Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Sébastien Marius Lesauvage
 
Gender: Male
 
Age: Fifteen
 
Bloodline: Pureblood
 
Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Claude and Kristof Lesauvage (NPCs)
 
Residence:
London (formerly Paris)
 
Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
No
 
Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
No
 
Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Rin Hunter et al.
 
Biography: (100 words minimum.)
He watches from the staircase, because he doesn’t want to speak to them. The gold and marble prince plagued by a still-beating heart, and the cuckoo with the venom his brother should have bore. His parents’ words are clear-cut from the movements of their lips but Sébastien holds neither enough care nor interest to decipher their messages.
 
It’s a motley collection, only worsened by him (and eventually the later addition of porcelain and kindled flame).
 
Sébastien Lesauvage: the least in both age and significance. He’s more phantom than resident in this household; smart enough to know he’s not the perfection they need, but with enough stars in his eyes to endeavour. It’s still never enough to be seen, and one day he’ll learn to stop trying.
 
Musings interrupted by footsteps that sound too close for his liking, Sébastien looks up and fails to suppress an eye-roll.
 
“Oh, make way for the Prince.”
 
He speaks in a bitter sing-song and doesn’t hesitate to move in the opposite direction as Beauregard passes. It’s an illogical (but not entirely absurd) grievance to hold, but a life in another’s shadow does nothing to feed reason.
 

---

Dashiell spits vitriol and holds no masks to lure his victims in. If Sébastien wants to know how to bring a man to his knees with words alone, he knows who to mimic. Dash’ speech is all coarse and impertinence-lathered, Sébastien knows how to pull his own punches, but Bo is held back entirely by diplomacy.
 
They’re too different and it’s painfully evident. Incoherent chords pieced together with discord; the source of quarrels which prove both to be futile. Sébastien would have voiced his ambitions years ago if he wasn’t aware of the battles and wars he was set up to lose.
 
“No one’s going to like you if you keep acting like that.”
 
Sometimes, he observes—simply because it’s a pleasant reminder that he’s not alone, seeing another discard. He’ll antagonise both brothers to his content but even Sébastien has learned to put aside grudges for the sake of company.
 
He spares a glance to another playmate-turned-nemesis and finds himself laughing.
 
“Suppose it’s too late for that though.”
 

---

“Who are you?”
 
If she’s here for family business, his bewilderment is all the more justified.
 
He’s hard-pressed for geniality and surprise does little to improve that; at the age when immediate thoughts overpower composure. Six-year-old Sébastien is just as peevish as his present-day counterpart, but youth renders him bright-eyed enough to paint benign curiosity. If he was old enough to understand, he may have appreciated his veiled offense.
 
No. Actually, chances were he wouldn’t.
 
“Alice. Alice Labelle.”
 
There’s some recognition stirred by her name but his irritation still burns strong. The rest of the minute is deemed better-spent on the book in his lap than striking up any conversation and Sébastien jabs a finger at the wall to his right. He doesn’t have the grace that comes with age but he still gets his point across. If she’s bothered by it, he can’t tell.
 
He doesn’t need to know who she is to know who she’s here for.
 
“Bo’s over in that room.”
 

---

“London?” It’s enough to quell his lingering indifference, and Sébastien looks up. “You’re having a laugh, frère aîné.”
 
It’s been awhile since those words have left his lips; they feel clumsy on his tongue. It’s Beauregard on a normal day, Bo when he’s lazy, or Prince when he’s particularly sullen. They may share blood but he scarce admits to it with envy nestled between them, but it’s an overdue habit and in moments Sébastien finds himself slipping.
 
He would have chastised himself for it, if more severe matters were not at hand.
 
Sébastien has his following here, from those who spark praise in his parents’ eyes to those who bring about their unabashed disdain. His rebellion is quiet but persistent and he doesn’t know whether to call them out on this sentence or berate himself for even considering that this was about him.
 
“Has Dashiell been made aware of this lovely news?”
 
He doesn’t wait for an answer. Pushing past the older boy, Sébastien makes his way down the stairs with a pace that betrays his customary nonchalance.
 
“You hear this, Dash? We’re moving so dear old Bo can attend his little British school.”
 
Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:
 
Godric Park.
 
Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.
 
Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.
 
It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.
 
"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.
 
Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.
 
Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.
 
"...Do you want to play?"
 
Roleplay Response:
As Sébastien lay back against the bench, gaze skywards, he drank in the noise of the park and made a mental note to never grace this place again. It was a resolution due to crumble the next time he had enough of either of his brothers (or both—that was a likely possibility) but one he would swear by for today, at least.
 
He counted the figures in the sky, paying less attention to the shouts of the girl. When her cries turned to him, Sébastien kept his eyes on the sky and suppressed a sigh.
 
He’s a slave to empathy; can only recognise too well another reject left behind by brothers. Beauregard and Dashiell were not so cruel to him when they were younger, but perhaps the main reason they hadn’t played out this scene was because Sébastien had made it more than clear he didn’t want to play with them.
 
“Uh, sure.” He managed to keep his nonchalance intact as he responded. Another glance is sent towards the boy before Sébastien leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.
 
“Come here,” He nods towards her broom as he speaks, “Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
 
OTHER
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