Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.Name: Charles Edward (Neddy) Palmer
Birthday: 21 June, 1942
Hometown: Hogsmeade
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Transfiguration
Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination
Year (pick two): 7th (returning student), 6th.
Biography: [continued from previous bios. powerplay approved.]
“Hen, I really just don’t understand why it’s important, you know?” He sighed, and poked the page of the textbook like he was looking for a secret compartment. The other hand twirled his quill awkwardly, until he lost his grip and it bounced off his trousers and between the legs of his chair. Ink stained the library floor, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. They were at a magic school— someone would clean it up.
Instead of reaching for the quill to resume his work, he knocked the bottom of the table just a beat off from his tapping on the textbook. It morphed slowly into a rhythm, ending in a beat reminiscent of
Doncha’ Think It’s Time. A few lines in a different tune began to form in his mind— something about carolina blue and the softest shade of peach, stilled winds and a turning head. Maybe he’d play it for Kaguya later.
He stopped drumming, but the pattern resumed in his leg. He itched to be out on the castle grounds again, with his instruments and away from that damn carolina. (It followed him, hovered over his shoulder and lived in his chords. How terribly annoying, and unbearably lovely.) Another line added itself to the melody in his head; the guitar case by his foot was looking rather tempting by now.
“It’s just that, all this Arithmancy stuff is really boring! It’s not like I’m gonna
use, I mean,
clearly.” Neddy was determined to get himself a record deal. It was
going to happen, didn’t matter what Dad said, or who kicked at his heels. “So what’s the point?”
He sighed like the star-struck musician he was, strung out on harmonies and impossible dreams, and stated plainly: “Math is stupid.”
“Frankie, seriously, if you don’t get up right now, I’m going to play
In The Mood right in your ear, and steal Tree, just saying.”
It was a threat, by definition, but it fell flat from his mouth. Neddy was in no position to fight Francis James Dufort, nor did he have any desire to, but he happened to know that a challenge was the only way to get his roommate to do anything at this hour. (Even if he
had agreed to it.)
He crawled off his own bed, where he’d been adjusting lyrics to his new song, and mindlessly tapping its beat on his hand drum. It had grown away from its roots in The King’s
Doncha’ Think It’s Time, tentatively formed into two verses and half a chorus. It could have no name until it was finished, but when the sun came up and blinked in time with his eyes, he'd whispered, "carolina you," and felt the April sky smile against it.
Neddy grinned, and took out his saxophone from its case. "You asked for it, bud," he said, in borrowed language, and followed through for once.
Frankie's protests were cut off by the shriek of brass.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.House Request: Hufflepuff!
Personality:A follower and borderline pushover, but prepared to work and bend over backwards to rub shoulders with other musicians. A critic— never satisfied with his own work or the words of others. Dismisses nothing, forgets nothing. Embarrassingly clingy, and prone to unhealthy attachments, for the aesthetic. Personality like a confused butter knife. Outspoken about music, and almost nothing else. Obsessed with implementing ill-fitting instruments into modern music— hence his saxophone and tambourines. He thinks moods are days of the week— he does his most intense discarding on Wednesdays, reserves Sundays for thinking sad and abstract things, and performs his best work on Thursdays and Mondays.
Appearance:[Pretty average in every way, with brownish hair turning dirt-blonde with age, and ears that stick out just a bit. Talks and walks in stanzas, like his whole life is a song in the making. Uncoordinated in everything but music, and steps with an imbalance not unlike a limp. If you ask him about it, he’ll say his legs are different lengths, but a measuring tape would argue otherwise. If his hands are in his pockets, it is because he forgot to clean off his nail polish before class.
→ RETURNING STUDENTS.Note: This section is only for students who have been previously played at Hogwarts. Please see here for more information about Castle Dropouts levels/how many levels you are eligible to claim.Link to your last levels request (if you never posted one, link to your last accepted student application): C6D3T4S4Number of New Levels Requested: 4 (2 terms!)
New Levels Request: C6D4T7S4
How your character kept up with their studies:Neddy only
really cares about magic that would benefit his music and art, so Transfiguration definitely got the majority of his attention the past two terms. The rest of his passing grades are pretty much all down to regular study sessions with Frankie DuFort and Henry Reed— thanks for being a patient tutor, Hen!
→ 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 2:In the second wave of his sixth year, he took the name of a spider. His fingertips rested on guitar strings like they’d been glued there, dull blue eyes scattered like webs and stuck to the pages of his notebook— a recluse with brown hair. He lay on the ground in a pile of half-crushed tulips, a daisy stem between his teeth, and others strung across his guitar. His forefinger plucked a single string, and he listened to it dissolve into the air and the dirt.
It was all in perspective.
The ground beneath him shuffled uncomfortably from the nearby distress, a mumble in the soil that soured his skin. His left hand moved along the instrument’s throat, fingers adjusted to a minor chord, and his right hand plucked out a cheeky, irritated tune.
Crunch. More stems and petals snapped beneath a heavy foot, and Neddy pursed his lips in reluctant appreciation for the sound.
“—blasted rat!” More words; more notes. A great sneeze rustled the tulips near Neddy’s face, and he moved his hand to remove the daisy from his lips.
“Can I help you with something? It is not polite to stare.”Neddy smiled up at the odd creature, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What are you looking at me for, then?”
→ ABOUT YOU.Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Ronnie Beckham, Ivory Summers, Évariste Altier, etc...
How did you find us?: Google or something
