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Messages - Dolores Holiday

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Archived Applications / Re: Dolores Holiday
« on: 01/04/2018 at 03:47 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: María de Dolores Holiday Hernández

Birthday: February 29th, 1940

Hometown:  32nd Street Naval Station, San Diego, California, USA

Bloodline:  Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one):  Conjuring/Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):  Transfiguration

Year (pick two): 3, 2

Biography:
She thought often of flight, the way a fish might, as a fantasy on the other side of an existence she could never know. She thought of sailing the same, an impossible speed with her feet above the water, making waves as dramatic as she was beholden to them.

Maria de Dolores Holiday Hernandez, whose name had lost itself in parts, in time and paper, imagined herself without legs, never having fathomed that such a thing could ever have been true. She’d had legs as long as she could remember. Her feet in socks and her socks in shoes were a memory she always kept hidden under the sole. She recalled the way sand felt trapped from the beach as she peeled away lace stockings to rub a dry heel. They seemed to flake, as if losing a coat of ancient paint.

Of course, there had been a time, nearly a week in length some distant life ago, that she had no white toes to dip into a pink bubble bath. There had been nothing to swing over her head, below her knees, to imagine she might have been walking on air. Her sister would tell her the way she carried the legless girl on her hip, and Dolores would forget this, too.

There were some unfortunate side effects to the treatment for Vanishing Sickness.
. . .

Delia waited barefoot in the hall for her sister to come out of the bath. She brought a book without pictures to read in this idleness, knowing it would be a while yet. She kept her sister and her patience and her promises, no matter what. And she waited. Dolores would soak until she pruned, testing the traction of her fingers on the porcelain clawfoot under the tinted water. Each would listen for her sister on the other side of the door. Only one of them knew why, but still she knew to call for her. It was their ritual that Delia brought in the towel so her little sister (her half sister) didn’t try to get up to suddenly find herself (half a sister) without fingers or arms or legs or worse, disappearing again.

Dolores wished they would, sometimes. She imagined herself with fins.
. . .

The hospital smelled of stale water and damp carpet every time. Dolores held her breath as she watched the fish in the waiting room swim aimlessly through the plastic kelp. The healer’s mask was green. He used to be a woman, didn’t he?
. . .

With one eye open, and the other a ghost behind a squint, she stared at the photograph and tried to match up the coastline. The trees were different, and the seasons had changed. But the warships, the warships, she remembered.

And they were not the same.

She took a picture of the new coast, of the warships, of a cat on the wharf,  she and returned to the house on the base. She dug in her purse for the pile of photographs, and held each image of houses to the houses she found on the street. It would have been a lot easier if she had remembered to write down where she was.

Seated on the steps of the first house on the left, Dolores pulled her knees to chest, and she waited to cry. When her mother opened the front door behind her, the tears came quickly when she laughed.
. . .

She was twelve when she began to spit up pearls. She could not remember when or if she had swallowed them as sand. Perhaps it was when Delia said it might only be a matter of time, and Dolores had decided they would be able to see through her, like an hourglass, soon enough.
. . .

They would go together over the sea, their mother said. She could not handle the appointments to the hospital, the disappointment of her husband, the disappearing of her daughter any longer than she had. Both her girls would go together, and it could all be fixed. There was a better hospital over there, and there was a marriage that could still be saved on these shores.

And they went together over the sea, in flight, but not the way she thought of it. The hum of the engine was the same as her breath underwater. And Dolores knew, looking out the window, that the coastlines would never match again. She knew she would never remember why.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Ravenclaw

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Option 2:
She had only come out to deliver a letter to the tree.

It was not addressed to the tree, of course, but to a mysterious ‘X’ in blue ink. It was ‘X’ who was reading them, by way of tree, and to ‘X’ she would continue to write.  At least, she assumed ‘X’ was reading; they were always gone the next time she came by, however long it was that might have been. That, she had foolishly not written down. But part of her--whether it disappeared sometime or not--didn’t really want to know.

When she caught the boy barrelling into the garden, her heart skipped. A smile spread across her plain, brown face as she watched him, waiting for him to turn toward the tree. But as she watched, she found him sour, angry,  alarmingly violent, and she crossed the hope from her smile. Even the flowers repelled him. Lips pursed, cringing bodily as he sneezed, the girl decided to wait until he was gone to complete her delivery.

But he had caught her.

Dolores took a step back from the boy, slim shoulders slightly raised in her innocent defence.

“It’s very rude to accuse someone of staring,” she told him tersely. “One doesn’t stare at traffic or other hazards. They monitor. And as far as hazards go, if you’re ill, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need to ask you to keep your distance. I really can’t afford to get sick, I hope you understand.”

She considered for a moment asking him if he had ever seen anyone else out here at that tree,  but decided if he was her ‘X’ after all, she would rather never learn.

