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Archived Applications / Miles Stormont
« on: 01/04/2020 at 21:25 »
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Zephyr Miles Stormont
Birthday: October 30th, 1948
Hometown: London, England
Bloodline: Pureblood
Magical Strength (pick one): Charms
Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination
Year (pick two): First or Second
Biography:
The Stormont family name is centuries old. Magical prowess hewn from a storm. A family tree so large it’s branches sag. There’s little doubt of at least some semblance of realation with any other blood-touting dynasty. A pureblood family proud to puff out their chests and strut among the community, stepping across anyone they deem lesser. They like to claim their line extends as far back as Merlin, though the evidence is murky at best. They are the kind of family that oozes wealth and slings the word Mudblood around like it was going out of style.
And, you should know, Miles is nothing like them.
Miles has always been a rebel. In fact, his very first word was a clear and rebounding, ‘NO’, as his mother tried to shovel a spoonful of peas into his clamped-shut mouth. His father affectionately called him strong willed, reading the paper and puffing a cigar. A true Stornmont through and through. His mother, knee deep in creamed peas, just thought he was a terror.
By the time he was seven every forbidden corridor and cavern of the massive Stormont manor had been thoroughly investigated. Every strictly enforced rule was broken. Every minute of being grounded was spent plotting up the next big way to get into trouble. There was something so enticing about hearing his mother screech into the sun about his poor behavior while his father downplayed it to strong-willed, childhood rebellion.
As he got older, the anarchist attitude lost its novelty in his father’s eyes, but Mile’s quick-thinking helped him get away with much more as the years went on. Thankfully, he was sandwiched between siblings that kept attention, and he learned the delicate art of minding his business and keeping his toe from going too far out of line.
But it was more than a simple childhood rebellion, a minor urge to go against his family. It wasn’t just that Miles had a knack for mayhem and chaos and insatiable curiosity. It was an all-encompassing dismissal of what the name Stonemont meant. Even down to dismissing his name. If you call him Zephyr, be prepared. “No, call me Miles.”
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.
House Request: Gryffindor, with a Slytherin secondary
Personality:
Miles plays by his own rules. He seems more mature for his tender age, and has a pattern of eavesdropping into conversations he shouldn’t, and listening around corners for a scrap of interesting information. He’s the type to blackmail his sister with the knowledge of her latest half-blood boyfriend just because he can. Calculating and sharp, confident and bold, he is a ringleader and daredevil and loves the thrill of bending rules. However, beneath the more playful and sometimes sinister exterior, Miles is less self assured.
Although he rarely shares the complexity of his inner thoughts, he struggles. The weight of his family’s legacy is a heavy burden, a reminder of who he should become and what he should do. What path he need follow. He’d felt like a puppet for so many years, just pulling inch by inch out of the strings that bound him to heritage. Every prank was a way to sever that connection, slowly, excruciatingly. Yet because of those ties he has been given so much. He has never wanted, he has a home and wealth and the latest of everything. To say he hasn’t enjoyed it all is a lie.
But Hogwarts is giving him an opportunity to find who he wants to become. Not the outline set out by his parents or his name, but a freedom he’s never had before.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
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."
------
“Being rude isn’t polite, either.” Miles shot back without hesitation, eyeing the other with a single raised brow. He looked the teen from head to toe with just judgement in his eyes it was hard to miss. From the dirt stained knees to snotty face Huge was a sight, and the simple sweep of dark brown pools was awfully reminisent of the Stormont family.
“On top of that-” The dark haired boy continued, not allowing for a pause of air between them. He stood with a billow of dust and a snap of his robes, moving from beneath the large oak tree's shade and into the rays of sunlight. “Do you think it’s polite to rip apart someone’s garden? Awful bold of you to point fingers when yours are, quite literally, dirty.”
And he let his speech flow still, without waiting for a response, “Here’s how I see it-” He began in a low, matter-of-fact voice, idly picking dirt out from under his nails, “I’ll help you find your rat, and get rid of this mess,” He gestured to the strewn flowers and ripped up roots, “But you owe me a favor.”
→ ABOUT YOU.
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