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Archived Applications / Flora Blackwell Chaucer
« on: 19/12/2014 at 22:39 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Flora Beatrice Blackwell Chaucer
Birthday: 19 May 1929
Hometown: Thistledown Hall, Caister-on-Sea, England
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring and Summoning
Year (pick two): Fourth, fifth
Biography:
"Can't," She told him indignantly, pouring tea into his cup. None splashed onto the saucer and she lifted her chin just, so as not to acknowledge this achievement. "I'm to be seeing Lady Kitteredge on that day. You know that."
A lady mustn't seem too haughty.
"And don't you try and argue with me, Lord Cats. It's unbecoming of a gentleman. We shall yet see each other again."
Lord Cats stretched in his chair, and then gave an unflattering, toothy yawn. He narrowed his eyes and purred.
"What have I just told you? No arguing. Now, drink your tea before I become cross."
She had stolen her mother's Sunday china for the occasion, having tiptoed into the parlor and opened the hutch-- Flora had exceptionally quiet fingers and quiet feet, and of this she was rather proud.
"Aren't you thirsty, Madam?"
Flora liked the number six, but there were not six members of her table today. The guests, and her, numbered only three. The others were on the terrace, taking the air. She poured Madam Lafayette a cup of tea also, but unlike her grace in pouring Lord Cats' tea, she spilled a drop on the saucer.
"Oh, I am terribly sorry. Hold a moment, won't you?" She pulled out a handkerchief and blotted at the offending liquid. "There. All better. Cream and sugar?"
(Madam Lafayette, of course, did not answer. Dolls did not speak. Only idiots thought dolls could speak back, and Flora was not an idiot.)
Wasn't as if she really needed to be sneaky, as mother was out for the day (mother was always out for the day) and father hadn't a care what she did, so long as she was quiet and didn't break anything. But Flora liked sneaking around. It was more interesting to make like she wasn't in the house at all.
She had turned fourteen the week before, and her mother had told her it was time to stop that sort of behavior, but Flora wasn't sure what behavior she meant. Or maybe she did, but didn't want to listen.
"I hope your tea isn't too hot, Lord Cats."
Lord Cats only continued his purring, tail swaying off the edge of the chair. Good, patient Lord Cats. He would sit anywhere for any length of time, but would not tolerate hats or jumpers-- that was because he was a cat, however, and because cats did not wear hats or jumpers as a rule. They had fur enough for that.
There was a knock at the door, to which Flora looked up mildly.
"Yes?" She answered.
The door opened just a little, enough for a servant to peek her face in.
"Dinner is served, miss-- your father calls for you."
Flora frowned. "That time already? But--" she gestured to the table before her. "it's just tea-time."
"'Fraid not, miss, clock's striking six as we speak."
"Oh, fine. I shall come." She stood. "Lord Cats, Madam Lafayette, pardon my rudeness. We shall continue later."
She smoothed her dress, shaking her curls out with a little flourish, making past the servant and down the corridor.
Father always insisted upon having dinner sitting-up in the dining room, the table set with linen and china and each course set upon silver platters. Flora liked to drink ice water from the crystal glasses that Mother put out for wine, but if there was no ice then sparkling juice was fine, because Mother would not let her drink wine, even if she asked nicely.
Perhaps that was the difference between a Chaucer and a Blackwell Chaucer-- perhaps the Chaucer children could drink wine whenever they liked, instead of just on Christmas Eve and birthday parties. Flora wasn't sure.
She didn't particularly care, either. Her father had said once that a Chaucer was a Chaucer, and that was good enough.
"I don't like roast beef," Flora announced as she sat down at the table, seeing the course laid out upon it.
"Hello, poppet," Father replied, wheezing from behind his mustache. He very quickly became agitated. "Don't you! You asked for it only last week."
"I shan't eat it," She said. "But the potatoes look lovely."
Father grumbled, and Flora beamed. The butler put extra potatoes on her dish.
"Bon appetit, papa!"
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: At your discretion.
Personality: Though a little distractable and, in her mother's words, "strange," Flora is cheerful and tolerably kind, though she prefers at most times that things go her way. She genuinely likes most people, and will be nice to them as long as they are nice to her first. Gentle and above all imaginative, she is loyal to those who show loyalty to her firstly, and then to people that she likes second. Flora likes to be helpful and useful often, but only when she feels like it. Being the only child of a cadet branch's cadet branch, it is likely her badly-formed elitism (badly-formed in that she says she hates people and then acts no differently toward them, as if she's forgotten) is a delusion of grandeur, but it remains just. She likes the outdoors and the fact that her name means flower.
Appearance: She has somehow inherited the typical Chaucer look, despite being far removed from the Chaucer line proper: Flora has light blonde hair and sleepy blue eyes, body formed in a willowy sort of way. Her movements are slow and dreamy, fidgety, as if she physically cannot stay still-- often she's seen staring out at nothing, or else following some invisible trail across the ceiling.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.
Lucky it was a free period, because Flora had been thinking all day that she would take a walk. It wasn't sunny, it wasn't warm-- it was cloudy and chilly and the leaves had fallen already, but it hadn't begun to snow, and that was what mattered.
She hitched her bag up on her shoulder as a draft came down the corridor. The castle was so drafty. Drawing her scarf round her neck, she started down again toward the exit, so she could shove her hands in her pockets and take her walk.
But a call came down the corridor, along with another draft. Flora shivered, her posture perfect.
"Hey!"
Oh, drat.
(She'd heard someone say 'oh, fishsticks,' in reaction to hearing something lousy, once. Flora wasn't sure what fishsticks were, but they seemed silly.)
"Yes?" She called back, and waited.
"What do you think about serving frog's legs at lunch?"
"I don't know. I've never thought about it before." She fished a thought out from somewhere in the back of her head. "My Auntie told me that they taste like chicken, though, so maybe they aren't so bad."
Flora paused thoughtfully.
"Is the meat green? Would they serve us green meat? If it's green, I am against it."
Fishsticks.
"Or maybe they're like fishsticks."
She was cultured, like any lady ought to be.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site: Dacian Ellwood-Luxe, Cassius Ellwood-Luxe, Elspeth Throckmorton, Camille Chaucer..................... et al
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