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Archived Applications / Darius Palomer
« on: 23/04/2016 at 17:10 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Darius Silvester Palomer
Birthday: August 25th, 1930
Hometown: Essex, England
Bloodline:
Halfblood
Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination
Year (pick two): 7th, 6th
Biography:
“... Any twos?” Tired pale eyes hovered lazily above a shield of playing cards, belonging to a figure that leaned against the white-washed wood of St. Agnes Church. It was his favorite pastime nowadays, to skip choir rehearsals and trade it for a standard game of Go Fish (or cruise town on a dented bike if he felt particularly dangerous). Darius was always the conductor’s favorite—lovely baritone, as the guy had claimed two weeks the last he’d seen him—but it never granted him the obligation to take the time and memorize his music, much less sit with countless goody-two-shoes for two hours every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday afternoon.
“Go fish,” sneered a fox-faced degenerate, chuckling with a lax grip on his cards.
He grumbled as reluctant fingers reached for yet another card from the pool between him and the nameless lad surrounded by smirking fifteen-year-olds; safety in numbers.
Of course, Darius had never been one for mathematics. No one stood behind him that afternoon. He was bad at Go Fish anyway, and no one wanted to side with a loser. He didn’t necessarily play to win.
The sky was so far cloudless, and it allowed the sun to shine brightly onto his blonde hair like a halo. Ironically, Darius had sinned twice within the previous thirty minutes: skipped choir practice with no remorse to spare and forced these kids to do the same. It was obvious that the eldest Palomer son was no angel or saint. He’d rather do all the world offered than pray to an unknown god and acknowledge his transgressions.
Darius, with as much pride as a fool could muster, showed the drawn Two of Diamonds to his opponent and dropped his cards on the grass before him. “You brought the deck, you clean it up.”
He wasn’t dealing with any smug kid’s bull today; with a spark of contempt, Darius swiped at the other boy’s cards and let them flutter to the ground. “I’m done.” The game wasn’t.
Mum was a fanatical and religious woman. Uncle Arthur, Mum’s younger sibling, was not.
Relief always surfaced when the Palomers visited Uncle Arthur’s cottage in Hogsmeade—no need to go to church on Sundays, or say grace at the table. Darius did not resent his religion, but it bound every follower to irrelevant laws from nearly a millennium ago. He was a free man, and there would be no chains tying him down.
Arthur Reine was not, however, a person the boy appreciated. Arthur had one daughter a year younger than Darius, who was just as hidebound as Mum and had the most unorthodox name in existence. Arthur did not enjoy the company of his wife, who got along with Mum just fine when it came to traditional morals and living vicariously through their children’s achievements. Arthur, a cheating, self-indulgent homewrecker, happily left his family when the time felt right.
“Is that what you think?” asked Gardenia, fiddling with the grass of his back garden. It was March, and apparently her mother had pulled her out of school in fear of a harmless enemy. Mum had pitied her ex-sister-in-law’s situation, and they were welcome to visit whenever. “I didn’t know you thought so strongly about Daddy.”
He snorted, holding a toothpick between his teeth. She always trusted the wrong people, and ignored the people who should have been trusted. “A choir boy would never lie.”
“And a choir boy will get kicked out of school if he keeps his mouth filled with those stupid lies; I can’t believe you.”
It always was miserable to be stood up by some close-minded, know-it-all Ravenclaw.
“Yeah, hopefully,” he grumbled, ruffling his cousin’s hair. Her swatting hands were nonexistent. “Now go buy a fizzy drink or something—I want you out of my yard.”
It was, after all, his and his boys’ territory, and a stray dame would ruin the scent of rebellion in the air.
With callused palms pressed against the dinner table, Darius finally could feel the boiling point in this argument.
“I am not going to a stupid wizarding school that doesn’t even teach the basic fundamentals of real education.”
(It was funny, how long he had been preparing such an intellectual response for this very moment.)
For six years, he had already avoided the fate of magical academia. The excuses he conjured were endless: eleven and twelve years old had been “focusing on church”, thirteen had been “missing my muggle friends”, fourteen had been “concentrating on school”, and fifteen had no excuse at all. After what would have been his fifth year, Darius found no point in trying to justify his distaste for being imprisoned with immature children and snobbish teens—because obviously, Mum would forget that he even had to go to a dark castle with heavy, immeasurable amounts of prestige. But, as all women are, she was smarter than he could ever comprehend.
