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1
Elsewhere Accepted / Nilo Allares
« on: 04/04/2014 at 13:29 »

E L S E W H E R E   A D U L T

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Juan Daniel "Nilo" Allares
Gender: Male
Age: 18 (b. April 30, 1923)

Education: 
Muggle public school (7-13)
[[worked from ages 13 till 16]]
Hogwarts (16-17, dropout)


Residence:
A tiny flat somewhere in Wizarding London

Occupation:
Unemployed and Impoverised Cat

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Nope

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 8
  • Divination: 8
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Summoning: 9
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:
Deidre Sable-Vaelbe, Yvonne Dechavez, Crimson Stormheart, Ronan C. Winter-Stormheart, L Azuriah, & Cal Hartt

Biography: (300 words minimum.)

It had been almost a year since it happened, but he still remembered it. It’s what kept him from staying asleep at night.

He wondered if things would have changed, had he decided not to dropout (the very thought still makes him cringe; he knows what Inay would have said to that) and go back to his homeland to see if his little half-brother was still alive (he may have been a tattletale, the little rat, but he was still his brother). He thought not.

He thought, maybe, if he’d been quicker and gotten that damned WiSA earlier, he would be back in the Philippines by now; he wouldn’t be like this, almost perpetually a cat, jumpy and frightened.

And shamefully unemployed.

Linting bansang ‘to!

In fact, damn the war too. Damn the government and their WiSAs. Damn his magical blood for making him a freak. Damn this – this ability for making him a freak among freaks!

Damn his father.

Walang kwenta.

Nilo walked back to his tiny, rundown flat, scowling. He always seemed to be scowling nowadays, in human form.

He stopped walking. Shook his head; corrected that thought:

He always seemed to be scowling nowadays.

That’s it, no more; he is human and he will always be human.

Linti,” he muttered darkly under his breath, kicking a pebble out of his path. It rolled out onto the street.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

“AAAA-RROWWW!”

His blood pounded in his ears, heart feeling like it might beat out of his chest, as he dashed quickly into the nearest alleyway – which he, unfortunately, had a street to cross first before reaching. Cars honked loudly at him, at a deafening volume, especially with his keener senses, and he kept skidding to sudden awkward stops to change directions and avoid getting run over by a car tire.

Just another nightmarish day.

He reached the alleyway, blissfully deserted, save for a few pieces of blown-away paper and the overwhelming stench of car smoke and rotting garbage.

He grimaced, as much as he could in this body anyway (he was used to the smell, but that didn’t mean he liked it), and kept walking, farther and farther from the street. He knew it was a bad idea to rent a place near the road; the car horns always managed to trigger him into shifting into a cat, without fail, even though they didn’t sound anything like bombs or gunfire. They were loud enough to startle him into a fright, though.

Linti.

He keeps cursing a lot lately, too (he could just hear his mother’s scolding now; Sorry, Inay, he thought-prayed up to her soul, may she rest in peace).

He sighed, which came out sounding like an odd mix of a growl and a meow. Maybe he should have rented a place in Wizarding London, instead. At least they didn’t have cars there.

With another heavy sigh, he stopped walking, and checked himself. Heart rate, normal; senses, keen, normal; adrenaline, safely inactive.

(Before, he would have changed back instantly into his human form once the fear wore off, which always led to a lot of embarrassing situations. These past few months, he’s finally managed to control his ability, somewhat, enabling him to maintain whatever animal form he’d shifted into, even without the strong emotion. He still hadn’t been able to control the ability enough to not shift into an animal every time he felt a strong emotion, though. But Nilo’s optimistic.)

He turned around and started walking back. Back to the loud streets (which he tuned out, now that he was more clear-headed), back to his little flat (after the fourth time this had happened in as many days, he’d tied his key to a short string that he could still carry around his neck even as an animal), back to... well. He didn’t really have anything to get back to in his little flat.

Except... his wand. It was the only thing he had left from the Wizarding world, aside from a pouch of gold he still had left over from when he’d been working at Sofia’s full-time. He wondered if the shop was still standing.

After shifting back, he put on his last change of clothes (if you didn’t count his Hogwarts uniform and Ravenclaw scarf), and plopped onto bed. His stomach growled, again, but he ignored it. He wasn’t able to, months ago.

He stared at his pillow, under which he hid his wand. He stared at his trunk, where he hid everything else he had from the Wizarding world. He stared at his ceiling, counting the cracks, feeling the rumble of his painfully empty stomach. Rats could only make a cat full; it wasn’t much for a human.

He stared.

Tomorrow, he decided. He would go back to Wizarding London tomorrow, find a good job, find a quieter flat, maybe finally stop being a cat at least once every day. Maybe get a decent bath too. (Not to say he hadn’t had one since he dropped out; just that he hadn’t had a decent one since.)

Tomorrow, he decided.

Roleplay: 
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character:

Option Two -

Roleplay Response:

Nilo buried his nose into the fabric of his blue-and-bronze scarf. Thank God for heating charms, or else he might never be able to survive this winter. In fact, thank God he’d managed to learn said heating charms.

(See, his year at a magical school wasn’t wasted, at all. Though, he had failed all his classes, but at least the learning was there.)

Unfortunately, heating charms didn’t work long-term on skin if the weather was cold, apparently.

He rubbed his hands together as huffed into them, trying to get some warmth in them as he trudged through the snow.

Damn this climate. Especially since he’d gotten skinnier, and his circulation apparently wasn’t as good as before either; winters were harder on him than ever.

"Coming through! Coming through!"

He huffed into his hands again, his breath a little shaky, before looking over his shoulder at the sound. It wasn’t that loud, but shouting always made him feel nervous anyway.

Linting bansang ‘to.

"Coming through! Coming th--- arrrgh!"

Asar
, won’t this guy shut up

“ACK!”

Something quite heavy bumped into his back, sending him tipping forward with yelp and sprawling on the hard, cold, damn cold snow-packed ground. And did he mention it was cold?

To make matters worse, the heat charms melted the snow, which made him even colder. Every day was just not his day recently, was it?

Linti!”

"I am so sorry! This blasted snow!"


He lifted himself onto all-fours and tried to shake off the water in his scarf. He grumbled, and shot a glare at the person who’d bumped into him.

Nilo had half a mind to start swearing loudly at this damn foreigner... but.

He sighed, and started picking up the fallen – tinsel?

“Here, let me help you,” he said, as politely as he could with his sour tone.

OTHER
How did you find us? Recommendation from a time long past...

2
Archived Applications / Nilo Allares
« on: 13/08/2013 at 04:49 »

Application for Hogwarts School



→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Juan Daniel "Nilo" Azuriah dela Torre Allares

Birthday: April 30, 1923

Hometown: Manila Iloilo, Philippines

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms

Year (pick two): 6th (preferably) or 5th

Biography:

It had been a good day.

