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Topics - Ivory Summers

Pages: [1]
Past Workshop Prompts / prompt 3: she has my eyes
« on: 12/04/2017 at 06:37 »
Late 1963 ramble.  Holland is 14.   (Not sure if this works, but I'm rolling with it.)


She has my eyes.  Ugly in the way they roll about, how we observe the world in leaps and hiccups.  And she has my eyebrows.  Sharp, skeptical, in scrutiny of this title we were both born into, the brand that i pressed to baby-pink skin before she had fully formed.  These are not my greatest moments.  And if I were my mother, I would have labelled this a responsibility too difficult to carry out, and left her with her father, in absolute disregard or absolute trust that Thomas would not be as weak as I.  That he would not be like his father.

But worn and inept as I am, my mother is not me, and I am not her.  I am tied down by the reflection that Holland is becoming, the small moments floating between years while she slowly turns into me.  I am tied down by the few memories that I have left, and the instincts whose origins I can barely remember.  I was so young then, and so is she.

Yes, she has my eyes, but the most shocking of her features are the ones that didn't come from me.

She has his mouth, and his jaw.  Chin held high and lips curved in a full circle, she bends for no one-- a trait I couldn't maintain quite long enough to prevent her existence.  In the end, it wasn't all bad.  I was never a good mother (far from it), but she turned out alright, didn't she?  I expect she'll be some sort of detective, or a scientist, or historian, or something better than what I am.  Maybe, when she is one of these things, she will find out for me what happened to them all.

Cloudy, especially.

It still hurts to think of him.  After all these years, I haven't gotten better, I've just learned how to block it all out.  After all these years, I'm still lonely, and I'm still boiling alive trying to rebuild my years as golden as I recall them.

Holland says I need to find a boyfriend.  I think she is too young to be telling me things like that, but maybe that is because I still see her as six years old and brandishing a twig from the gutter, three years old throwing blocks at the couch, nine years old shouting that I'm the worst mother and that she's going to run away.  As kids do.  (She never did.  I think she realized how much I need her to keep me here, to prevent me from doing anything rash.  That isn't a responsibility any daughter should have, but it isn't the worst thing I've done, so I hold in the guilt and pretend it isn't there.)

In my mind, she's still ten years old and brushing my hair, four years old rubbing tears into my cheeks and mumbling wordless assurances.  And she has my eyes, pale seaweed and misplaced burnt pages.  Dirty.  But she makes it charming, turns the lack of color into an influx of light, and the impurities into unique gems.  She romanticizes my miserable complexion, and I decide, finally, that she looks good on me.

And that she does not have my eyes.  Rather, I have hers.

Past Workshop Prompts / Prompt 1: Mr. Brightside
« on: 08/13/2017 at 09:12 »
"Off limits?  What are you talking about?  God, Cloudy, I can kiss whoever I want, crew member or not."

It was the spring of '46, and she was curled up on a couch in the Hufflepuff Commons.  A thousand quips and questions tickled at the insides of her cheeks, but she held them in.  It was a dueling match of another kind, and Baby wondered who would be the victor.  His eyes were dark and hers were narrowed— enemy lines crossed.

"Yeah?  Come here, then."

Her eyes widened for a split second before she glowered.  "What?  Are you seriously suggesting I—"

"Kiss me."

She scoffed, shifting uncomfortably.  "Kiss you?  I'm not just going to... I'm not gonna kiss you, Cloudy, that's ridiculous."  She managed to spit out a response, lips pursed and nose scrunched up in borrowed repulsion.  He shrugged and smirked, and somehow she felt compelled to forget how badly she'd like to slap him across the face and just... kiss him anyways.  She could feel the unspoken comments rolling off of him, all about Action and Slick, and whatever other boy he seemed to think she was courting.  By the Gods, he had developed such a strange interest in her pursuits of love.  It was enraging.  But he was right.  She was saving her first kiss for Action, but the idiotic Slytherin would never want it.

And here was Cloudy, demanding it with a confusing mixture of anger and teasing nonchalance.  It was equal parts infuriating, absurd, and thrilling.  The ease with which he manipulated those around him, even her.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," she huffed, after too long a pause.  Her frown deepened, realizing that he could probably see through her indignant veneer.  She was confused, flustered, and... (goddammit) curious.  He only stared back, an eyebrow raised— a challenge, she decided.  God, he knew she couldn't resist a challenge.  A final grumble fell from between her lips, before she gave in.  "Fine."

