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Messages - Clinton Litchfield

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Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Clinton Herbert Litchfield

Birthday: 20th April

Hometown: East London

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Divination

Magical Weakness (pick one): Charms

Year (pick two): 5th (first choice), 6th

Biography:
their home, age 4

"He doesn’t even like you!" Kennedy screeched, and proceeded to smack him with a chubby fist. The subject of their argument, a fluffy rabbit that was supposed to have been a joint birthday present, promptly kicked itself out of the girl's grasp and made a hop for it, sprinting beneath the sofa and cowering under there.

Clinton Litchfield turned to give his sister an accusing stare. Shaking his head with disappointment, the four year old sighed. "Neddy," he spoke up dolefully, his gaze never leaving hers. "How can rabbits be real if we aren't real?" In his mind, it was a perfectly genuine question; one that certainly didn't warrant either the snort of laughter from his twin or the second attack from her fist.

"'Course it's real, stupid. Hoppy's right there."

Kennedy extended a finger to point in the direction of the rabbit's hiding place, where a terrified and twitching nose could just be seen poking out from beneath the furniture. Rolling his eyes in the most dramatic way that someone below the age of five could, Clinton shuffled closer to his sister and promptly head-butted her in the stomach.

"Owwwww!" shrieked Kennedy, and – ever the sympathetic sibling – Clinton merely stuck a finger up her nose.


the park, age 8


They were playing football; or they were supposed to be, only Kennedy kept hogging the ball, and it was really unfair, and if she didn't start passing to him soon, he wasn't even going to bother playing with her anymore. Kennedy Litchfield, team of one. Despite the fact that they were twins, and the whole point of twins was that they were a team of two.

She was running off in the opposite direction now, for reasons that Clinton's eight year old brain couldn't quite fathom. Theo was chasing after her, and Clinton was jealous of the fact that she was getting more attention from their cousin than he was, so he turned around and stalked away from them both. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, the young boy stood and stared at the trees, waiting for someone to notice that he was no longer taking part.

He didn't have to wait long. Theo appeared behind him a few minutes later, reaching out with one arm to nudge the younger boy. "Come and play. I need you to help me beat her." But Clinton was long past caring about the football game. His head tilted slightly to the side, and he frowned.

"Most trees are blue."

"What?"

"Most trees are blue." And having announced this odd little revelation to the world, eight year old Clinton spun around on his heels, raced over to Kennedy, and took the opportunity to kick her in the shin.


their home, age 12


Something barged into his room without knocking for the seventh time that day.

"Martha says you have to tidy your room."

Kennedy again.

He blinked at her. Martha…? Oh, right, their mother. He was still having trouble adjusting to the fact that parents had first names too.

(And if parents had first names, that meant that teachers had first names, and that meant that they had probably been just like him once, and that was the most horrifying concept he had ever had the misfortune to think about.)

"How can rooms be re—"

"Stop."

"But you didn't even let me f—"

"Just tidy your room. And then mine."

She walked out without bothering to shut the door behind her, and Clinton scowled.

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

House Request: Hufflepuff

Personality: Rather more laid back than his sister, Kennedy, Clinton is perfectly content to amble his way through life. The only subject that he really cares for is Divination, and it's the only subject that he's actually any good at. He's as clever as Kennedy is, but he'd much prefer to sleep than do his homework; as a result, he often finds himself in detention or falling behind in classwork or both. He gets on with almost everybody, mostly because disliking people requires more effort than he's willing to put in. His main source of annoyance is his sister, and vice versa.

Appearance: Slightly taller than average and on the lean side.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Sample #2

It was a pleasant day for a walk, which was why Clinton was wandering about among the flower beds instead of sitting in the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Breakfast, he thought sleepily to himself, was highly overrated.

He couldn't for the life of him understand why people would actively choose to leave their warm beds and cut their sleep thirty minutes short just to grab some toast. It was beyond bewildering. Going for a walk was different. The gardens were prettier to look at than some of the ugly faces that looked back at him across the Hufflepuff table.

He had been enjoying the peaceful solitude that he had found out here, only he didn't get to enjoy it for very long at all. A moment later, another student burst out to greet him, and he was shouting very loudly and inconsiderately, given the time of day.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

Clinton blinked slowly at the other boy.

Had he been his sister, he might have immediately gotten defensive. 'Who are you calling a rat?!' Kennedy would have shrieked and then she probably would have socked the boy right in the mouth, But Clinton wasn't like Kennedy.

(And thank Merlin for that.)

Instead of shrieking or flailing his limbs, Clint tilted his head thoughtfully to the side and studied his fellow student in contemplative silence. Eventually, he realised that the boy probably wasn't talking about him, because he hadn't looked up from the flowers yet.

Regardless of this, Clinton continued to stare.

"Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."