Such a good day, in fact, that he'd, on instinct, taken off from the ground right after exiting the Cake Shop - at the back of his mind, he made a mental note to pick up his clothes soon after, in case someone suddenly went off with them as a joke. Again. (Walang hiyang mga dayuhan.) But he refused to let even the thought of pesky clothes-stealing English foreigners ruin his good mood.

He'd gotten his salary that day, and he'd realized after some painstaking counting that he may have enough money already for school. It had brought a rare genuine bright-and-happy toothy smile stretching his usually-downturned lips. He'd probably shocked his boss and/or his co-workers into comatose or something.

Of course, he meant it in exaggeration; he didn't really want to make anybody ill or anything!

But anyway, back to his good mood, which he soaked up warily as he hadn't felt this good in... in... ages.

The money he'd earned from working at Sofia's might just be enough for his to restart his education, no matter that it was in a foreign land - foreigners' land. He tried not to let it bug him, since, well, this warm feeling in his chest that felt quite close to what one might felt like when you won a ridiculous amount of money (though the case isn't that far off, only with a lesser amount, in an odd currency, but anyway -) was, though foreign and rare and foreign and should therefore be treated with extreme caution and suspicion - it felt... it felt...

It felt quite nice, actually.

(His mother - Inay, he thought, a little sadly - would be proud of him, he was sure.)

He should have known his good mood wouldn't last long. God clearly still hated him, and Nilo wouldn't really put it against Him.

The skies broke overhead and spilled. Stupid rain.

He scowled, as much as he could while still in avian form anyway, and as he felt the familiar itch on his skin that warned him of CHANGE! CHANGE! CHANGE! he quickly hopped down from his perch on the Cake Shop's roof (thank God he managed to still have the mindset not to fly off far) and landed, back to his old human self, on his feet with a light thud, bending his knees as he did.

He picked his clothes off the ground, silently thanking God that no damn foreigners had made off with them this time, and put them on with the speediness of years of routine. (And years it was, indeed, he assumed; how many had passed already since he'd found out about his shapeshifting ability? Two? Maybe three? He'd always been terrible with maths anyway.)

Just as he was pulling on his shirt, though, he felt that itch on his skin again and sighed mournfully as he stripped off once more, this time carrying his clothes into a nearby darkened alleyway with him, and within seconds, he'd shifted into a small dog again. (He adamantly refused to call this form a puppy.)

The scowl on his face had managed to remain on his furry dog-face, and he shifted about with his one piece of his clothing in his teeth every few seconds until he'd stowed them away on a relatively dry patch of ground and proceeded to lie on top of the small pile with his head on his paws.

He sighed; though, since he was in dog-form, it came out more of a pathetic whine, and he grimaced and shifted a bit on his perch again before he was comfortable.

The rain seemed like it would take a while, which meant so would his sour mood, which in turn meant so would his canine form, and he almost sighed again. He suppressed it, though, in case he might get heard by some nosy but well-meaning dayuhan and get picked up and taken into a warm home. Not that the idea was particularly unpleasant; it was the idea of what would come afterwards, when he'd shifted back to his naked human form, that made him cringe.

So Nilo, after nosing his trousers' pockets and making sure that his money - his school money, his education, his future - was still there, settled down and waited for the damn rain to let up.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

House Request: Dunno, but I think Hufflepuff, maybe.

Personality:

Mr Broody McBrood.

Well, outwardly, at least, along with being quite xenophobic, who refuses to learn proper English but does so anyway for adaptation's sake. (He tries very hard to learn very slowly though, and it's working quite well, so far.)

But one mustn't let this hard, cold, rough, scowling exterior of his judge his character so quickly. He's a big softie inside. No really; against his better judgment (at least, he likes to think so), he always offers a helping hand or a small word of caution or advice or suspicious theory to anyone who he thinks looks like they need it. Not to mention the fact that he really hates seeing someone hurt or sad; it makes him very uncomfortable and he would much rather not face that, thanks, but he'll still go and try to make that person feel better some way or another anyway. Especially if it's a (pretty) girl. (Or boy - but he doesn't know that himself yet.)

Though he does like taking care of people (unwillingly, he likes to think, since it was just bred into him since he was a kid to be nice to people even though people aren't always nice to him), he's not averse to people taking care of him in turn. He'll be suspicious, of course, but once he's comfortable with them, he'll let his guard down enough to take as much advantage over his carer as he could. Like, doing his homework for him and bringing him food and making sure nobody steals his clothes when he transforms. Basically be a servant. Well-treated of course, so said, er, 'servant' will stay long enough with him.

He's not a 'will do anything - anything at all! - for this-and-that' kind of person though, as he prefers to be sure that whatever-it-is is safe and secure and not at all deadly to wellbeing. If you're his friend, be ready to be coaxed/shoved into being the first person in line for testing the metaphorical waters.

(Yeah, he's a little paranoid.)

But he's loyal enough to his friends that he'll steer clear of anything life-threatening to test (them) on; he doesn't like having it on his conscience. Or, he just prefers not to think about it too much.

It doesn't take much to annoy or irritate him, though (he gets especially irritated of anything that makes him cold; he's just not used to it!), but it's advisable not to - he tends to turn into this big, scary, furry, black wolf when he's riled up. Proceed with caution.

At least he's already learned to take the 'I can transform into an animal, oh crap!' part of him in stride. Or just tolerate it, at least.

Appearance:
(He's only got/learnt three other 'forms' besides his normal human form, so far.)

Human. This kid's got pretty good genes. Tallish (5'9"), gangly, slightly curly black hair, dark brown eyes, and pink lips that are usually turned down in a scowl but can curve up into the sweetest of smiles.

Avian. Philippine monkey-eating eagle, since it's the only one he knows the appearance of: mostly white, with a gray face and beak, yellow eyes, dark-brown-but-white-on-the-inner-side wings, and its golden-brown head-feathers looking like he's startled or suspicious or wearing an Indian war bonnet.

Canine. A long-haired black puppy with brown underside, neck, paws, ears, and eyes. Cute and pathetic-looking, since he transforms into this form when he's any kind of sad, or when it's raining.

Lupine. Big and black and furry and snarling and mean. And deadly. With scary yellow eyes. Be wary.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.

Nilo was starting to wonder whether there were any smaller wizard schools nearby that weren't actual huge bloody castles.

This was the fifth (maybe sixth, or tenth; he'd lost count, really) corridor he'd ventured down and he didn't really fancy (Diyos ko, he's really starting to sound like a foreigner!) getting any more lost than he was already. He was terribly late for class already, he might as well be marked absent!

He shuddered at the thought; no, he wouldn't let that happen. What would Inay say, if she were still alive?

“Hey!”

...Definitely
not that.

