: Google search, once upon a time.