She awkwardly crawled to his half of the couch (squashed together though they were, each knew exactly where the line was drawn), and pressed her lips together defensively.  "This is stupid," she declared, eyebrows furrowed, even as she knelt in front of him on the couch-- too close, too close.  Knees between his, she grimaced, emphasizing at every opportunity how disturbed she was by his request, how disgusting it was that he would even ask— and even more grotesque that she would comply.

Her fingers felt thick and gummy where they touched his face, graceless and cumbersome.  She'd never done this before— never thought to seduce (she scowled at the very idea of it)— and she had never imagined that she would feel prompted to prove a point to Caleb Hollins in a show of faux romanticized movements.  Yet here she was, and her feet felt light and knees wobbly.  Both hands on his clean-shaven jaw, she leaned down and planted a kiss firmly (softly?) on his lips.

A moment later, she broke the seal, leaned back slightly, and folded her arms stubbornly over her chest.  "See—" she began, but her tongue felt three sizes too big and she didn't sound nearly as certain as she wanted to.  Her voice was barely above a mumble now.  (Not bad.)   They were still too close.  Either of them could lean forward any second and...  "Not off limits."

*powerplaying approved by caleb hollins!

Christmas Eve, 1956
AU: Baby and Cloudy never reunited in 1950.

She'd never managed to pull herself out of that rut.  Dug deep and wide-- oh, she no longer bothered to pound its walls, and instead lay with her fate in an ugly harmony.  At least it was a harmony at all, mm?  (A pathetic excuse, but acceptance was too much to ask; this was the best she could manage.)

Even after all these years-- shoved between soaked pages and faded words-- Ivory Summers was stretched between wine and water.  Stilled in the pale fingers of her daughter (who had been born in the image of her mother, and Ivory's chest clenched and destroyed itself at the sight), and restless until her eyes dripped black fog in the dark hours of night.

So much had changed, and still, nothing at all.

Ivory --so she called herself.  Her youth was quickly fading, old names stuck in dream-catchers and worn to shreds, and Ivory already had rust plastered to her eyes and lips.  Twenty-six.  Still young, they claimed, but Ivory felt like bits of grain run through an old mill, felt like gray and scratched tan paper.  She was looked over, and strung through points and narrow eyes.  Their words and loud opinions might've cut up her ears, had she allowed herself to care.  But blue and purple footsteps were her existence, and she lived alone through each breath of her daughter, swallowed up in crisp December breeze.

(They whispered things-- sharp and quiet and sometimes bright as Christmas morning in her ears.  Ivory knew, and Holland knew.  But they were useless, and Ivory allowed their white noise to spill on her carpet like soiled milk.  But the silence within banished even her shattered-glass memories.)

Each snowflake-- flower petals torn through shredding machines, a vacant clawing and screaming behind her skull-- was needles in her eyes.  Outside the window, lights flickered and the storm had passed, choked-up remnants tapping against the windowpane.

Holland mumbled shimmery white words to the golden hair of a doll, and Ivory turned her head from her armchair, slipped a thin smile between her lips.  Sage eyes crumbled the room, and Holland looked back-- seven year old chestnut and hazel, hard and intelligent and naive.  Ivory shut her eyes.

"Mum."        "Yes, Holli-- Holland?"

Thin, delicate fingers wrapped in Ivory's, milk-white against a darker, ashen shade.  (She was translucent, skin like a ghost left to dust in an old attic.  Holland still had the livelihood of innocence, but still-- they were otherworldly in their ghastly fading.  Like mother, like daughter.)   "Mum, can we see the lights?"

Ivory nodded, joints like chaffed legs and arms, lips curved up but her eyes were heavy.  "Of course.. Holland."  She cursed her young foolishness.  Every day she lived with this painful memory, and named it her daughter.  Clo-- Hollins was sorely missed, even now.

Her limbs felt heavy, but she pulled herself from the armchair and followed the child to the door.  Donned their coats, laced their shoes, and stepped into the remains of the blizzard.  Fog and white sprinkles, joy drifting between upturned mouths.  Holland skipped, and Ivory shielded her eyes from the Christmas cheer.  She could hardly feel it, trapped under the breaths of years long gone.

(White winters within castle walls, smiling over cups of cocoa, and pushing each other into vanilla tundra.  Owning the place.  Because none of them, really, had anywhere to go.  But they were all gone now.  All of them.  Ivory still had nowhere to go.)

