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Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Vega Violet Nettlebed

Birthday: 10:43AM on 23 March 1939 (age in 1956-57: 17/18)

Hometown: Bristol

Bloodline:
Muggleborn / Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown

Magical Strength (pick one):
N/A -- dropout levels.

Magical Weakness (pick one):
N/A -- dropout levels.

Year (pick two): 7th (preferred), 6th

Biography: exactly three years after this.

00:01am. monday 23 march 1956.

Seventeen was quite a few teens. Seven, to be precise.

This time four years ago, she'd been embarking on her great escape, taking care to avoid the creaky floorboard that lay two inches from her bedroom doorway, taking care to avoid the creaky stair that was sixth up from the bottom, and taking care to avoid any other potentially creaky aspects of the farmhouse as she'd stolen silently through the darkened rooms and slunk out of the back door.

This time three years ago, she'd been curled up in a pile of blankets on her bed in her dorm, and thinking -- as she so often did late at night when everybody else was asleep -- about how her father had proved to be one hell of a disappointment.

This time last year, she'd been curled up in a pile of blankets on her bed in her dorm, awake but pretending not to be, and wondering how long it would take for Maria Téodora Wittington's nightmares to start, how long it would take this time for her to leave her own bed for her best friend's.

Tonight, there was no embarking, stealing, or slinking. There was no thinking about her father. There was no Téo to wait up for.

There was simply Vega Violet, six thousand miles away from home, in a dormitory that still, after seven months, didn't feel quite right. It was missing something--no, someone.

Blue eyes blinked in the blackness.

She wondered if Téo had sent her a birthday card.


06:57am. monday 23 march 1956.

She couldn't remember the house number. Was it 75 Grimstone Street or 57? Maybe it wasn't even Grimstone Street at all. Maybe it wasn't even London.

No, no, she was panicking. It had to be London, and it had to be Grimstone Street, and it absolutely had to be house number 57, because she recognised the blue door.

She knocked. She waited. She knocked again. She waited some more.

Nobody came to the door.

Vega stepped off the path and onto the front lawn. The curtains were closed across the big bay window, but there was a crack of space between them where they hadn't been drawn properly. Through it, she squinted.

She promptly wished that she hadn't.

She could only see the back of the boy's head, but his height -- or lack of it -- meant she knew exactly who it was. The taste of jealousy swelled, bitter, on her tongue. Téo Wittington broke away from kissing Calvin Sharppe just long enough to look right at her.

A smile, not wholly unlike the one Vega had given Nashira last summer, shattered through the glass.

--------------------

The shrill sound of her alarm pierced the air.

Vega's eyes flew open. For a moment, she thought she was back at Hogwarts. But after she blinked back the dream, the maroon and gold that characterised her dormitory back home dissolved into Castelobruxo's replacement.

She glanced automatically across at the bed beside hers.

Téo, unsurprisingly, was not in it.

Her gaze shifted involuntarily to the picture on her bedside table. It was a poor replacement, but it was all she had.


10:42am. monday 23 march 1956.

She was supposed to be researching the traditional uses of cinchona bark in healing potions. From a distance, it looked as though that was exactly what she was doing, for she had the stack of relevant volumes piled up on her left, and she even had one open on the desk in front of her.

Closer up, though, she was fooling nobody.

It wasn't the textbook that she was looking at, but the pressed viscaria flowers she had left on its open pages.

God, she hated him.


10:43am. monday 23 march 1956.

She shut the textbook.

The next person to open it would find, on the two hundred and seventy-sixth page, several dried viscaria flowers, their petals all torn to shreds.



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

House Request: Gryffindor, please!

Personality: prefers cats to people; potions extraordinaire; doesn't trust feelings -- her own or anybody else's; actions, not words; holds a grudge; nettles by name, nettles by nature.

Appearance:
blue eyes. golden-brown hair. freckles, lots of them. kind of lanky. keeps her nails short and her hair long.
Face Claim: Abby Bush.

→ RETURNING STUDENTS.

Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application): x

Number of New Levels Requested: 4

New Levels Request: C10D8T8S6

How your character kept up with their studies: She's been on a Herbology exchange programme at Castelobruxo in Brazil for the past year.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option II:

That rat of his was in for it now.

The gray little rascal had disappeared from his clutches at breakfast. Again.

Before Hugh even knew what was happening, Merlin had shot across the floor, somehow managing to avoid all the feet walking across the hall and had escaped through the open doors.

Which meant that Hugh was now stomping through rows of flowers and other various flora, searching for the small creature. It was like the rat knew Hugh was allergic to most flowers. Merlin always chose to run to the gardens whenever he got away from Hugh. It was as if the rat did not want to have him for an owner.

