THE BASICS
Name: Clay Julius Spebbington (a.k.a Juju, Clayston and Sbebs)
Former Character's Name (if you had one): Penelope E Wynovain, Tyler Bradley, Lutensia, Oscar Templeton, and Rupert Myridor
CHARACTER DETAILS
House Request:
Clay would most likely be in Slytherin. He comes from a long line of Slytherin’s. He doesn’t much like authority. He will abide, as he knows what’s good for him, but if he can get away with breaking any and every rule then he will. The reason I am leaning more towards Slytherin is his knack for manipulation. He has good friends, a few very close ones, but the rest are merely…useful.
Year: 4 or 5 please
Bloodline:
Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination
Biography:
Clay Julian Sbebbington was born on the 6th January 1958. He was a prince in his mother’s eyes. Clarice Emily Sbebbington was a meek young woman, too young in some ways. She married at 19 and had Clay at 21. That was the “done” thing. The marriage was arranged, but luckily for her she doted on Terrence Sbebbington, who came from blood as pure as any other. As was hers. Hence the marriage in the first place.
His childhood was nothing of note. He was adored and treated like the most important child that had ever lived. Clay never really knew what his father did for a living. He was important, and that was all that was important to clay. He liked knowing that he was special. He would continually torment his little sister, Eloise Mae Sbebbington, till she cried. He wasn’t a horrible child, but as many others before him; he felt his sister was fair game. She was only two years his junior, so big enough to try and defend herself.
One day, when he was 9, she 7, a young boy from over the estate was playing tag with them in their rather large back garden. He saw Clay and his sister’s interaction and thought it would be fun to join in. He pushed Eloise over, who hit her head on a plant pot. That was the day Clay stopped tormenting his sister. He could make her cry, that was one thing, but no one else could touch her. The boy went home with a bust lip.
Of course the parents had come round to complain about the state of their sons face, but Clay had only half been punished. He had stuck up for his sister, which in his Father’s eyes was admirable. Father is important, and so am I.
Most of his lessons he learnt from father. Like how to treat girls. They liked doors holding open for them, pretty presents and whispering in their ears. (Though what those whispers were he had no idea, he figured they were secrets and locations of the best worms to dig up in the garden). Friends, friends were people who looked up to you because you were important and bossed them around. His father would have friends for dinner. The women he would flatter, and the men he would hand cigars and tell jokes to. They always laughed. So when school came, Clay took to it like a fish to Jell-O, so in other words, he floundered.
For the first year anyway.
This friend business wasn’t so easy after all. No one knew he was important there. What’s more, no one seemed to care. Oh there were the few that took his instruction, but he didn’t care for those. They were not his equals. They were sheep. The professors didn’t treat him like a prince. That was the most shocking thing of all. Old people usually adored him, and now they were giving him work to do and telling him off for having fun! He was not amused in the slightest.
In time he learned. To catch flies, it did well to use honey, not vinegar. Shouting got you nowhere with teachers. Only backache and detentions. His charm began to grow; he cultivated it from year to year, doing his best to wrap certain people round his finger, just as his mother was. That was all he needed to do. At least that’s what he thought.
He was lucky enough to meet a few friends. Close ones. Ones that he didn’t feel the need to manipulate or brow beat. But now fourth year was rapidly approaching. More work, (more detentions no doubt) and lots, lots more fun.
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
Personality:
Clay is smooth. Or he likes to think he is. Very calculated, there is always a plan. He doesn’t like to be humiliated and is not fond of authority. On a good day he is perfectly charming, humorous and the life of the party. On a bad day…. hide. He likes girls. He dislikes girls that don’t like him. Simple.
Appearance:
Clay is tallish for a fourth year, and still a little gangly. A lot gangly in fact. He likes to slick his hair into a rather old-fashioned style, but it certainly has the desired effect. He likes to stand out. He has an understated smart/casual dress sense. Quite defined bone structure. Green/grey eyes and a goofy smile.
