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Messages - Maria Teodora Wittington

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Archived Applications / Maria Teodora Wittington
« on: 16/08/2018 at 02:53 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Maria Téodora Wittington y de Córdoba

Birthday: December 8, 1938

Hometown: San Angelo, Texas

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fifth (preferably). Sixth (if necessary).


Vivid yellows flowed into orange, filling out the shape of a canine-like creature. Red, heavily painted, defined its rearing form, as the head of a feline appeared to roar forward. Inky black eyes glinted and flashed.

Maria Téodora Wittington y de Córdoba was born on a cool, sunny morning at the Córdoba hacienda. She was the first and only child of Charles Wittington II and Adelita Esperanza Córdoba y Martinez, the second granddaughter to the Córdoba family, and to the Wittingtons… it didn’t matter what number she was. Her father’s parents had still not forgiven him for refusing the family horse ranching business and becoming a professional chef instead. Or maybe it was his persistent siding and defense of his sister that had been disowned many years ago that caused bad blood between them. Or maybe it was her mother. Though the Córdoba family was a prominent, pureblood line, well-known throughout America, they were also well-known in the family homeland of Mexico.

Whatever the case, Charlie's parents had not been present at his daughter's birth. But the whole of the Córdoba family had been, along with extended family and close friends.

There had been energetic talking, hearty laughter and dogs barking when she came into the world. Guitars and singing had started up at her first cry, and her mother had said she had been in such a hurry to hit the world head on, that her aunt had barely had enough time to catch her. Wrapped in a colorful, handwoven blanket, Téo had been placed in her mother’s arms, but it wasn’t her mother’s eyes she had seen first or even her father’s. Her grandfather’s loyal canine, a xoloitzcuintli, had stuck a curious muzzle in the way and sniffed, and brown eyes met her own.

Her grandmother hadn’t been too happy about that, but her mother had just laughed.

One large, broad stroke of green was smeared intermittently with cobalt blue, the paint sinking into the grains of wood. There was a splattering of vermilion, just on the outskirts of blues and greens, as if accidental.

It hadn’t been the first time she had played with paints, but it was the first time she took them out of her grandfather’s studio. It had large floor to ceiling windows and opened out into the courtyard. By the time her mom had found her (by way of following multicolored footprints), a bench, two steps of a stone stairway, a pre-Columbian artifact, and a door had all fallen victim to the four-year-old’s vision.

Hands on hips, surveying her daughter’s damage, her mother had risen both eyebrows at her. Téo was perched on the edge of a large fountain that lay directly center of the yard, squeezing what was left of green and red paint into the water and watching as the colors swirled and reflected in the sun. At her mother’s throat clearing, she had looked up, blinked away a much too intense gaze for a child and grinned widely.

Her mom sighed, “Oh, mijita,” but a slow smiled had begun to form. “I’m afraid your papa is going to return home to quite the hand full.”

From that moment on, with a wave of the hand or wand (depending on if it was her mother or grandfather), rooms had been transformed. Walls became canvases of varying textures, blank ceramics were placed here and there, and even the floors were given fresh tiles. Her mother was a muralist and her Belo an artist, both incorporating styles of No-Maj artists, as well as magical techniques in their works. They were supportive and thrilled at her early interest and enthusiasm.

The proud form of a crested caracara shone like bronze, gripping in its outstretched talon a wavy lightening bolt, seeming to be made out of molten turquoise. Looking closer, fines lines on the bird’s head appeared to be that of an old woman. Brightly colored textiles streamed in every direction behind the avian, a show of magenta, yellow-orange, and green. The strands vibrated on the canvas, as if enraged.

They had focused on still life. They often focused on still life. But Téo enjoyed her art classes, she did, and her mama had insisted to her that foundations were important. The classes were being attended in the No-Maj area of San Angelo, and often times, her little cousins would run to meet her before she passed into their village. The wizarding village of San Angelo had a smaller town, but much more expansive land than its No-Maj counterpart, and this is where the Córdoba hacienda was settled.

She was eleven, and most of her younger cousins were very little, with the oldest being just three years younger than herself. They really weren’t supposed to come out this far, but they got excited easily, and when Diego came running at her, she picked him up and swung him around a few times before balancing him on her hip. He was her favorite; tiny and only five, he had the sweetest smile she’d swear she’d ever seen. A small spider monkey would usually trail him, and she would end up with both of them crawling on her shoulders.

The shout hadn’t registered at first.

Not until it was called again, louder, and by more than one boy that she realized what the slur was. Téo had frozen for a full second, feeling the heat rise in her face. Breathing deeply through her nose, and feeling Diego grip at her shoulder uncertainly, Téo willed her feet forward, to move without looking back and ushered her cousins toward the barrier. She had to give a warning look to the oldest of them, Rosita, having caught the eight-year-old’s telltale head rubbing; it was something she did right before an angry outburst.