The lights blinded her, but they stripped Holland of the crushing despair that her mother's darkness braided into chocolate waves.    It was a long twenty minutes    and Baby had been watching    but an icy mist pulled at her eyes   and Holland    was suddenly   gone.

« on: 04/21/2016 at 19:20 »
It was the kind of weather that made you want to jump into Munchkin River and never leave.  It was cooler inside the Infirmary wagon, but still the sun burnt down on them through the wood and the hole in the wall.  (They still hadn’t gotten around to completely repairing the damage, much to Cloudy’s dismay.)  Baby had repeatedly charmed the air indoors to be cooler, complaining grumpily all the while, as she could never quite get the temperature where she wanted it.

The Infirmary itself had been set up in what Baby might consider a gray and brown circus on wheels.  The clowns (charmed scarecrows, almost prepared for their act) danced stiffly on their melancholy stilts, while she and her fellow Infirmary Counselors rushed about preparing the last bits before the doors were opened for the Case Study.  Well, she and Eira rushed about.  Cloudy mostly sighed and threw her annoyed looks.

Really, he couldn’t have expected any less than this from she and Eira.

They had rearranged the Infirmary into a setting most like the Emergency and Triage wing of St. Mungo’s— five cots had been placed in the room, specific to the Case Study.  A matching five scarecrows, scattered about in their various states of affliction, would be their patients— and with Baby and Eira as the final determiners of these ailments, they were sure to be...difficult, to say the least.

Baby frowned and snapped her fingers at one of the more troublesome of their dummies [Zeke], who was roaming closer to the potions closet, mouth full of delusional grunts.  She couldn't have him ruining all Cloudy's hard work already, could she?  "Quiet, you."  He didn't listen— good.

The walls were quaking, a charm that Baby had finally managed (after half an hour! but she had refused any help), and lights and noises flickered slightly to effectively create a panicky feel to the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Baby marched across the floor and shoved the door open.  She shouted for the attention of the Infirmary students, who were gathered outside the wagon, and ushered them in with the urgency of a witch on fire.  They were a sorry lot, she decided, a big horde of confused and over-confident witches and wizards.  (Ah, but the less sure of the group were almost worse.)  After pausing briefly to shoot a warning glare at Ellwood-Luxe, and smirk at Joy, Baby turned and snapped her fingers loudly.

"Knock that off," she hissed at a chuckling third-year, shooting him a warning glare.  "This is a professional situation."  (Believe it or not, Ivory Summers could be quite serious at times.  Even in supposedly ‘fake’ situations.)  Felis was her next target— "To your post, Adair,"— though she would be lying if she said she didn't respected the girl.  Baby stood at the head of the gaggle, frowning while Eira rushed about and Cloudy dragged in the fifth scarecrow [Henry].  The room was a choir of ailment-induced moans and babbles, and it almost felt like they were in a beaten-down, wooden St. Mungo's with a small hole in its wall.

"Welcome to the Emergency and Triage section of your training.  I want every one of these patients alive and well by the time we leave today— go."  Then she smiled, because there was no way in hell all five scarecrows would be in good health by the afternoon's end.  She, Eira, and Cloudy would be sure of it.

OOC: The Infirmary is now essentially an emergency room!  Ack!  Five cots are set up and five scarecrows, each with their own ailment or affliction, are about the room, and the infirmary participants must a) coax your patient to bed and figure out what is wrong with them, and b) heal them.  This will be a difficult task, so be wary!  Remember to label which scarecrow you are tending to, just like bludgers in Quidditch, and bold your actions! (: Details are below~

Scarecrow #1 [Hunk]: Has a broken arm. (: hehehe
    Ava Adair
    Kenneth Holmes
    Euphemia Vane
    Lamia Cadwallader
Scarecrow #2 [Zeke]: Pacing frantically about the room, getting into all sorts of trouble.  Seems to be babbling something or other, who knows..
    Clinton Litchfield
    Ronnie J. Beckham
    Icarus Argabright
Scarecrow #3 [Hickory]: Wandering about vomiting on everyone who comes near.
    Joy Detora
    Caitlin McLeod
    Acheron T. Belowes
    Marius Paladin
Scarecrow #4 [Patchwork]: Sitting in bed; appears to be missing his right hand and forearm?  *shrugs*  Perhaps talking to him would help...or not.
    Sparrow Robinson
    Zoella Mertz
    Mirella Appleton
Scarecrow #5 [Henry]: Being dragged/escorted in by Caleb, has third degree burns on legs and left collarbone area.
    Gardenia Reine
    Cisca Mallow
    Eli Egneus