Vita Palomer stood across from him, fierce as an unbridled tempest. Always demure on Sundays, but ardent on every other day—it was a fortunate but unfortunate arrangement for him and his siblings. “If David and Eden go to Hogwarts and enjoy it, then surely their older brother will too. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, Darius!”
To be honest, now that he was seventeen, everything was always a bit wrong: jokes, politics, life. He knew that it was against nature to deny that.
It, too, was against nature (and the Commandments, as David would always be ready to quip) to defy a mother. Darius, with a dramatic groan, stormed out of the kitchen and languished again in the injustice of late teenagedom.
(Arm yourself, Hogwarts.)
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Whatever fits.
Personality: Well-versed in the tellings of the Christian Bible—nonetheless, Darius doesn’t find his family’s religion to be very interesting. Cynical and remiss, especially when it comes to homework and greater meaning behind the vagueness of whatever he’s supposed to be doing right now. Because of his upbringing, he’s good at being gentlemanly to the ladies, and is always obligated to open doors for any pretty girl. Irresponsible, but clever and sly; Darius knows more than one would think at first glance. He’s not a leader, and would definitely prefer to be second-in-command should he stumble upon any roguish friend group. Darius has his own principles, some he doesn’t even know of yet, and considers himself to be an independent man living in a dependent world.
Appearance: One might first notice that Darius Palomer’s physical bearing is always the opposite of his personality in the early morning; he dresses himself with pristine clothing and combs his hair neatly, as if everyday was Sunday and his mother was forever expecting an impeccable man to be standing at the threshold of their community’s church. His clean appearance is always marred by an ever-present toothpick lodged between his teeth. Of course with his boyish nature, Darius is already disheveled and unkempt by precisely 12:30 PM, and there’s nothing you can do about it. He’s tall like most of his family, standing at a proud 5’10”. On bad days, Darius often can’t decide if his hair is a dirty blonde or golden brown, or if his one defining feature is his particularly large blue eyes or eternally grumpy face.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Option 1
The consequences of this adventure was something he hoped to postpone, as if they were business meetings that could wait until tomorrow and not the results of living; until then, Darius supposed that he could linger in the dungeons for a few more hours until his fruitless escapades began to prove afternoon detention instead of dank stone walls that housed mold and other allergens.
So far, it had been thirty minutes. What else was there to exploit? Perhaps the unhealthy living conditions of those poor Slytherin kids; that, he could press charges for and get out of this school once and for all.
With his moody hands balled in his pockets and a brooding expression settled onto his features (although both were actually characteristics of Darius that were otherwise very permanent), he really did look like someone who would frequent the dungeons like Muggle boys and corner stores. Dungeons, obviously, were not corner stores, and would probably not like to be referred as such—they were much cooler anyway, and Darius knew just how the personified dungeons in his head felt.
Five more minutes, he impulsively decided. Five more minutes and he’d get out of this place; it was messing up his biological clock, and he didn’t know if it was still daylight outside or if the apocalypse had miraculously happened yet. Darius still wanted to find something, too—five minutes was perfectly reasonable.
Tick.
Turning around the corner with lazy strides, he let himself take a big inhale of the muggy air and hoped for the worst. The worst, by universal law, always meant excitement. Stimulation. The worst was what Darius craved for.
Tick.
His footfalls dragged on, skidding across the stony, uneven flooring like insects. Perhaps he should have gone down here on more than just four hours of sleep and a light dinner.
Tick—
"H-h-hello?"
Cocking his head, he tilted an ear towards what seemed to be the ghost of a voice. How curious. He was sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Darius shook his head and continued on his way out, moping in typical teenager fashion as he toyed with the toothpick in his mouth.
"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"
Now, Emma Birch seemed to be a touchy subject for the students that knew of whatever incident caused the death of the seventh year Slytherin. Surely a rumor hadn’t been started about haunted dungeons; he had lived long enough to prove that it wasn’t true, and was smart enough to know that it wasn’t such a good idea to even mention the name so freely. As lax as he was known to be, he was not insensitive.
“Nope,” he stated bluntly. Obligated to stay in his current spot in case the girl stumbled upon him, Darius turned his attention and tapped his foot to the rhythm of his wrist watch. “I hear she doesn’t enjoy being disturbed.”
With a slight smirk, he waited for a reply.
→ ABOUT YOU.
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