SAMPLE ROLEPLAY
Option I:
Blimey, the Great Hall was packed. It seemed like everywhere a guy looked there was some clown waving around a House banner or yelling about the game.
'Can you believe it?' 'No way!' 'This must be the biggest upset in Hogwarts Quidditch history...'
Stupid Quidditch.
James flopped into an empty seat at the end of the table, shoved an empty plate out of the way, and let his head sink onto his crossed arms, squishing his freckled nose down flat against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to come here, since he definitely wasn't hungry. He'd probably never eat again, in fact. He didn’t deserve to eat. He hadn't stopped in the locker room to change out of his muddy, sweaty uniform after the game either, because he was pretty sure he probably didn't deserve to be clean too; and anyway he couldn't stand to see the looks on his team mates' faces after he blew their chance at winning one of the biggest games they had ever played.
Just one lousy shot. That's all it would have taken. If he could have just got that one stupid foul shot to go through that one stupid hoop, they could have won and he wouldn't have been the biggest blockhead in the entire school.
As if to prove the point, half the people at the next table suddenly broke into a loud victory chant. James pressed his face further into his arms to hide the bright red blotches he could feel creeping up his cheeks. That was it. He was just going to have to run away and move to Nova Scotia. He'd just cost the three-year-in-a-row Champions the Quidditch Cup! How do you ever live that one down for crying out loud? He was only a second year and he was going to spend the rest of his life as 'that dumb cry-baby kid who dropped the Quaffle!'
It felt like every set of eyes in the room was boring into him, and James couldn't stand it anymore. He jerked himself back up from the table and stomped right back out of the Hall the same way he had come in. As he stormed into the quieter hallway outside, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind him. James rounded on the sound and began to shout, his brown eyes shining with tears. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"
Sample Roleplay Response: Type in your response here.
Clay liked books. He wasn’t one of those Birdbrains (although the girls of that particular house seemed to like boys of his). This was the reason why he currently had “A history of Conjuring and Summoning, the early early years” in his hands. He was leaning idly against the wall, outside the great hall. He had a plan. He always had a plan.
When a miss Juniper Kedrow came bobbing out of the hall, after her meal, he would accidentally drop the book in front of her. One of two things would happen. She would see it, and pick it up. Ravenclaw’s couldn’t stand to see books mistreated, and he would gratefully take it from her, thanking her whilst flashing the most dazzling smile. The kind that stuck in a girl’s head for days. Or she would trip over it and he would of course scoop to her rescue, from which the same outcome would occur. It was fool proof, and genius.
So was Clay.
Footsteps approached and he slyly watched over the top of his pages. Was this her, with he flaming red head and interesting freckles. Dang, no. It was that idiot from Quidditch. He couldn’t be bothered with him now, even if the boy looked like he was about to cry. What a whimp.
As he looked back to the doorway, he was just in time to watch Juniper float by, with a gaggle of her girlfriends. OH BLAST IT ALL! His inner monologue began to cuss out the loser boy in a long and fluent string of rather uncouth profanity. He started towards the stairs. Better return the book. It was no good to him now. (He had already read it for class anyway), when the boy rounded on him.
"WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture?!"
Clay stopped dead. His eyes narrowed and a small smile crept across his face. His cheeks were already flushed a little with annoyance from his spectacular plan being foiled. “A picture? Oh, goodness, for me? Humble old me? I’m not worthy!” he threw his hands up in mock adoration and then the smile vanished.
”A picture of you? Why the hell would I want a picture of such a pitifully poor excuse for a chaser? Why don’t you just go and crawl back under the rock you came from. Better yet go write a letter to your mother telling her what a cretin you are! I’m sure she will be thrilled! And…stay…out…of…my…way!” The last few words he almost spat into the boys face with such venom that he could feel it bubbling in his chest.
If there was one thing that should be taught at Hogwarts, it was anger management. But then again, even if it were, Clay would have skipped out on those lessons anyway. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the large front doors. He needed to walk and clear his head.