1947 / take my place || calvory
« on: 04/11/2016 at 10:46 »
Baby twirled a blade of grass between her fingers before tossing it casually toward the river.  Unsurprisingly, it didn't make it more than a foot, but Baby was too busy toying with her next victim to care.  Plucked grass was scattered about her little patch of bank, a lopsided painting of boredom and distraction; a few strands sprinkled Baby's skirt and even Cloudy's jumper, but not a word of complaint had been spoken.

The Hufflepuff glanced briefly at her friend, but the gaze didn't linger.  If she was right, something was bothering the boy again.  Come to think of it, if she was right, something had been bothering Cloudy since before the end of the term.  And, if she was right, it had something to do with his father again.

Baby was always right.

The girl leaned back on her palms, staring at the river and suppressing a huff of boredom.  They'd been sitting in the same spot for over an hour, and not a word from Cloudy.  She gathered up a handful of the dismembered grass and tossed it at the water.  It got farther this time, a few feet, due to the compacted form.  Baby wondered if she could make it to the river if she squished the blades together as hard as she could.  She was far too lazy to try.

Another moment of silence, and she too would trap herself in that pit of frowns that Cloudy had buried himself in.  (Ha, Cloudy.  They'd named him right, she supposed, but not for the reason they thought they had.  This new version of her friend was a walking rain cloud, stuck in his troubles and faux grin.)  And the last thing Baby needed was to dwell on her own issues.  She'd been so focused on fixing her friends' problems that she'd almost forgotten her own, which had resulted in an almost dragon-like obsession with those she was closest to, rather than any amount of selflessness.

But, she knew, sometimes it was better to be an inconsiderate jerk than to dwell on the unnecessary, or — Merlin forbid — allow the Crew to tear themselves apart further.  Baby had recently come to the aching realization that without Action's guidance, the responsibility had fallen to her to hold them together.

She plucked another few blades from the ground, expanding the small patch dirt beside her, and tossed them once again into the golden-blue air.  The afternoon sun beat on her shoulders— a ghost reminder of Atlas' lament.  The rustle of the river could never be entertaining enough; Baby glanced at Cloudy briefly and wished to know all.

1947 / another!!! <333 hap-hap-hap-ppy!!!
« on: 04/09/2016 at 14:53 »

Happy Birthday, Sparkles

Another birthday!!  Well would you look at that!  Aren't these April people just lovely? :3  Anyway, happy freaking 17th birthday to the lovely Shay, aka Thomas Ellwood-Luxe aka SPARKLES (((: love ya much!!! <33333

1947 / ↠ born to die · baby ↞
« on: 04/03/2016 at 18:14 »
totally copy/pasted this what

Ivory Summers

.......... ..........
.......... ..........
seventh year
.......... ..........

Never will you find such a deviant and yet absolute Hufflepuff as Ivory Summers.  Never will you encounter such a contradiction — a reckless wildling, a trustworthy keeper of secrets.  Tough and fearless, yet with a loyalty that far outstands her selfish manner.

.......... ..........

IC descriptions [permission to use given]:

Jagger // Baby? That's Ivory to you, bub. You haven't earned the right to call her that. She's survived things that'd make you wet yourself, so show some damn respect. She's pretty as ivory, but strong as steel. You cross her and you'll wish you hadn't, I promise you that.

Slick // Be glad your middle name isn't 'Geoffrey', best keep it to yourself. Women, right? You love 'em or you hate 'em. She cares lots, yeah, but she's also a tyrant. Don't let her pretty face fool you, Baby's just as bad as the rest of us.

Action // Ivory? Who the f—? Oh you mean Baby? She’s a tempest, that girl. She hovers between her own sanity and my dysfunctional mindset. I’d say she’s my friend, or even a little sister. Merlin knows that she hasn’t learned to keep her fingers out of my hair.

Cloudy // She's not half bad, if you get past how annoying she is.  She's a terrible ballet dancer, but she's good me a few more minutes...

Scamp // If someone asked me to draw her, I'd probably just draw a flower.. maybe a daffodil or a daisy, something simple but sweet. She's kind and motherly.. and sometimes overprotective.. and she has the most terrifying death stare but I don't know who I'd be without her. Whatever the mean things the other guys wrote aren't true!

