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Messages - Gary Noble

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We're super cool, you guys. And cute. But also cool.

Archived Applications / Gary Noble
« on: 09/04/2015 at 22:46 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Gary Alexander Noble

Birthday: 18 February 1930

Hometown: Cambridgeshire

Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown

Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two): Fourth, Fifth


Let’s get one thing straight, first. Gary Noble is not the guy you would go to if you were looking for fashion advice. Seriously, consult me. Even better, consult any of the millions of people living in the country. If you’re looking for humourous fashion advice, though, then by all means go ahead. The first five minutes are actually pretty funny, when he goes into a bit of a tizzy trying to figure out why you’ve asked him. The next five minutes are not as funny, when you’re beginning to realise that he takes this very seriously – well, that he takes everything seriously. And before you know it he’s got seventeen variations of your original request, each prepared in a colour-coded dossier, and none of them any good.

That’s just the kind of guy Gaz is. ‘Endearingly psychotic’, I think once the term was used. Probably the most accurate description I’ve heard of him. Jumps around like a rabbit startled by a shotgun then realising that there was a bunch of foxes chasing it. You’d think he’d lighten up, just once – well, you’d be wrong. The only definition of ‘lighten up’ that he knows is to stick lightbulbs all over the place, or summat. Talks for bloody England, he does. Although I’m not that much better, am I? Ha. At least I know when to let go, I s’pose. Gaz – well, let’s just say that he’ll have an argument with his own shadow if there’s no one else around to do it with him.

What does he do for fun? …you really should do your research before asking that sort of question. Gary Noble, fun? Look, right. I made a mistake once – asked him out to dinner with my mates. He planned things down to the bloody minute. Chased us all out by eight sharp – ‘aw, leave it off, Gaz!’ was the watchword for the next two weeks. Listen, if you’re looking for fun, for the love of god do not say a word to Gary.
I guess you could say he has fun playing Quidditch, although I wouldn’t call that ‘fun’. More…manic. That’s it. Complete nutter on the pitch; think of how intense he is already in normal life, and heighten that emotion by about a thousand, given the nature of sports. Not the most pleasant of experiences if you’re a rival fan.

‘Course he’s good. He’s a good lad. Determined as anything. You know one of those insects that just clings on to your skin and doesn’t let go – what are those called? Ah, yes. Parasites. Thank you. Well, he’s kind of like that. Except the thing he’s clinging on to is an idea, or a project, and he just doesn’t give up once he’s got his mind on something. Stubborn as a mule.

…That doesn’t sound that good, does it? Let me think of something else. He’s ridiculously clever, though not in the way you’d expect. Not book smart, though he could be if he was interested. It’s sort of…gone straight on to another level. He steps back and sees – everything. Some people only see big things or small things. Gary sees both, somehow, lucky clever sod. He can look at the whole shebang, then pick out one insignificant detail that no one noticed, and suddenly the big picture makes even more sense.

Ah. The family. I don’t know how Gaz feels about them, about us. We were close, the whole lot of us, until dad – well. Who knows what happened, eh? Anyway, I s’pose it’s all seemed a bit further away now. They’re a bunch of happy families. No envy, or anything – we still love them to death. But it’s a bit…different, for Gaz and me. Bit odd. Like fitting something shaped like an oval into a perfectly circular hole.
Doesn’t really matter, though, does it? At the end of the day we stick to each other. Gaz and me. That’s all that really counts, in life.

Do I love my brother?


Yeah, of course I do. He’s the best brother in the world.

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

House Request: I don’t really know where Gary would end up, to be honest, so do what you will with him!

Personality: He’s smart, but at the same time it’s not the typical kind of smart. He’s got ambition, but it’s not scheming and sly – just sheer determination to succeed. He’s brave, definitely, and meticulous (whiny might be a better description) about the things he does. And he’s very much a perfectionist.

Appearance: Slipshod, rumpled, would tick the ‘rather not’ option on a ‘how much would you like to wear a tie’ questionnaire.

Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.

The problem with deserted corridors was that there really wasn’t very much to be done. What were you supposed to do – talk to yourself? Gary did that often enough to know that it wasn’t particularly satisfying. Entirely possible to do it, of course, but there was nothing to be gained.

“Where’s Philip gone?” he muttered to himself, sticking his hands down his pockets so hard that he thought the seams might split. Probably gallivanting off somewhere with his friends, of which he seemed to have a significant number more than Gary. He wondered briefly how that sort of thing came about. Maybe people liked to have friends who didn’t burst into their rooms at three a.m. screaming Quidditch tactics at the top of their lungs. He’d have to check with Phil on that.

  “Wait up! It’s for the paper!”

Gary turned around at the sound of the voice, wondering what the hell anyone wanted with him. Did they just go around shoehorning people into corners and accosting them with questions nowadays?

Then again. Press in general.

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

Gary didn’t know two bits about frog legs, but someone was asking him for his opinion, it sounded a perfectly sensible question, and he wasn’t going to deny anyone a good argument. “Well,” he began, taking a deep breath, “it probably depends on your exposure to French food. I s’pose frog’s quite popular there, and if you’ve been grown up all your life in France, there’s something you’re not going to mind all that much. If you’re a plain and simple boy from the North, now, there’s not something you’re going to want to eat, are you? Me? I wouldn’t stomach the stuff, I’d imagine. Give me my fish and chips any day. What d’you think?”

And as the fastest train engine in the world screeched to a stop he looked at the girl expectantly.


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