→ ABOUT YOU.

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2
Archived Applications / Dolores Holiday
« on: 01/04/2018 at 01:00 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: María de Dolores Holiday Hernández

Birthday: February 29th, 1940

Hometown:  32nd Street Naval Station, San Diego, California, USA

Bloodline:  Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one):  Conjuring/Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):  Transfiguration

Year (pick two): 3, 2

Biography:
She thought often of flight, the way a fish might, as a fantasy on the other side of an existence she could never know. She thought of sailing the same, an impossible speed with her feet above the water, making waves as dramatic as she was beholden to them.

Maria de Dolores Holiday Hernandez, whose name had lost itself in parts, in time and paper, imagined herself without legs, never having fathomed that such a thing could ever have been true. She’d had legs as long as she could remember. Her feet in socks and her socks in shoes were a memory she always kept hidden under the sole. She recalled the way sand felt trapped from the beach as she peeled away lace stockings to rub a dry heel. They seemed to flake, as if losing a coat of ancient paint.

Of course, there had been a time, nearly a week in length some distant life ago, that she had no white toes to dip into a pink bubble bath. There had been nothing to swing over her head, below her knees, to imagine she might have been walking on air. Her sister would tell her the way she carried the legless girl on her hip, and Dolores would forget this, too.

There were some unfortunate side effects to the treatment for Vanishing Sickness.
. . .

Delia waited barefoot in the hall for her sister to come out of the bath. She brought a book without pictures to read in this idleness, knowing it would be a while yet. She kept her sister and her patience and her promises, no matter what. And she waited. Dolores would soak until she pruned, testing the traction of her fingers on the porcelain clawfoot under the tinted water. Each would listen for her sister on the other side of the door. Only one of them knew why, but still she knew to call for her. It was their ritual that Delia brought in the towel so her little sister (her half sister) didn’t try to get up to suddenly find herself (half a sister) without fingers or arms or legs or worse, disappearing again.

Dolores wished they would, sometimes. She imagined herself with fins.
. . .

The hospital smelled of stale water and damp carpet every time. Dolores held her breath as she watched the fish in the waiting room swim aimlessly through the plastic kelp. The healer’s mask was green. He used to be a woman, didn’t he?
. . .

With one eye open, and the other a ghost behind a squint, she stared at the photograph and tried to match up the coastline. The trees were different, and the seasons had changed. But the warships, the warships, she remembered.

And they were not the same.

She took a picture of the new coast, of the warships, of a cat on the wharf,  she and returned to the house on the base. She dug in her purse for the pile of photographs, and held each image of houses to the houses she found on the street. It would have been a lot easier if she had remembered to write down where she was.

Seated on the steps of the first house on the left, Dolores pulled her knees to chest, and she waited to cry. When her mother opened the front door behind her, the tears came quickly when she laughed.
. . .

She was twelve when she began to spit up pearls. She could not remember when or if she had swallowed them as sand. Perhaps it was when Delia said it might only be a matter of time, and Dolores had decided they would be able to see through her, like an hourglass, soon enough.
. . .

They would go together over the sea, their mother said. She could not handle the appointments to the hospital, the disappointment of her husband, the disappearing of her daughter any longer than she had. Both her girls would go together, and it could all be fixed.

And they went together over the sea, in flight, but not the way she thought of it. The hum of the engine was the same as her breath underwater. And Dolores knew, looking out the window, that the coastlines would never match again. She knew she would never remember why.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.

House Request: Ravenclaw

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Option 2:
She had only come out to deliver a letter to the tree.

It was not addressed to the tree, of course, but to a mysterious ‘X’ in blue ink. It was ‘X’ who was reading them, by way of tree, and to ‘X’ she would continue to write.  At least, she assumed ‘X’ was reading; they were always gone the next time she came by, however long it was that might have been. That, she had foolishly not written down. But part of her--whether it disappeared sometime or not--didn’t really want to know.

When she caught the boy barrelling into the garden, her heart skipped. A smile spread across her plain, brown face as she watched him, waiting for him to turn toward the tree. But as she watched, she found him sour, angry,  alarmingly violent, and she crossed the hope from her smile. Even the flowers repelled him. Lips pursed, cringing bodily as he sneezed, the girl decided to wait until he was gone to complete her delivery.

But he had caught her.

Dolores took a step back from the boy, slim shoulders slightly raised in her innocent defence.

“It’s very rude to accuse someone of staring,” she told him tersely. “One doesn’t stare at traffic or other hazards. They monitor. And as far as hazards go, if you’re ill, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need to ask you to keep your distance. I really can’t afford to get sick, I hope you understand.”

She considered for a moment asking him if he had ever seen anyone else out here at that tree,  but decided if he was her ‘X’ after all, she would rather never learn.

Pages: [1]