His scowl deepened, and he grit his teeth, annoyance giving way to irritation, though he tried very hard not to let it get to him; he didn't want to change into a wolf in the middle of the school corridor all of a sudden!

He turned around, a sharp snappish rebuke already ready to spring forth from his tongue -

And he quickly snapped his mouth closed, and quickly, smoothly, shifted his features into a kind, flirtatious smile.

"Hullo," he greeted in a very bad imitation of smooth-and-suave, but he tried anyway, flashing the girl a broad grin. "What can I do for you?" he asked in a tone that clearly said there was a double meaning to it, and that he wasn't even the least bit sheepish about it at all.

“What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”

He opened his mouth to respond with a great exclamation that frog's legs are delicious; he'd eaten some before, and it tasted like chicken! No, really, it did!

But what he wasn't even sure what this girl thought about said, er, what did she call it? - 'delicacy,' and he definitely didn't want to lose his chances with her (as if he had any in the first place, psh) by giving the wrong opinion, so what he said instead was:

"Hm, I don't know, what do you think about it?" with as much sweetness as he could muster.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Deidre & Wolfe Sable-Vaelbe (both will not be attending Hogwarts in the near future) and Crimson Stormheart, et al.

How did you find us?: My friend dangled a shiny link in my face.


3
Elsewhere Accepted / Re: Nilo Allares
« on: 25/09/2012 at 09:31 »
Ah, yes. Sorry! It's fourteen, and he wants to enter as a third year with fourth year levels, to be in synch with his age. Sorry about the confusion! :-[

4
Elsewhere Accepted / Re: Nilo Allares
« on: 24/09/2012 at 11:45 »
Thanks for those, Aymsley! Much appreciated! :D

Oh, I see. Sorry, I forgot! The geography confused me a bit... >.<

Also, I just realized that the state of the Philippines in Nilo's biography is a little too... before 1970. I'll just tweak it...

Er, is this okay, now? :)



Biography:

I hate change.

It's been in my whole life, starting from when I was still a baby, but I hate it. Or maybe, that's the reason why I hate it.

I was only less than a month old when my father changed his mind and left my mother and I. Bastard. Walang kwenta.

He loved her. They both knew that. Even though she was Muggleborn. But one word of warning from my cruel grandfather ("If you don't break it off with that mudblood, you - will - be - disowned.") was enough for my fearful father to have a sudden change of heart... and leave us.

Walang kwenta.

Heartbroken, my Filipino-American mother went home to the Philippines. Staying in London after her graduation from Hogwarts to find a decent job was a mistake. She had gotten a job, but as a maid. Her Muggle boss was cruel to her, and my Pureblooded father was her last hope. He was kind. Had been, that is. He helped her find a waitress job for a while as she worked with her Muggle boss, and then he'd offered her a job in the Ministry of Magic, where he worked at. But he broke her heart. There was nothing left for her in that cold, rainy country anymore.

Another change... this time, of location... My mother was hopeful that she made the right decision.

(Thinking back on it, staying in London would not have been wise... but if she did, we wouldn't be in the state we were in.)

My mother found a decent enough husband a year later. At least, he seemed decent. His name was Jose dela Torre, a recovering alcoholic who worked as a jeepney driver. His pay was only enough to keep himself alive. Yet he was kind. And that was all it took for my foolish mother to fall for him. They married the month after I turned a year old.

(Another change. This time of a parent. I should've known from the start that it was a bad idea... but I was just a babe.)

Everyone who knew that Jose dela Torre had married Corazon Allares, the young woman with a bastard child, grimaced in distaste and avoided the couple and the child at all costs. But the couple didn't care; they were in love.

They had another child, another boy, another year later. He turned out to be smarter than me, but I didn't mind. I wasn't that smart, anyway.

My mother was a school teacher, letting her younger sister who was looking for a job watch over me and my stepbrother. My stepfather worked all day and came home to a warm meal and a warm bed, in the arms of a woman who loved him. I even got a guitar (complete with its very own strap and case!) one Christmas from the wealthy older brother (who was a seaman) of my stepfather, so he would be my step-uncle, then. That was the happiest Christmas I ever had.

Our house had been handed down to my stepfather by his wealthy brother (since he already had his own house) who got it from their father, my step-grandparent. It wasn't much: it was a simple bungalow with a yero (or 'galvanized') roof and only five rooms – a kitchen/dining room, our parents' bedroom, my and Samuel's bedroom, a toilet room/bathroom, and a small living room that could only take an altar, a sofa, one armchair, and a tiny black-and-white TV. But it was livable and comfortable. We were happy.

All was well.

Until my eleventh birthday, which changed my life.

I received two letters. One from a school named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and another from a school named Salem Institute. Reading it, I went to my mother to ask what it meant. She was delighted. She explained. I was excited. My stepfather overheard. He was horrified.

Jose dela Torre had not wanted a witch for a wife, or a wizard for a stepson. He started to mutter to himself, "Hindi ako sanang nagpakasal sa isang may anak sa labas." I shouldn't have married someone with a bastard child.

Another change of heart.

My stepfather took up his beer bottles again. My younger stepbrother, Samuel, started to avoid me, even stopped helping me with my homework, in fear that wizard's blood could be contagious.

We had become a torn family.

Another change.

Our awful reputation just got bad.

Filipinos respected the sanctity of marriage, so a family with a rift between them was considered an outrage.

(It seemed that Martial Law seemed like the news of another birth instead of something serious, when compared to the state and goings-on of our family. For a tiny barangay, there were a lot of gossipers around.)

A lot of things changed even more from then on in the dela Torre household.

Jose started beating my mother up. He started to complain. His bed was too hard, his food was too cold, she was too damn slow, and she just didn't seem to care for him anymore.

He was wrong: My mother provided well for him, hoping he would change; she obeyed his commands, didn't question his requests, but it wasn't enough. It just wasn't.

I was lower than dirt to even be spared a glance. And yet I got some of his lovely attention, as well.

I can still feel the bruises he gave me in those days. I still have the scars to prove it. I still have the tears in my soul for it.

I still went to school, though, despite the bruises and the bleeding. The school uniform covered them up well enough. Thankfully, I was a fairly good student, so I didn't get even more of a beating in school. Except in arithmetic and English. The teacher must have had a blast with humiliating me in front of the class every single damn day for being slow-minded.

School was terrible and so was my home.

(I wouldn't even call it a home anymore.)

On the day of my fifteenth birthday, I had had enough. It was a particularly cold night. The Amihan wind was particularly biting that night. It She must have reflected the mood of my stepfather.

He was running out of beer. He was downing his last bottle when he shouted at my mother to buy him more. For once, she refused. I was proud of her that night. I gave her my first smile in years.