Hugh had named his pet Merlin because he had hoped the powerful name would give the rat more incentive to be more than a rat. Not that he expected Merlin to change into a wizard or anything, but rats were just so...useless, for the most part. With a name like Merlin, Hugh thought it might give the rat purpose.

The only purpose Merlin seemed to have was getting away from Hugh as often as possible.

As the fifth year trudged into the second row of flowers, not taking much care to avoid trampling the first row, he felt the first sneeze building up pressure in his nose and behind his eyes.

"You blasted rat! Where are you?"

He pulled apart a section of bright red flowers; he didn't know what they were called because he despised flowers, and ducked his head low to peer into the depths of the flowerbed. It was moving closer in proximity to the flowers that finally did it. Hugh took in three great breaths and then let out an almighty sneeze. It was strong enough to disturb some of the dirt on the ground before him.

Groaning, he stood up again and wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was as he was turning his head, his nose running up and down his arm, that movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Normally one who preferred to put his best face forward, Hugh was a bit embarrassed to be caught wiping his runny nose on his robes.

Nevertheless, Hugh put on his best haughty voice. albeit a bit thickly with his plugged nose and said, "Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare."



It was at times like this that she missed Brazil the most.

Nobody at Castelobruxo would have ever deemed it appropriate to be trampling the flowerbeds in search of...whatever it was this oaf was searching for. And if they had, they would have found themselves looking at a week's worth of detention pretty damn quickly. From where she sat in the grass just a little way from where her fellow student was wreaking destruction, Vega sighed.

Perhaps, she thought, she would let Arlo Mason know how well-maintained the grounds were back in Brazil. Perhaps then, she thought, though she suspected it was unlikely, he would be more inclined to do something about idiots like this one.

She might, despite her feelings on the matter, have left the boy alone, if he'd had the decency to do the same. He didn't, of course.

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

"God, Hugh."

Blue eyes stared with pointed disapproval.

"Has anybody ever told you how disgusting you are?"

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Calypso Ross & friends c:

How did you find us?: Recommendation

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Archived Applications / Vega Nettlebed | Hogwarts Student
« on: 03/04/2018 at 15:38 »

Application for Hogwarts School




→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.

Name: Vega Violet Nettlebed

Birthday: 10:43AM on 23 March 1939 (age in 1953-54: 14/15)

Hometown: Bristol

Bloodline:
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): 4th (preferred), 3rd

Biography: exactly one year after this.

00:01am. monday 23 march 1953.

Fourteen was quite a few teens. Four, to be precise.

This time last year, she'd been embarking on her great escape, taking care to avoid the creaky floorboard that lay two inches from her bedroom doorway, taking care to avoid the creaky stair that was sixth up from the bottom, and taking care to avoid any other potentially creaky aspects of the farmhouse as she'd stolen silently through the darkened rooms and slunk out of the back door.

Today, there was no embarking, no stealing, and no slinking.

There was simply Vega Violet, curled up in a pile of blankets on her bed in her dorm, and thinking -- as she so often did late at night when everybody else was asleep -- about her father.

Blue eyes blinked in the blackness.

Her journey to London last year, she realised, had been over before it had even begun.


06:57am. monday 23 march 1953.

She couldn't remember the house number. Was it 75 Grimstone Street or 57? Maybe it wasn't even Grimstone Street at all. Maybe it wasn't even London.

No, no, she was panicking. It had to be London, and it had to be Grimstone Street, and it absolutely had to be house number 57, because she recognised the blue door.

Only...the door wasn't blue anymore. It was bright orange with awful yellow and pink flowers, and there was a door knocker that was laughing at her with her father's eyes and a twisted, mocking version of his smile.

Vega's hand faltered.

"Dad?"

The doorknocker that was also Atlas Nettlebed only laughed harder.

--------------------

Something warm and soft hit her in the face.

Vega's eyes flew open. For a moment, she thought it was her dad staring down at her. But after she blinked and realised where she was -- back in her dormitory at Hogwarts, with no blue-turned-orange doors or laughing doorknockers to be found -- she realised that it was only the most enthusiastic of her dorm mates.

"Wake up, wake up! We made you cake for breakfast, but we've only got half an hour before Divination starts! You don't want detention on your birthday, do you?!"

No, Vega didn't want that. With a weak smile, she sat up.


10:42am. monday 23 march 1953.

She had been slumped in a chair in the corner of the library for an hour and a half now. Her fish journal lay open in front of her, and the fishbowl itself was balanced precariously on top of a pile of Herbology books about Leaping Toadstools that she planned to read later.

Vega honestly didn't know why she was bothering trying to fill in three weeks' worth of entries now. Professor Galanis was going to see right through her poor attempt at faking some effort, and the worst part was that she wouldn't even be angry about it. She'd be disappointed instead, and that was so much worse. Vega could handle screaming professors. It was the sad, disheartened ones that she struggled with.

