Student applications for the 1964-65 term are open!


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Topics - Holland Summers

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Archived Applications / Holland Summers
« on: 31/12/2020 at 23:58 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Holland Summers

Birthday: November 7th, 1949

Hometown: London, UK.  (ft. Hogsmeade)

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Year (pick two): First, and otherwise I'll wait until next term (bumping her to second year wouldn't make sense per canon timeline lol) ^u^


Holland’s mother had taught her a great many useful things.  How to use a stove, a coffee jug, and a corkscrew; how to kick where it hurt, and how to eat Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor Beans the correct way— several at a time.  She’d taught her to never trust a pureblood, a Slytherin, nor any man she met.  Men weren’t worth the trouble, according to her mum, though her mum almost exclusively gave her time to them.  That was another thing she’d learned from her mum: adults rarely, if ever, knew what they were talking about.

She was reminded of this once again, at a carnival game stall at Godric Park, not long before her eleventh birthday.  “That’s not possible,” she said, eyes squinted at the booth just past the carny’s shoulder.  The man was nearly taller than her dad, certainly stockier, and had a face like an underripe tomato.  He peered down at her and didn’t say anything, so Holland figured he must not have understood her.

“Your game is wrong,” she said.  The smell of popcorn and cotton candy and grass made the air feel sticky.  It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, so he must have been incredibly stupid not to have picked up on the problem before.  He certainly didn’t look very bright— why, even the pink in his cheeks was muted and tinted grey-and-green, like he’d been born bruised.  Maybe the smell had gotten to him, too.

Holland pointed behind him, at the large milk can isolated at the back of the booth, her lips pulled sour like she was chewing on a gooseberry bean.  “See, the ball is too big— it’d barely fit in the hole even if you plopped it right in.  Plus, the angle is weird.  Too flat.  Any ball that hits the top of the can is just going to bounce right off it!”

The man looked around, sniffed, and leaned way down to look at her, thumbs planted firmly in his trouser pockets.  She stared at a mole on the left side of his nose, and pulled a face at the smell of his breath.  “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid,” he finally said.  His voice sounded like someone walking over a grate, and she glared harder at the mole so she wouldn’t squirm.  He was stupid, then.  “Where’s yer parents?”

“Working.”  As if it mattered.  “Where’d you get that milk can anyhow?  It looks nothing like the real ones.”

The man rolled his eyes, spit on the ground a few feet from her, and quickly turned away toward a kid much smaller than her, who was brandishing a couple of tickets between their fingers.  Holland looked at the spit on the ground, fizz slowly absorbing into the grass, and back at the booth.  A ball bounced off the top of the milk can, the thwang ringing loudly in her ears.

Well.  If they couldn’t notice the problem themselves, that was their fault.  And some people, she decided, just weren’t willing to learn.

Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Ravenclaw

Personality:  Holland is most often found building things, be it her lego bricks, paper boxes, or wood pieces stacked as high as they'll go.  She uses any material that could be repurposed— this spring she collected crooked nails and broken wood pieces from work sites, and last winter she dislodged a loose piece of metal railing on the second floor of her apartment building.

This keeps her entertained more than any friend could.  Holland Summers is accustomed to keeping to herself and her tinkertoys.  Objects are easy to understand— they have rules.  If she picked up a block from her pile, she could measure its length with a string; she could feel how heavy it was; she could put it in a glass of water to see if it would float.  All the pieces were right there in front of you, and they could be plugged together like a big old puzzle of that particular block.

But people— people aren’t something she can solve.  They’re made of intention and inflection, and a million other things that can’t be measured with a ruler.  She’s tried to break them down into blocks, into folds and shapes and numbers, but they bent at all the wrong spots, unpredictable and ugly.

Just as well.  She doesn’t need ugly.

Appearance:  Holland Summers, like her mother, was not cut out to be soft.  She was all sharp lines and prickly colors, eyes too light for her face and eyebrows too dark for it.  Even when her feet shuffled on cobblestone, and her gaze was affixed to her fingers, her chin jutted out from her neck like it was leading her procession of limbs.  Taller than most children her age, with long and nifty fingers perfect for construction.  She sometimes neglected to brush her hair.

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."

There weren’t rocks like these in London.  At least, not anywhere near the crumbling brick building and smelly street that housed her and her mother, and sometimes a man like British skies.  If she were lucky, and it had been raining enough but not too much, she could find little tufts of grass at the corner of the structure and the busy dirty street, and pebbles crushed by the wheels of muggles.

But here— here, at the castle, there were fields and there were flowers, and there was a building that did not fall apart, and there was a garden path made of loose flat rocks the size of her palm.  She’d dug them out with her fingers, muddy crooked nails and a stained brown skirt to carry them.  She’d dumped them out on the ground beside a bed of fluffy red flowers, knees on the dirt and tile pathway.

Holland swiped her hand across a stepping stone to make sure it was flat enough, and began to stack.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

She nearly dropped the eighth rock right on top of the precariously balanced seven.  She frowned, fist clenched around the rock, and shook her head to dismiss the crunchy, whiny sound of his voice.  Boys.  Once again her eyes squinted in concentration, gaze shifting quickly up and down the pile at the way the rocks had settled.  If she placed the stone too far to the right, it would fall and most likely take the seventh stone with it; but if she placed it too far to the left, the rock would take down the entire stack.  And that didn’t even take into consideration the other axis.

A-  A-   ACH-OO!

And down it went.  Holland’s hand once again tightened around the unplaced rock in her hand, and she huffed, glare burning holes into the ground.  Careful so that her hands didn’t shake, she placed the stone on top of the two that remained.

"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

She wanted to laugh and she wanted to scream.  "Who's staring at who?" she said without looking up, and stacked a fourth stone.  It wavered for a moment, and then stabilized.  Finally, she turned her head.  (A mistake.  God, he was just as ugly as his sneeze.)  “You can help me, by taking yourself and that horrible sneeze out of my space.”


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Ronnie Jay Beckham, Ivory Summers, Andromeda Crowley, Evariste Altier, etc.

How did you find us?: Google!

note: take as long as you need to sort her, i know this is real close to the cut-off (‘:

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