But Jose wouldn't have any of it. My mother was firm, though. She didn't want him to drink anymore. She still cared for him. (She still cared for my real father too, even though it's already been fifteen years. I could hear her whispering his name sometimes, when she was looking out the one window in our living room while tears streamed down her face.)

Jose didn't seem to hear her. He attacked, punching my mother in the face. He went to bed, the bottle still in his hand. I went over to my mother, who was crying and caressing the bruise on her face. I made a plan.

I wanted to change my life. It was for the better – the best.

We sneaked out (quite soon) that night with one medium-sized rattan bag, which carried some of our clothing (enough to last us a week at least), and the money pouch that had all of my mother's pesos and wizard money (the latter of which she'd saved from when she was a waitress in London). All I carried was the clothes off my back, my guitar in its case, and my determination to outrun the hell that had become my life.

Fortunately for us, Jose was a deep-sleeper when he was drunk, and Samuel (who was still awake) was too scared of us to tell Jose about our departure. We boarded a couple of jeepneys to the airport, got a ticket for a plane about to leave in a few minutes, and left.

Just like that.

It was a pretty big change, really... I grumbled about it on the flight and when we arrived, but mother didn't seem to mind. She was smiling all the way, even in her sleep during the flight. The twinkle was back in her eyes when we walked out of the airport to wait for a bus.

I smiled at her, and her own smile widened. It was still on her face when she crossed the street to a nearby airport tindahan to buy us some water. I was grinning at her when she turned back around with a water bottle in each of her hands.

My smiling face was the last image she had of me.

The next instant... she was gone... Just like that. One of the buses, I think, suddenly had its brake stuck. It hit my mother as she walked down the street to wait with me.

... Just like that.

Inay.

I can't exactly recall what happened next, really... I was angry... I was in grief... I was in shock... I was in denial... I must've rushed to her side... Though, I vividly recall punching the bus driver in the face... and then getting intercepted by some police officers... Next thing I knew, I had tears running down my face as I ran with mother's bag and my guitar in my hands... Running... Running...

Running away from it all...

I probably definitely took the Knight Bus (mother had told me about it) to some place my mother called 'hog's mead' or whatever. The konduktor must have understood, though. He helped me pronounce the word a little better – Hogsmeade, it was actually called – but my heart wasn't in it. He was talking to me in such a soft and gentle voice, like he was soothing me, as I sat on one of the beds there and kept crying. It was unnerving and not just a little uncomfortable, getting sympathy from a stranger...

I remained silent after that little lesson; he must've gotten the point, though, thankfully – he stood and left me to my own devices after that...

Hogsmeade was so very different from my barangay...

It was a change.

... Change filled my whole life...

Change was around me...

Change was within me...

Europe will be a new start. I will be better there. I will be powerful there. Unlike my mother (my poor, poor mother)... And unlike my stupid stepfather and -brother... And my frightened father...

I changed myself. I hate change. But this change is for the better.

I am not an Azuraih. (That was in the past, when I was born.)

I am not a dela Torre. (They weren't a very good step-family anyway...)

I am now an Allares.

I am an Allares.

5
Elsewhere Accepted / Caminus Azuraih
« on: 22/09/2012 at 08:31 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Caminus Leona "Cami" Azuraih

Gender: Female

Age: Eleven. She's a Durmstrang student.

Bloodline: Halfblood, but she doesn't know it yet; she believes she's a Pureblood.

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?):
Castiel Azuraih – father, deceased
Josephine Azuraih née Allistaire – mother, NPC
Michael Azuraih – grandfather, guardian, currently an NPC

Residence: Azuraih manor, London branch

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)? The Durmstrang Institute

Requested Magic Levels:
Requesting First Year Levels
  • Charms: 2
  • Transfiguration: 1
  • Divination: 0
  • Summoning: 1

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nilo Allares (who I also play) – cousins. And the rest of the Azuraih family, the Lhuiller family, the Rainiere family, and the Dechavez family – relatives.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Deidre Sable, Relisasha Raviina Le Roi, Wolfe Sable, Yvonne Dechavez, and Nilo Allares.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

Caminus was born in London, England, where most of the Azuraih family had migrated to for "a change of scenery," but, really, they were just trying to expand their family by socializing with more Pureblooded wizards and witches.

Her father, Castiel, was the first son and Heir of Michael Azuraih (eldest son of Albert and Gerlinde Azuraih), who's the current Head of the family and went with the immigrant Azuraihs to watch over them, entrusting those family members who stayed in Germany to his brother, the third son, Edmund.

Her mother, Josephine, was a Muggleborn witch who met Castiel when they were still Hogwarts students. When they became engaged the year after their graduation, Michael disapproved of it heavily and threatened Castiel of being disowned. Castiel didn't care; he wanted to be with Josephine. And so he did. He was disowned, and he and his new wife lived in her London apartment, content.

When Caminus came to the world, her parents found that she had inherited her father's and her grandmother's (Michael's late wife) Metamorphmagus ability. They were quite surprised, but delighted. They were sure that their little girl would grow up to be a good person, like her father.

Michael Azuraih heard about his granddaughter being born, but he didn't pay them any mind.

Until a year later, when Castiel got into a hit-and-run accident in the streets of Muggle London.

When Michael found out soon after, he went to the funeral, of course, then left quickly. Josephine was torn apart; she didn't how she could take care of a child and get a stable job at the same time, since she had wanted to have her own business, while her husband, who wanted to become a doctor, took care of the baby. Children were more his style, anyway.

Michael visited her the day after the funeral, with a distasteful look on his face, no doubt, but he kept up a pleasant facade and demeanor when he came inside the tiny apartment. Once he laid eyes on Caminus, though, he immediately dropped the act and drew his wand, which he pointed straight at Josephine. He threatened to kill her (which he surely would have done) if she didn't hand over the child.

Michael knew that she would make the child a distasteful Muggle-loving human, like his pathetic excuse for a son and his -- Castiel's -- mudblood wife, and he didn't want a potential Azuraih to be like that. He wanted to raise the child as his own, make her a proper Azuraih, and correct the mistake which was his first-born son.

Josephine hesitated; she didn't want to hand over the child, because her maternal instincts suddenly kicked in and told her so, but she knew she couldn't nurture and care for Caminus. She reluctantly handed her over, with the condition that she be allowed to have her back once Josie got a decent job. Michael agreed, and went on his way with his granddaughter in his arms. He was determined never to give the child over to Josephine.

He used all his connections to not accept or give Josephine a job, but she managed to get one anyway -- as a barmaid in a Muggle night club. She was working there for two months already when she went to Michael and asked for the child. He told her that he didn't deem a barmaid as a decent occupation.

Crestfallen, Josephine went away, and kept working as a barmaid whilst looking for a more decent work. She knew that Michael would only find a political occupation as decent, but she never gave up. She knew that Castiel wouldn't want her to.