With a sigh, Vega pushed herself up out of her seat. Her legs felt slightly numb from having sat in the same position for too long, and they twinged with a dull ache as she stood. But a minor case of pins and needles wasn't going to stop her. Gathering up her stationery, books, and journal, Vega shoved them quickly into her bag.

The truth was, she was all out of time.

Vega picked up her fishbowl and headed towards the exit.


10:43am. monday 23 march 1953.

The library door opened at precisely seventeen seconds past ten forty three in the morning.

Vega Violet Nettlebed walked through it, tripped over her untied shoelace, and promptly fell down half a flight of stairs.

It still hurt less than the realisation that her father didn't want her anymore.



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

House Request: Gryffindor, please!

Personality: [x]
potions, all of them; cats, all of them. too many herbology textbooks, all littered with purple post-it notes; too many cousins, not littered with purple post-it notes. succulents; bath salts. the smell of brown mud and green grass; the smell of flynn flanagan morrissey. maps; globes. hiding nashira nettlebed's gobstones; hiding her feelings about her father. candy floss; candy clouds. adventure; exploration. riding horses; riding bikes. vegan; violet.

Appearance:
blue eyes. golden-brown hair. freckles, lots of them. kind of lanky. keeps her nails short and her hair long.
Face Claim: Abby Bush.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
You come across one of these posts on the site. Please select one & reply as your character. Remember, you can only roleplay your own character's actions, not Evangeline's or Hugh's.

Option I:

The dungeons. A place eleven-year-old Evangeline had not yet travelled since her arrival at Hogwarts.

A place she really was just fine with not knowing; but it was too late. The dare had been accepted, even if it had been done in fear of being kicked out of Gryffindor, like the older girls had said she would because Gryffindors were supposed to be brave.

The air changed instantly when she hit the main corridor of the dungeons. The dampness was almost too much for her and she instinctively took a deep breath to avoid the sensation of being suffocated. There was also a sour burning smell which Evangeline assumed was from many, many Potions lessons.

Further and further she walked, her steps so slow and gentle they made no noise against the stone walls and floor. The feeling that she wasn't alone crept up her spine and raised the tiny hair on the back of her neck. Shivering, Evangeline wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly, she missed the warmth and comfort of the Gryffindor common room. The fire was always going and it made her feel at ease.

Why had she let those girls talk her into this? She was only eleven, she didn't have to be brave. Surely the Headmistress would not kick her out of Hogwarts for not being brave.

If only she had these thoughts while being dared to search for the ghost of one Emma Birch, whom supposedly haunted the dungeons. It was not, Evangeline had learned, the place where the sixteen-year-old girl's life had ended but as she had been from the house with a snake as its mascot, it was the place her spirit had returned to. That common room was down here somewhere, she'd been told.

Something - the small blonde girl wasn't quite sure what - but something made her stop in her tracks suddenly. There was a low, dull thumping noise. Or maybe that was her heart beating so loudly she thought it was coming from outside her body.

"H-h-hello?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

Remembering that she was supposed to be brave, Evangeline tried again.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

The sound of her own words bouncing back at her off the walls made her jump.



Vega was cleaning out the Potions store.

Nobody had asked her to, mind you, but she'd taken it upon herself to do it, because somebody had to and the longer people left it all messy like this, the worse it was going to get. Maybe it didn't bother the other students to walk past and see the labelled bottles all out of order, or the pickled Flobberworms right next to the Gillyweed instead of with the rest of the animal-heavy ingredients. But it bothered Vega, and she was going to fix it.

She was moving a large jar of Doxy eggs when she finally heard Evangeline's voice echoing through the dingy corridors.

"Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

"No," Vega stuck her head out of the cupboard, Doxy eggs still caught up in one arm, and waved her free hand at the younger girl, as if to prove that she wasn't a disembodied voice floating around the dungeons all by itself. "Well, I've never seen her down here." She disappeared back into the cupboard. There was a thump as she set the glass jar down onto what she deemed an appropriate shelf. A moment later, her head popped back out again. "She sacrificed herself for her friend, you know. Professor Ivanova's daughter. Or, at least, that's what I've heard."

Blue eyes studied the Gryffindor intently. Then, after a beat, "Do you want to come and help me move this case of frog brains?"

→ ABOUT YOU.

Please list any characters you have  on the site (current and previous): Calypso Ross & friends c:

How did you find us?: Recommendation

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Elsewhere Accepted / Vega Nettlebed | Elsewhere Child
« on: 25/10/2017 at 20:04 »
E L S E W H E R E   C H I L D

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Vega Violet Nettlebed

Gender: Female

Age: 12/13 (birthday: 10:43AM on 23 March 1939)

Bloodline:
Pureblood/Halfblood/Muggleborn/Squib

Parents/Guardians (Are they currently played characters?): 
Magda Fellwater & Atlas Nettlebed (NPCs)

Residence:
Foxe Farm

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (for example: the daycare)?
IC student at Hogwarts.