The other boy finally looked up. Clint shrugged, holding out his hands in the typical gesture of surrender. "You probably shouldn't scream at the flowers," he pointed out calmly, and glanced down at the plants Hugh had so rudely pushed apart.

"They might scream back."

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Calypso Galanis, Silvius Regis Paladin, Addie Ross, Isla Haywood-Lowe

How did you find us?: Followed the spiders.


2
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Clinton Herbert Litchfield

Gender: Male

Age: 12

Bloodline: Pureblood

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Reginald 'Reggie' Litchfield & Martha Litchfield (both NPCs).

Residence:
East London.

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
Clinton is a Hogwarts student, but I won't be actively playing him there just yet.

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
My twin, Kennedy. And the Litchfields because we are family (approved by Lincoln Litchfield).

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Clay Galanis & Silvius Paladin.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

Their home, age 4

"He doesn’t even like you!" Kennedy screeched, and proceeded to smack him with a chubby fist. The subject of their argument, a fluffy rabbit that was supposed to have been a joint birthday present, promptly kicked itself out of the girl's grasp and made a hop for it, sprinting beneath the sofa and cowering under there.

Clinton Litchfield turned to give his sister an accusing stare. Shaking his head with disappointment, the four year old sighed. "Neddy," he spoke up dolefully, his gaze never leaving hers. "How can rabbits be real if we aren't real?" In his mind, it was a perfectly genuine question; one that certainly didn't warrant either the snort of laughter from his twin or the second attack from her fist.

"'Course it's real, stupid. Hoppy's right there."

Kennedy extended a finger to point in the direction of the rabbit's hiding place, where a terrified and twitching nose could just be seen poking out from beneath the furniture. Rolling his eyes in the most dramatic way that someone below the age of five could, Clinton shuffled closer to his sister and promptly head-butted her in the stomach.

"Owwwww!" shrieked Kennedy, and – ever the sympathetic sibling – Clinton merely stuck a finger up her nose.


The park, age 8


They were playing football; or they were supposed to be, only Kennedy kept hogging the ball, and it was really unfair, and if she didn't start passing to him soon, he wasn't even going to bother playing with her anymore. Kennedy Litchfield, team of one. Despite the fact that they were twins, and the whole point of twins was that they were a team of two.

She was running off in the opposite direction now, for reasons that Clinton's eight year old brain couldn't quite fathom. Theo was chasing after her, and Clinton was jealous of the fact that she was getting more attention from their cousin than he was, so he turned around and stalked away from them both. Hands shoved deep into his pockets, the young boy stood and stared at the trees, waiting for someone to notice that he was no longer taking part.

He didn't have to wait long. Theo appeared behind him a few minutes later, reaching out with one arm to nudge the younger boy. "Come and play. I need you to help me beat her." But Clinton was long past caring about the football game. His head tilted slightly to the side, and he frowned.

"Most trees are blue."

"What?"

"Most trees are blue." And having announced this odd little revelation to the world, eight year old Clinton spun around on his heels, raced over to Kennedy, and took the opportunity to kick her in the shin.


Their home, age 12


Something barged into his room without knocking for the seventh time that day.

"Martha says you have to tidy your room."

Kennedy again.

He blinked at her. Martha…? Oh, right, their mother. He was still having trouble adjusting to the fact that parents had first names too.

(And if parents had first names, that meant that teachers had first names, and that meant that they had probably been just like him once, and that was the most horrifying concept he had ever had the misfortune to think about.)

"How can  rooms be re—"

"Stop."

"But you didn't even let me f—"

"Just tidy your room. And then mine."

She walked out without bothering to shut the door behind her, and Clinton scowled.


Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

Godric Park.

Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.

Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.

It trugged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.

"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.

Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.

Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.

"...Do you want to play?"

Roleplay Response:
He was having a good day, as far as days went. His sister was currently preoccupied with something that didn't involve annoying him, and the whole afternoon was stretched out in front of him, full of possibility. For once, he didn't have to answer to Kennedy.

"You!"
   
Jolted from his reverie, Clinton glanced upwards in search of what had addressed him so suddenly. He then found himself looking downwards again, because the girl in question was a good deal shorter than he was. She kept squeaking at him, without waiting for an answer, and Clinton merely stood in silence, watching her and waiting until she'd finished before he deigned to reply.

"Well..."

 The twelve year old uttered the word with a good deal of reluctance – because today was supposed to have been about him and nobody else, yet here he was, being forced into doing something he didn't want to do for the umpteenth time – "I suppose I can play with you."

He paused before adding hastily, "No dolls, though. No girly games." Having grown up with a sister, Clinton Litchfield had spent more time playing with dolls than any self-respecting twelve year old male would care to admit, and he refused to do it any longer. He was becoming a man, and men certainly didn't play with dolls.


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