One day, though, when Caminus was eight and had become a pretty young child with slanting brown eyes (no doubt a mixture from her mother and her father, respectively) and lustrous ginger hair (from her father, of course) which changed color depending on her current emotion. Her hair turned a light blonde, as it always did when she was curious, when she caught sight of Josephine in the doorway to the Azuraih manor.

"Yes?" she asked in her tiny, high-pitched voice, which she hated. She wanted her voice to be lower and more official-sounding, like her Granddad's. He was able to boss people around with that voice.

When Josephine saw her, and recognized her, she beamed, then, before even thinking, threw her arms around Cami. "Oh, how you've grown!" she gushed, happy tears sparkling in her blue eyes.

Caminus shrieked, her hair turning a charcoal black as her eyes flashed and shone with a light brown hue. She didn't know who this odd woman was, and she was terrified for she had just been touched by her. Nobody touched Caminus Leona Azuraih without her or Granddad's permission!

Her shrieking got her Granddad's attention: he rushed out of his office with a cross between fury, concern, and fright on his pale face. "Caminus! What are you--" And then he saw Josephine embracing the struggling youngster. His fury overpowered all his other emotions. "YOU!" he bellowed, causing his granddaughter's mother to jump back in surprise. "Get out," he growled, advancing on the two. "Get OUT!"

"But Michael--" Josephine started to explain. She wanted to tell Michael that she'd found a job as a secretary in a law firm. That was decent enough, wasn't it? But Michael wouldn't let her finish.

He was furious; the mudblood had touched his granddaughter.

"GET OUT, YOU FILTHY MUDBLOOD!" He shoved at her shoulder with one big hand as his other hand grasped his granddaughter's tiny shoulder. Caminus clung onto her grandfather's pant leg, fright in her light brown eyes. "GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!" A shove with each word, and he finally came to his senses and drew his wand, pointing it at Josephine, like he'd done seven years ago. "AND DON'T YOU BLOODY WELL DARE COME BACK AGAIN!"

He flicked his wand, slamming the door shut to hide the tear-streaked and heartbroken face of Josephine Allistaire. (She was not an Azuraih. She never deserved that surname.)

Michael Azuraih was positively seething: his red face was scrunched up and angry, his brows were drawn together, his mouth was curled in a silent snarl, and his nostrils were flaring so much one would expect smoke to come out them any time soon.

Caminus was not just a little frightened of her Granddad that day. "G-Granddad?" she squeaked, and she hated it. "Wh-Who was... Who was sh-she?"

Michael looked down... and felt some of the tension in his shoulder ease a little. He sighed, putting his fingers against his forehead. "Caminus," he rumbled softly, kneeling down so she wouldn't be intimidated by his height. "You know about those mudbloods I told you about?"

The little girl nodded eagerly. She knew her Granddad would be proud that she had remembered. As expected, Michael gave her a small, proud smile. His granddaughter was as smart as her father.

"Well, she was one of them," he said gently, and waited.

Caminus' reaction was instant: Her eyes widened, flashing a bright blue, and her jaw dropped just as her hair became a dirty blonde. Then those blue eyes turned a bright, piercing green and her hair turned ginger, but brighter and more lustrous than before, and her face screwed up in an expression of anger. Like a miniature version of Michael's anger.

"A mudblood touched me?!" she all but shrieked, then raised her hands and, horrified and disgusted, held them away from her as she slowly backed away a few steps, like she could be more than an arm's length away from her suddenly filthy body.

"Yes. Sadly." Michael sighed. At least he got rid of Josephine already. He stood, and held his hand out, "Come. We need to give you a bath."

"Indeed, Granddaddy," she agreed, nodding as she placed her tiny hand in her grandfather's much larger one. "With extra bubbles! And it should be lavender scented, of course!"

Michael smiled at her.

Josephine never came back again. Michael made sure of that.

Roleplay Response:
Godric Park.

It was quite nice to have a little stroll around the Park. Strolling was healthy; it was good for the lungs (fresh air) and for the legs (exercise). Plus, there was sunlight; it was healthy too.

Vegetables, though... well, they were healthy, but Cami didn't like them. They looked disgusting, and they tasted like... well... they didn't taste like anything but a plant – plants were pretty much tasteless.

How boring.

Cami didn't like boring things. Or unclean things. Or unhealthy things. Except sweets. Sweets were okay; they were delicious, but she knew she mustn't eat too many, or else she'll have a bad tummy ache and her teeth will turn black and decay.

Cami grimaced at the thought; she didn't want her teeth to be all ugly. Who'd like a girl with ugly teeth, anyway? She was just glad that she'd inherited the lovely white pearly teeth of the Azuraihs. She didn't know who her mother was, but she was irrelevant: she had never come into Cami's life, so she wasn't important. Anyone who got in Caminus Azuraih's life and got her tolerance was important.

"You!"

Caminus halted in her tracks, a scowl making its way onto her soft features as she glanced towards the direction of the voice. Her red hair suddenly became brighter, shinier, as her now-bright green eyes flashed. "How dare you call me 'you'! Don't you know who I am?"

"...Do you want to play?"

Caminus scowled further, one of her hands positioned on her hip in a sophisticated manner (of course), then tossed her head, her long lustrous red hair glittering wondrously in the sunlight. The younger girl would notice, of course. Everyone else did.

She considered the offer for a moment, not noticing the sudden change of her eye color, which had turned back to a dark, smoldering brown, though her hair remained a bright red. There was a chance that this girl came from a well-off Pureblood family, and Granddad would be very cross with her if she was rude to the girl. Then again, there was also the possibility that this girl was the exact opposite, at most. She wouldn't want to come within throwing distance of the girl if that was the case.

"First things first," she declared, eyeing the girl with the piercing brown Azuraihan gaze, "what is your name and bloodline? I am Caminus Azuraih. You should know me, of course." Because who didn't? Only ignoramuses and imbeciles, of course.

OTHER
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6
Elsewhere Accepted / Nilo Allares
« on: 22/09/2012 at 06:46 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Juan Daniel "Nilo" Allares

Gender: Male

Age: Fourteen. He's supposed to be in school, as a third year because that's how the school system where he used to live works, but he's new, and he's poor, so he thinks he needs to work for money to pay for the school tuition.

Bloodline: Halfblood

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Uriel Azuraih – father, currently an NPC
Corazon dela Torre née Allares – mother, deceased
Juan dela Torre – stepfather, deceased
Samuel Alonzo – stepbrother, NPC

Residence: sleeps in Godric Park, but wanders around, looking for a job

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)? Godric Park, where he sleeps. Once I find him a suitable job, I'd like him to have a connection to that particular place.