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? If so who and for what IC reason?
Nope.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Calypso Ross & friends c:

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

00:01am. sunday 23 march 1952.

Thirteen was quite a few teens. Three, to be precise.

She was getting old, and if Maia was to be believed, from here on out there was no stopping time. Her sister had told her that time actually got faster the longer you were alive, so that by the time you were a grandma, the years practically skipped by. One grandchild after another like they were just days in a week, until one day -- BAM! -- you dropped dead.

That was how it worked according to Maia, anyway.

And if there was even the slightest chance that Maia was right, then it meant that Vega was running out of time.

When she crept from the shared bedroom, she was careful to avoid the creaky floorboard that lay two inches from the doorway, and she was careful to avoid the creaky stair that was sixth up from the bottom, and she was careful to avoid any other potentially creaky aspects of the farmhouse as she stole silently through the darkened rooms and slunk out of the back door.

It was dark outside, and cold too.

Rewrapping her scarf a little more firmly around her neck and doing up the topmost button on her puffy winter coat, Vega trekked across the muddy field, leaving a trail of perfect, dark green footprints in the damp grass behind her. When she got to the stile, she swung first her bag over, and then herself.

The journey had begun.


06:57am. sunday 23 march 1952.

She couldn't remember the house number. Was it 75 Grimstone Street or 57? Maybe it wasn't even Grimstone Street at all. Maybe it wasn't even London.

No, no, she was panicking. She knew it had to be in London, because she'd visited him before. A long time ago, yes, but she remembered the bustling streets and the crowds of people that could only translate into the capital city.

Funnily enough, it didn't look like London today, even though Vega knew it was, because the man she had managed to persuade into giving her a lift had dropped her off somewhere around Leicester Square about an hour ago.

(It would have been stupid to ask him if he could drive a little closer to Residential Wizarding London. Stupid, and probably asking for the Ministry to parade in and scoop her off the Muggle's hands too.)

But, anyway -- it didn't look like London today, because not only was it a Sunday, it was a very early Sunday, and that meant that Grimstone Street was deserted. Not a single light flickered in any of the windows, let alone a real person. There was nobody that she could ask.

...Now that she thought about it, it was definitely house number 57. Vega recognised the blue door.


10:42am. sunday 23 march 1952.

She had been slumped on the step outside the door for the best part of four hours now, waiting for the right time.

She knew for certain that 57 Grimstone Street was, in fact, the correct address, because she could hear him inside, talking in a muffled murmur that seeped out from beneath the front door and echoed in her ears.

He sounded just like she remembered him sounding, though those memories all felt a very long way away. It had been years since she'd seen him, and even longer since he'd first left.

Vega pushed herself off the stone step and stood. Her legs, previously numb from both the cold and from having sat in the same position for far too long, twinged with a dull ache. But she couldn't stop now, couldn't pause to shake some feeling back into her frozen limbs.

The truth was, she was all out of time.

Vega knocked.


10:43am. sunday 23 march 1952.

The blue door opened at precisely seventeen seconds past ten forty three in the morning.

"...Vega?"

She breathed out a breath that she hadn't even realised she was holding.

"Hi, Dad."



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:
It was a beautiful day to be outside; but then, most days were beautiful-days-to-be-outside sort of days for Vega, so this was hardly a special one.

The girl was currently sprawled on her stomach, preoccupied with examining a rather interesting mushroom. The plant was sprouting from the base of a large oak tree in the centre of the park, and it was a species that she hadn't seen before. At least, the tiny orange spots decorating its underbelly (or gills, to those who understood mushrooms) were certainly new to the young teenager.

It was possible, Vega mused to herself as she rolled over onto her back and squinted up at the sun, that it was poisonous. No, scratch that, it was very likely that it was poisonous, and that meant that she wanted to take it for herself. It was always the toxic plants that proved to be the most useful, particularly in potions, and she wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to experiment with it.

Now, if she could just find something in her satchel to keep it in...

"...Do you want to play?"

A shadow fell across her, and Vega promptly sat up, shielding her mushroom from view. The girl who had spoken didn't look old enough to care; but then, who was Vega to judge what it was that this child did in her free time? What if she happened to be extremely interested in unusual species and stole it?

"Um," Vega answered, pulling her bag towards her and beginning the search for a container of some kind. It didn't feel right to simply say no, but she had more important things to be doing than entertaining someone who looked to be about Rana's age. "Maybe. But you know," her fingers curled around an empty ink pot, "My sister's just over there, by the swings. She's called Rana, and I bet you'd have even more fun playing with her!"

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