What came next seemed to happen in slow motion.

For a moment, she couldn’t understand why Diego had jerked in her arms and then began crying. Then a rock hit her - in the shoulder. They were shouting at them again. Handing Diego over to Rosita and guiding them around the corner where the barrier was located, she did a quick, almost automatic head count. Once satisfied with the number, Téo whirled around. The blood was thudding in her ears as she walked right up to the boy that had thrown the rock that had hit her baby cousin. Not the one that hit her, that was a girl, but him. He had a lot of freckles and a slight underbite.

She hit him right in his stupid underbite.

A week later, she was sent off to school to study magic, now that she was finally of age. When it was her turn to step forward, she came with bruised knuckles, and at once, one carving roared and the other beat its wings towards her.

Téo smiled, despite the busted lip.

A rolled up canvas was propped in the corner. It was blank.

The shape of the sheet was human and so very not human at the same time. The sheet never ruffled. Never twitched. The form was too still. She wasn’t sure how long she had been standing there. There was so much movement and noise around her. She had been at school, in class, talking about what she would be doing for her birthday. She was turning fifteen soon. The first snowfall of the year in Massachusetts had been that morning. But her mama had been ill. For a while. Téo had always been told it wasn’t that bad, that she would be getting better soon.

Her father’s appearance had been unexpected.

Téo hadn’t made it home in time.   

So she found herself standing there. Rooted. If she thought about what was underneath it… What was really lying on the table in front of her… A heavy, suffocating sickness filled her chest, creeped up her throat. She had to breathe. She had to…

Study the lines.

Téo’s eyes narrowed, that intense quality glinting in them, as she followed the sloping lines, the shadows of the lit candles surrounding the figure. The sheet was very, very white. It seemed stiff and not warm enough. That was wrong. Because what was underneath had always been so warm, light filled, and seemed to move in colors. This was wrong.

Just when Téo couldn’t breathe, she felt a hand, strong and steadying, grip her left shoulder. She knew her papa by the smell of worn leather, campfire smoke, and soap. Sometimes whatever food he had been working with would weave its way through too. But he hadn’t been cooking. He didn’t say anything, simply kept his hand on her shoulder, and she desperately wanted to lean into him, have him make it all go away. But she didn’t. She remained rigid, jaw set.

Dully, she realized the grandparents she never met weren’t there. They never even sent a letter. Even now, even this, and they still couldn’t show up in her life.

One year later…

She was still gone.

The move had been suggested by her aunt. A change of scenery might be just what they needed, especially for Téo, and there was a job opening already in the process of being secured for her papa. Téo welcomed the move with outstretched, empty arms - on one condition. If she were to completely uproot her life, and in the year she would be turning sixteen, then she wanted the freedom to choose her company in a foreign land: Tepi, Xoco, and Coyolton.

Her papa agreed.


House Request: Gryffindor, probably? But I could potentially work with whatever you all think is best.


Option I:

Her abuelita had been horrified to hear about how Téo’s new school had dungeons. She had wanted her granddaughter to come back home immediately, because why in - various saints’ names that she always blanked out on - did a school need dungeons? A fond smirk played at the corners of Téo’s mouth, just thinking about the elderly woman’s face. Her papa was in it for it with that one, she’d bet on that. Téo just assumed it was because it was a castle, and didn’t all castles have dungeons? Maybe it was a design requirement.

As she made her way further into the dampness, she adjusted the bag on her back more onto her shoulder, and a thought crossed her mind: then again, this castle was built for the sole purpose of teaching, wasn’t it?

Europeans were a little strange.

Téo’s dark eyes were roving every inch of the dungeon as she wandered, particularly watching the way the shadows from the torches bounced against the stone and back into darkness. She had come down here because, frankly, she had never seen a dungeon before. She’d never been in a basement even, and the whole sensory experience was astonishing to her, if a bit…pungent.

Her hand was halfway to her pocket, contemplating smoking to fight off the smell, when she heard footsteps. Pausing, Téo briefly thought about reaching for her wand, when she remembered that there were common rooms down in the dungeons. Not that that didn’t mean she wouldn’t need her wand, because with this place, who knew what was going to jump out at her?

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

Téo’s brow knitted and her hand fell away. Despite the impressive echo, she could tell the voice was small. Holding her hands up in a non-threatening manner, she came around the corner as easily as she could, and spotted the kid in the torchlight.

Hola,” her smile was warm, open, as it often was with children, “Just me. Not Emma Birch.” Because who the hell was Emma Birch? “My name’s Téo. Do you need any help?”


Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous):
Addison Wittington, Bianca Rosalind Lecuyier, Adrian Dragomir, etc. etc.

How did you find us?:
Uhm. That was an overly long time ago. Probably Google.

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