Requested Magic Levels:
Requesting Fourth Year Levels
  • Charms: 4
  • Transfiguration: 5
  • Divination: 4
  • Summoning: 3

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Caminus Azuraih (who I also play) – cousins. The rest of the Azuraih family, the Lhuiller family, the Rainiere family, and the Dechavez family – relatives.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Caminus Azuraih, Yvonne Dechavez, Wolfe Sable, Relisasha Raviina Le Roi, Deidre Sable

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

I hate change.

It's been in my whole life, starting from when I was still a baby, but I hate it. Or maybe, that's the reason why I hate it.

I was only less than a month old when my father changed his mind and left my mother and I. Bastard. Walang kwenta.

He loved her. They both knew that. Even though she was Muggleborn. But one word of warning from my cruel grandfather ("If you don't break it off with that mudblood, you - will - be - disowned.") was enough for my fearful father to have a sudden change of heart... and leave us.

Walang kwenta.

Heartbroken, my Filipino-American mother went home to the Philippines. Staying in London after her graduation from Hogwarts to find a decent job was a mistake. She had gotten a job, but as a maid. Her Muggle boss was cruel to her, and my Pureblooded father was her last hope. He was kind. Had been, that is. He helped her find a waitress job for a while as she worked with her Muggle boss, and then he'd offered her a job in the Ministry of Magic, where he worked at. But he broke her heart. There was nothing left for her in that cold, rainy country anymore.

Another change... this time, of location... My mother was hopeful that she made the right decision.

(Thinking back on it, staying in London would not have been wise... but if she did, we wouldn't be in the state we were in.)

My mother found a decent enough husband a year later. At least, he seemed decent. His name was Jose dela Torre, a recovering alcoholic who worked as a kutsero -- a coachman. His pay was only enough to keep himself alive. Yet he was kind. And that was all it took for my foolish mother to fall for him. They married the month after I turned a year old.

(Another change. This time of a parent. I should've known from the start that it was a bad idea... but I was just a babe.)

Everyone who knew that Jose dela Torre had married Corazon Allares, the young woman with a bastard child, grimaced in distaste and avoided the couple and the child at all costs. But the couple didn't care; they were in love.

They had another child, another boy, another year later. My mother was a housewife, occupied with two babies, while my stepfather worked all day and came home to a warm meal and a warm bed, in the arms of a woman who loved him. I even got a guitar once; that seemed to be the happiest day of my life.

We lived in a bungalow with only three rooms. A kitchen/dining room, a bedroom, and a toilet room/bathroom. A living room separated the kitchen/dining and bedroom, if you could call a room with an altar and four chairs surrounded by a curtain parting the three rooms a living room. But it was comfortable. We were happy.

All was well.

Until my eleventh birthday, which changed my life.

I received two letters. One from a school named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and another from a school named Salem Institute. Reading it, I went to my mother to ask what it meant. She was delighted. She explained. I was excited. My stepfather overheard. He was horrified.

Jose dela Torre had not wanted a witch for a wife, or a wizard for a stepson. He started to mutter to himself, "Hindi ako sanang nagpakasal sa isang may anak sa labas." I shouldn't have married someone with a bastard child.

Another change of heart.

My stepfather took up his beer bottles again. My step-brother, Samuel Alonzo, started to avoid me, in fear that wizard's blood could be contagious.

We had become a torn family.

Another change.

Our awful reputation just got bad.

Filipinos respected the sanctity of marriage, so a family with a rift between them was considered an outrage.

The gossipers were drinking it all up.

A lot of things changed even more from then on in the dela Torre household.

Jose started beating my mother up. He started to complain. His bed was too hard, his food was too cold, she was too damn slow, and she just didn't seem to care for him anymore.

He was wrong: My mother provided well for him, hoping he would change; she obeyed his commands, didn't question his requests, but it wasn't enough. It just wasn't.

I was lower than dirt to even be spared a glance. And yet I got some of his lovely attention, as well.

I can still feel the bruises he gave me in those days. I still have the scars to prove it. I still have the tears in my soul for it.

I still went to school, though, despite the bruises and the bleeding. I covered them up well enough. Thankfully, I was a good student, so I didn't get even more of a beating in school. Except in arithmetic. The teacher must have had a blast with whacking that designated stick against my behind every single damn day for being slow-minded.

School was terrible and so was my home.

(I wouldn't even call it a home anymore.)

On the day of my fifteenth birthday, I had had enough. It was a particularly cold night. The Amihan wind was particularly biting that night. It She must have reflected the mood of my stepfather.

He was running out of beer. He was downing his last bottle when he shouted at my mother to buy him more. For once, she refused. I was proud of her that night. I gave her my first smile in years.

But Jose wouldn't have any of it. My mother was firm, though. She didn't want him to drink anymore. She still cared for him. (She still cared for my real father, even though it's already been fifteen years. I could hear her whispering his name sometimes, when she was looking out the one window in our "living room" while tears streamed down her face.)

Jose didn't seem to hear her. He attacked, punching my mother in the face. He went to bed, the bottle still in his hand. I went over to my mother, who was crying and caressing the bruise on her face. I made a plan.

I wanted to change my life.

We sneaked out that night with one medium-sized rattan bag, which carried some of our clothing (enough to last us a week at least), and the money pouch that had all of my mother's wizard money she'd saved from when she was a waitress in London. All I carried was the clothes off my back, my guitar in its case (the only luxury I got myself from years of saving up from my baon, or pocket money, otherwise known as an "allowance"), and my determination to outrun the hell that had become my life.

Unfortunately for us, Jose heard us. Either he was still awake or he was a light-sleeper. Whichever the case, he ran after us, yelling bloody murder. My mother and I ran for it. But Jose stopped us before we could get too far; he threw the beer bottle in his hand at my mother, who was tailing me. She got hit in the head. The bottle smashed on impact.

His strategy worked.

I stopped, and ran back to see if my mother was okay.

She wasn't.

She wasn't even alive anymore...

Before I could even accept that fact, Jose had come and grabbed me by the back of my collar. He was cursing and threatening me, I knew, but I couldn't hear him. All I could see was the open eyes and slack mouth of my dead mother.

My dead mother.

Inay.

I couldn't exactly recall what happened next, but I do know this: I got angry. I looked Jose in the eye, and I could see he was suddenly becoming terrified. I was glad of that. I suddenly felt like I was getting bigger, hairier, heavier. I didn't care. I felt good. I felt angry. I felt powerful.

In the next instant, Jose was dead, claw marks scattered all over his chest and face as he lay in a bloody heap on the ground next to my mother.

I felt like I was back in my normal body without any evidence of what I had become to do what I had just done. Like I didn't just become a wolf or something.

I was horrified.

I ran for it.

I took the Knight Bus (my mother had told me about it) to Boston, where I was determined to start over.

Change filled my whole life.

Change was within me.

And by "within me," I don't mean the kind of change everyone else has. I had the rare ability to change my shape, my form. I was, apparently, a shape-shifter. That terrified me. It still does.