Joy // Ivory is a contradiction - the kind of girl that says boys are stupid and surrounds herself with them anyways. She's a real heartbreaker, that one - but she's trustworthy. Tell her a secret and she'll keep it.

.......... ..........

Likes // the Crew, Bertie Bott’s beans, picnics, the old oak, snogs, boys, butterbeer, being trusted

Dislikes // blueberries, bulky jewelry, chocolate, the Hex, businessmen, being lied to

Code: [Select]
[center][font=windsong][size=30pt]Name Here[/size][/font][br]
[div style="width:250px;text-align:justify;font-size:7pt;"][span style="text-transform:lowercase;"][center][i]Age . Year. House . Blood Status[/i][/center]

History // answer here.
Plot Ideas // answer here.

special thanks to all contributors c:
coded by caleb hollins ^.^

1947 / Camp Tinmen Check In!
« on: 03/28/2016 at 17:03 »
Welcome to Camp Tinmen, the best camp on site! Go ahead and snag the code below to give us a brief rundown on your character!  Be prepared for one exciting summer and please PM ivory summers, elias irogoyen, or marlena flair for any questions!  love ya lots!  <333

Code: [Select]
[center][div style="width:360px; text-align:left; font-family:times;"][div style="float:right; width:100px;"][img width=100][/img][/div][div style="float:left; width:250px; height:247px; padding-left:10px; padding-top:10px; background-color:#86898c;"][div style="font-family:archer; text-transform:uppercase; font-size:25pt; color:#9d9fa2; width:230px; height:17px; overflow-y:auto; padding:10px; text-align:right;"]FIRST NAME[/div][div style="width:230px; padding:5px; float:left; margin-top:5px; height:187px; background-color:#9d9fa2; overflow-y:auto; color:#717476; font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase;"][b]Age:[/b] AGE HERE
[b]House:[/b] HOUSE HERE
[b]3 Traits:[/b] 3 TRAITS HERE
[b]Participating In Activities?[/b] Duelling/Quidditch/Infirmary, or more than one?
[b]Best Thing About Camp:[/b] ANSWER HERE
[b]Something very few people know about you (IC):[/b] ANSWER HERE
[b]Ready for this craziness??:[/b] YES? NO? ANY IDEAS?[/div][/div][/div][/center]

1947 / iscariot || calvory notes
« on: 03/28/2016 at 14:44 »
train to camp loki
first day of camp
So...counselors, huh? ;P

1947 / Infirmary Sign Ups!
« on: 03/25/2016 at 23:39 »
Code: [Select]
[center][div style="width:350px; height:215px; text-align:left; font-family:times; overflow-y:auto; background-color:#535353; padding:20px;"][div style="margin-top:10px; font-family:homestead; font-size:30pt; text-align:right;"]FIRST NAME HERE[/div][div style="margin-top:20px; width:330px; height:150px; overflow-y:auto; background-color:#969696; padding:10px;"][b]Age:[/b] ANSWER HERE.
[b]Camp:[/b] ANSWER HERE.
[b]Previous Experience:[/b] ANSWER HERE.
[b]Pick A Field:[/b] Potions, Spellwork, Psychological, Explosions, Other (please specify!)
[b]Why Do You Want To Be In Infirmary?[/b]
ANSWER HERE.[/div][/div][/center]
Welcome to Infirmary!  Now, we're just as confused as you are about why they deemed it wise to put Eira and Ivory in charge of something together again, but hey!  At least Caleb's here to bring some order to the place-- but come prepared for some explosions and probably cheese!

This term we'll only be having one Case Study, but you definitely don't want to miss this hullabaloo!  Join us if you're interested in getting some hands-on medical experience or if you just... really like danger and explosions.  Sign up code is above, PM Ivory Summers, Caleb Hollins, or Eira Medraut with any questions!

1946 / sometimes i like PRESSURE
« on: 12/23/2015 at 06:23 »
soooooo this is what happens when jes doesn't want to do avvies but then she does but then she doesn't so then she does anyway...

i haven't decided whether or not i want to do requests yet....but if u want one, go ahead and tell me adaquate informatiooons (i too lazy to code more, too bad so sad for u) for it and i'll tryyyyyy. but i'm a PROCRASTINATOR WITH A CAPITAL P even tho ilu

forgive me WHEN i'm lame sauuuce and don't do your avvie and if they suck and OOPS i don't make sense HAHAHAHA ok ilu bai now

1946 / blood makes snow festive || b
« on: 12/21/2015 at 06:53 »
"It's all about texture, you know?" she kicked the powdery snow with the toe of her new boot (how generous Jagger was for a pureblood; but then, she had never doubted his - albeit well-hidden - kindness) as she walked.  "You want them to feel it when you hit them."