I was, and am, determined not to get my emotions overpower me, since that was what triggered my change of shape, which gave me the ability to hold power over my stepfather, the ability to kill him...

America will be a new start. I will be better there. I will be powerful there. Unlike my mother (my poor, poor mother)... And unlike my stupid stepfather... And my frightened father...

I changed myself. I hate change. But this change is for the better.

I'm not an Azuraih. (That was in the past, when I was born.)

I'm not a dela Torre. (I left my stepbrother an orphan. Hopefully, he'll die. He didn't give me the time of day, or help me with arithmetic, a subject he was most adept in. He had the chance to make my life a little better, but he didn't take it. I hate him for that.)

I am now an Allares.

I am an Allares.

Roleplay Response:

The sun was much too bright.

Nilo grumbled, scowling at the sunlight penetrating through his closed eyelids, and rolled from his back to his side, making sure to keep the "pillow"/rattan bag under his head to keep it from banging against the hard, cold metal of the bench.

The bench was cold. The sun was shining. But he didn't want to wake up.

He had to, though. He still hadn't been able to find a job. Honestly, why wouldn't anyone take him?! He was a decent enough guy and, okay, he was a kid, sure, but still!

...Maybe if he looked a bit more presentable, like with a suit and tie, he'd be accepted?

...Probably.

...Unfortunately, he didn't have that kind of money. Or that kind of attire.

The fourteen-year-old sighed and, feeling the harsh cold metal starting to bite at his skin, he grudgingly, slowly, sat up on the bench, straining his lead-like eyes to open.

He closed them immediately. He was used to sunlight in the Philippines, but he always hated that freaking sun. He didn't know why yet; he just did. He's going to find an answer, though. Soon.

Groaning, he rolled his head, hearing the satisfying crack and pop of his neck bones as he massaged his nape with a hand, trying to assuage the sore muscles. Sleeping on a bench wasn't too different from sleeping with only a thin rattan mat between your body and the ground. The only difference was that it was metal, and it was higher than a rattan mat.

He'd gotten used to the rattan mat, for sleeping on it his whole life. But he had yet to get used to the bench.

Stupid metallic bench.

"You!"

Another groan, this time of exasperation. It took all his willpower to open his eyes again. Pools of dark brown stared hazily at the world, before focusing, sharpening... and spotted a little girl just a few feet away.

He scowled at her. "What?" he snapped. He didn't like these Americans. They were taller than him. It was highly annoying.

"...Do you want to play?"

His scowl deepened and he dropped his hand to his rattan bag, making sure it was still there, as his other hand drifted over to his guitar case. ...It was still there. Thankfully.

Now. To the girl's question. He didn't know enough English yet, but he could understand the word "play" -- it meant something along the lines of a theater drama show thing -- a palabas. He was all for entertainment, but he disliked acting; he wasn't very good at it. "No." At least he knew that much English.

OTHER
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7
Archived Applications / Re: Nilo Allares
« on: 22/09/2012 at 06:01 »
Oh, I see... Thanks Phin! I'll get on that application :)

Oh, and, uh, who do I PM the Special Request to, specifically?

Thanks again!

8
Archived Applications / Nilo Allares
« on: 21/09/2012 at 12:04 »

Application for Salem Institute




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Juan Daniel Allares

Birthday: April 30, 1959

Hometown: Born in London. Grew up in the Philippines.

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration

Magical Weakness (pick one): Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fourth (preferred) or Fifth

Biography:

I hate change.

It's been in my whole life, starting from when I was still a baby, but I hate it. Or maybe, that's the reason why I hate it.

I was only less than a month old when my father changed his mind and left my mother and I. Bastard. Walang kwenta.

He loved her. They both knew that. Even though she was Muggleborn. But one word of warning from my cruel grandfather ("If you don't break it off with that mudblood, you - will - be - disowned.") was enough for my fearful father to have a sudden change of heart... and leave us.

Walang kwenta.

Heartbroken, my Filipino-American mother went home to the Philippines. Staying in London after her graduation from Hogwarts to find a decent job was a mistake. She had gotten a job, but as a maid. Her Muggle boss was cruel to her, and my Pureblooded father was her last hope. He was kind. Had been, that is. He helped her find a waitress job for a while as she worked with her Muggle boss, and then he'd offered her a job in the Ministry of Magic, where he worked at. But he broke her heart. There was nothing left for her in that cold, rainy country anymore.

Another change... this time, of location... My mother was hopeful that she made the right decision.

(Thinking back on it, staying in London would not have been wise... but if she did, we wouldn't be in the state we were in.)

My mother found a decent enough husband a year later. At least, he seemed decent. His name was Jose dela Torre, a recovering alcoholic who worked as a kutsero -- a coachman. His pay was only enough to keep himself alive. Yet he was kind. And that was all it took for my foolish mother to fall for him. They married the month after I turned a year old.

(Another change. This time of a parent. I should've known from the start that it was a bad idea... but I was just a babe.)

Everyone who knew that Jose dela Torre had married Corazon Allares, the young woman with a bastard child, grimaced in distaste and avoided the couple and the child at all costs. They didn't care. They were in love.

They had another child, another boy, another year later. My mother was a housewife, occupied with two babies, while my stepfather worked all day and came home to a warm meal and a warm bed, in the arms of a woman who loved him. I even got a guitar once; that seemed to be the happiest day of my life.

We lived in a bungalow with only three rooms. A kitchen/dining room, a bedroom, and a toilet room/bathroom. A living room separated the kitchen/dining and bedroom, if you could call a room with an altar and four chairs surrounded by a curtain parting the three rooms a living room. But it was comfortable. We were happy.

All was well.

Until my eleventh birthday, which changed my life.

I received two letters. One from a school named Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and another from a school named Salem Institute. Reading it, I went to my mother to ask what it meant. She was delighted. She explained. I was excited. My stepfather overheard. He was horrified.

Jose dela Torre had not wanted a witch for a wife, or a wizard for a stepson. He started to mutter to himself, "Hindi ako sanang nagpakasal sa isang may anak sa labas." I shouldn't have married someone with a bastard child.

Another change of heart.

My stepfather took up his beer bottles again. My step-brother, Samuel Alonzo, started to avoid me, in fear that wizard's blood could be contagious.

We had become a torn family.

Another change.

Our awful reputation just got bad.

Filipinos respected the sanctity of marriage, so a family with a rift between them was considered an outrage.

The gossipers were drinking it all up.

A lot of things changed even more from then on in the dela Torre household.

Jose started beating my mother up. He started to complain. His bed was too hard, his food was too cold, she was too damn slow, and she just didn't seem to care for him anymore.

He was wrong: My mother provided well for him, hoping he would change; she obeyed his commands, didn't question his requests, but it wasn't enough. It just wasn't.

I was lower than dirt to even be spared a glance. And yet I got some of his lovely attention, as well.

I can still feel the bruises he gave me in those days. I still have the scars to prove it. I still have the tears in my soul for it.

I still went to school, though, despite the bruises and the bleeding. I covered them up well enough. Thankfully, I was a good student, so I didn't get even more of a beating in school. Except in arithmetic. The teacher must have had a blast with whacking that designated stick against my behind every single damn day for being slow-minded.

School was terrible and so was my home.

(I wouldn't even call it a home anymore.)

On the day of my fifteenth birthday, I had had enough. It was a particularly cold night. The Amihan wind was particularly biting that night. It She must have reflected the mood of my stepfather.

He was running out of beer. He was downing his last bottle when he shouted at my mother to buy him more. For once, she refused. I was proud of her that night. I gave her my first smile in years.

But Jose wouldn't have any of it. My mother was firm, though. She didn't want him to drink anymore. She still cared for him. (She still cared for my real father, even though it's already been fifteen years. I could hear her whispering his name sometimes, when she was looking out the one window in our "living room" while tears streamed down her face.)

Jose didn't seem to hear her. He attacked, punching my mother in the face. He went to bed, the bottle still in his hand. I went over to my mother, who was crying and caressing the bruise on her face. I made a plan.

I wanted to change my life.

We sneaked out that night with one medium-sized rattan bag, which carried some of our clothing (enough to last us a week at least), and the money pouch that had all of my mother's wizard money she'd saved from when she was a waitress in London. All I carried was the clothes off my back, my guitar in its case (the only luxury I got myself from years of saving up from my baon, or pocket money, otherwise known as an "allowance"), and my determination to outrun the hell that had become my life.

Unfortunately for us, Jose heard us. Either he was still awake or he was a light-sleeper. Whichever the case, he ran after us, yelling bloody murder. My mother and I ran for it. But Jose stopped us before we could get too far; he threw the beer bottle in his hand at my mother, who was tailing me. She got hit in the head. The bottle smashed on impact.

His strategy worked.

I stopped, and ran back to see if my mother was okay.

She wasn't.

She wasn't even alive anymore...

Before I could even accept that fact, Jose had come and grabbed me by the back of my collar. He was cursing and threatening me, I knew, but I couldn't hear him. All I could see was the open eyes and slack mouth of my dead mother.

My dead mother.

Inay.

I couldn't exactly recall what happened next, but I do know this: I got angry. I looked Jose in the eye, and I could see he was suddenly becoming terrified. I was glad of that. I suddenly felt like I was getting bigger, hairier, heavier. I didn't care. I felt good. I felt angry. I felt powerful.

In the next instant, Jose was dead, claw marks scattered all over his chest and face as he lay in a bloody heap on the ground next to my mother.

I felt like I was back in my normal body without any evidence of what I had become to do what I had just done. Like I didn't just become a wolf or something.

I was horrified.

I ran for it.

I took the Knight Bus (my mother had told me about it) to Boston, where I was determined to start over.

Change filled my whole life.

Change was within me.

And by "within me," I don't mean the kind of change everyone else has. I had the rare ability to change my shape, my form. I was, apparently, a shape-shifter. That terrified me. It still does.

I was, and am, determined not to get my emotions overpower me, since that was what triggered my change of shape, which gave me the ability to hold power over my stepfather, the ability to kill him...

America will be a new start. I will be better there. I will be powerful there. Unlike my mother (my poor, poor mother)... And unlike my stupid stepfather... And my frightened father...

I changed myself. I hate change. But this change is for the better.

I'm not an Azuraih. (That was in the past, when I was born.)

I'm not a dela Torre. (I left my stepbrother an orphan. Hopefully, he'll die. He didn't give me the time of day, or help me with arithmetic, a subject he was most adept in. He had the chance to make my life a little better, but he didn't take it. I hate him for that.)

I am now an Allares.

I am an Allares.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

Society Request: Pawn Society

Personality:
He used to be a carefree boy. Now he's bitter and sarcastic and snarky. He is passionate and determined and headstrong. He wants to be successful and powerful and rich, and to him, that means politics and law. He wants to be a lawyer (that job has the most pay) or a Ministry worker (that job has the most success, and a good salary) or the next Minister of Magic (that job has the most power). He is sensual and affectionate and just wants to be loved and to return to the happy comfort of his life before he found out he was a wizard. But past is past, and he knows he can't get that life anymore (or so he thinks). His only hope now is a decent job that could sustain him, that could make him survive, that could make him powerful. Power means everything to him.

Appearance:
He inherited the inky black hair and smoldering dark brown eyes of the Azuraihs. He got his mother's, the Allares', shortness genes, though; stands at 5 feet 3 inches. His bright smile has evolved into a dark smirk. His smoldering eyes had lost their usual twinkle, to be replaced by a piercing, burning gaze. He still smiles, but it's rarer now. And only when he sees a pretty girl. (The Filipino in him was still there, apparently.)

Starting anew, to him, meant changing what he usually looked like.

He got himself some glasses (only frames with no glass, though) which he sometimes wore. It didn't cost much, thankfully. He got himself an earring. He got himself a new, spiky hairstyle. He was determined to get taller. He drinks milk with his coffee now.

He hates change, and yet he found himself changing. Odd, how things went.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to the Sample Roleplay below.

The Muggle-American Civil War.

What did Nilo care about that? Wars were for soldiers, and soldiers were pawns. He wanted to be a King. He wanted to be the one commanding the others while his Queen helped him survive. Or he could be a Queen too, because they were the most powerful and Kings were the most vulnerable, but he didn't want to protect anyone but himself.

Unless this civil war had something to do with politics, then maybe it could be worth some of my time.

With a sigh, Nilo picked up a book and started to read. Before he could even flip a page, he heard a loud thump as a book slammed shut beside him.

He jumped. Then glared at his partner. Couldn't he see he was just starting to take an interest in this stupid assignment?

"How about I write the essay and stuff? You can just put your name on it. Sound good?"

Nilo blinked. What had the boy meant?

Briefly, Nilo strained to wrap his mind around what the boy meant... So far, all he understood was that the boy proposed that he, his partner, would write it and Nilo can... 'put his name on it'? What did that mean? Did he have to buy himself a wooden stamping thing that had his name and stamp Nilo Allares or I approve of this on the essay?

Well, whatever he meant, Nilo at least understood that Simon would write the essay himself. That was fine. He couldn't write in English anyway. Nor could he speak much of it, but he was learning, at least.

"Okay," he said simply, shrugging. At least 'okay' was an easy enough English word to learn.

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Yvonne Dechavez, Wolfe Sable, Relisasha Raviina Le Roi, Deidre Sable

How did you find us?: Recommended by a friend


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