Baby came across a rare patch of hardened snow, stomped her foot on it, and shook her head.  "But if it's too frozen, the counselors might ban you from breakfast or something ridiculous like that."  She grinned and rolled her eyes, demonstrating quite clearly that if there came a choice between giving someone like Joaniel Something a bloody nose and breakfast, Baby would choose the former.

"Only hit the ones who really deserve it with those."

Baby's eyes widened in delight as she spotted their destination just up the hill.  The perfect fortress for a battle - the slop was slippery and would be difficult to scale in the midst of a snowball fight.  All they had to do was build the walls, the snowballs, and then lure their bait.

She beckoned breathlessly, stumbling up the hillside and immediately setting to work on the walls of their castle.  (Who else would they grant entrance?  Joy, surely, and perhaps Mia if she brought Jasper?  Baby might let Cloudy in, secretly, after she pelted him thoroughly with snowballs.)

"So B," Baby began, packing a handful of snow onto their wall (the gloves, as well, had been provided by Jagger, though Baby was only wearing them because she'd made Scamp and Action wear theirs yesterday).  "A little crowbird tells me you're an artist?"

1946 / to porcelain, to ivory, to steel || baby ♥
« on: 12/03/2015 at 07:30 »

Ivory Summers

.......... ..........
.......... ..........
sixth year
.......... ..........

She’s been chasing after them for years, half-hanging on the idea of acceptance.  And may she ever plague them.  Baby is the sole female member of the Voodoo Crew, a group of seven rough-and-tumble gems.  And if anything says something about Baby, it’s those boys.

Might as well introduce them.

Action: their leader of sorts, into the dark arts, dating that awful Estella Ricardus - also Baby has had a crush on him since her first year.

Slick: just graduated, known to be a player like a lot of the boys, likes his pomade, has a major crush on Baby XD

Jagger: really into photography (DON’T TELL), an Alvear, very generous when it comes to friends, also may or may not have some sort of feelings for Baby too

Cloudy: adept at disguises.  Keeps up the appearance of a polite, charming Hufflepuff while in public, but drops the mask around the crew members - is actually a despicable human being, and doesn't care about people all that muchAlso has a crush on Baby wtf Is slowly becoming Baby's best friend, because he doesn't seem to mind her dragging him on her adventures.

Ace: classy bookworm.  The least likely to be found hanging around the crew, because he doesn't always approve of their pranks and shenanigans.

Scamp: the little brother of the crew.  Afraid of spiders, nervous nervous nervous, adorable.  Baby mama-bears him constantly.

((all members have players, though only a couple are a currently active))

Baby herself is a bit of a pretty little oddball.  Raised in questionable circumstances, though she's chosen to completely block those first years out of her life, and has become a spirited gem of her own volition.  A bit of a chatterbox, and has a habit of dragging people on all sorts of adventures (this summer you'll find her sliding around on the ice skating rink, building snow forts, and generally having a good time. also may snog a boy or two?).

An avid bertie bott bean fan, you'll hardly see her without her pockets or mouth full of the things.

Being a target of relentless teasing by a bunch of boys for years has made Baby able to handle most things, though she occasionally gets flustered, and hates to be ignored.  Not a huge fan of flowers or chocolate or bulky jewelry, and blueberries are a big no-no.  Almost always willing to make new friends, if you're tolerable, of course (eh, Baby doesn't get along with a lot of people).  Will do most anything to encourage the extracurricular interests of people she cares about.

Will say what she wants.  Tough cookie, loyal as they come.  Is proud to be a Hufflepuff.

Code: [Select]
[center][font=windsong][size=30pt]Name Here[/size][/font][br]
[div style="width:250px;text-align:justify;font-size:7pt;"][span style="text-transform:lowercase;"][center][i]Age . Year. House . Blood Status[/i][/center]

History // answer here.
Plot Ideas // answer here.

sooooooo long, sooooorry basically she's epic and we should thread ^.^ coded by the lovely rin hunter/cloudy

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