THE BASICSName:
Lucien Nemo Maxen ChaucerFormer Character's Name (if you had one):
Cassius Ellwood-Luxe, et al.CHARACTER DETAILSHouse Request:
Slytherin.
Lucien has been NPCed for two terms or so as such, with his cousin Cassius. The idea is that he is clever enough to be a Ravenclaw (and should be, possibly) but at the time of his sorting he asked the hat to place him with the rest of his family. Or, truly, with Cassius. This story can be disregarded should you decide to put him in a different house, however.Year:
7, 6.Bloodline:
Pureblood.Magical Strength:
TransfigurationMagical Weakness:
DivinationBiography:
She was boring.
Lucien stifled another yawn, raising the crystal once again to his lips as he nodded his feigned interest in his date's words, just mindless chatter in the sea of alrady chattering people around him. He was an island, and his mind was elsewhere. Ravenclaws were supposed to be good conversationalists, were they not? Stereotypes be damned, he thought to himself, fingering the rim of his glass idly as he half-listened to his date go on about Herbology and the merits of some plant or another. Lucien hated Herbology. It was the only class he had ever failed.
The distraction of her dullness had been a good one, however annoying Lucien internally found it, because it stayed his mind from straying elsewhere: namely, to his cousin Cassius, whom he had all but abandoned for the night in the interest of entertaining this Ravenclaw girl whom he had invited to accompany him to the ball. Initially, Lucien had looked forward to this change of pace. He spent most of his time dogging Cassius most of the time anyway, pulling him from fights and talking sense into him when he needed it. Now, however, relieved as he had been before, Lucien was feeling restless and slightly anxious. His date was incredibly dull and did not know how to dance, and Lucien could not shake the feeling that Cassius was going to get himself into some sort of trouble in his absence.
Cassius could take care of himself and Lucien knew it, he just much preferred to be there in case his cousin
did get into trouble; because Cassius was not the most logical of people. No, Cassius was quite reckless.
Lucien scanned the crowd of swaying students as he let the sound of his date's-- Maribel, her name was Maribel, wasn't it?-- voice into one ear and out the other, never betraying in his expression that he was bored out of his mind. Lucien was good at expressionless. He had years of practice, trying to be more like his mother's family, priding himself (rather secretly) on being more Ellwood-Luxe than Chaucer in character. Minus the tendency to be brash and forthcoming, of course. The thing that separated Lucien most from his dark-haired cousins, apart from the obvious differences in appearance, was the logical mind he had inherited most certainly from his father, Lucullus Chaucer. Lucien thought (often more thoroughly than necessary) everything through before executing it, each movement and sentence and action calculated perfectly in the interest of keeping up appearances.
For appearances were everything; and especially so when one attached themselves to a powerful pureblooded family like the Ellwood-Luxes.
This was becoming ridiculous.
Lucien gave a little huff of frustration, eyes flicking back toward Maribel, who obviously hadn't noticed that his attention was elsewhere. She spoke animatedly about this and that, and Lucien was nearly impressed with her stubbornness in conversation before an exceptional
crash resounded from the back of the ballroom. He whipped his head round so fast to find the source of it that his neck cracked, and his drink sloshed around in the crystal in his hand.
Maribel did not seem to notice, yet again.
The crowd of dancing students was too dense momentarily for Lucien to see exactly what had caused the crash, but a couple moved slightly and Lucien caught a glimpse of exactly what he had been wary of: Cassius, in a clearing of students, wand pointed purposefully at an unknown aggressor, with fury in his face.
The crowd seemed to slow down, and Lucien's breath caught in his throat, stuck on a whispered curse.
He put his glass in Maribel's hand and patted her genially as he could on the shoulder, adrenaline beginning to pulse to his ears.
"If you'll excuse me a moment," He tried his best to keep his words crisp and his face straight, giving a tight little turn-up of his lips in imitation of a smile before whirling on his heel and pushing into the crowd, ignoring her slightly stunned reaction.
The adrenaline had begun to pump disastrously through his veins, making Lucien's ears ring and his path slightly destructive as he made his way through the crowd with uncharacteristic roughness, plowing through more than one couple as he beelined for the spot he had spotted Cassius. Maybe it had been a hallucination. Whatever he had drunk, it had been odd. Maribel, perhaps?
No. Something in his gut told him that it hadn't been a hallucination.
Lucien pushed apart one more couple, turning his head rapidly, his hair flying out in an elegant side to side swish-- and there he was, Cassius, doubled over, and swearing passionately.
It registered with Lucien vaguely that Lysander was there with his wand aloft, and Eve also, cowering nearby; it registered vaguely that it was likely Lysander who had just hexed Cassius, given that it was Cassius doubled over and yelling, and not Lysander. It occurred to Lucien to be angry with Lysander, but all he could bring himself to do was reach out and touch Cassius' shoulder, to give even an ounce of comfort, of calm.
Because usually, Lucien could.
"Cass-"
His cousin twisted and hit Lucien's hand away with a snarl like a wounded animal, and for a brief second Lucien caught a glimpse of a most out-of-place shade of red, blossoming from the front of Cassius' shirt, stanched and stained by his right hand, sticky and unhelpful.
Cassius was bleeding.
"Sod off, Lucien."
He was shoved back rather unkindly by Cassius' free hand, and Lucien stumbled backward, landing on his rear end some feet away, at the shoes of a small crowd of onlooking students. One of them reached down to help him up, but Lucien jerked his arm out of their grasp and pulled himself to his feet, advancing on his cousin and reaching him just after he fired a well-aimed stunning charm at Lysander.
Cassius turned away and walked past Lucien as if he weren't there, sending a little rush of annoyance through Lucien's middle. Doubled, when Cassius stopped in front of Eve and stood there a moment, then continued on into the crowd, lurched forward, his hand still over his chest.
Lucien breathed a sigh of annoyance and gave Eve a quick glance, frowning, then followed his cousin through the crowd, walking quickly to try and keep up.
It wasn't until they left the ballroom that Lucien was able to feasibly catch up.
"Cass," his footfalls were hurried, trying to keep pace with his cousin as they ventured down the corridor toward the outside, one strung after the other. "Slow down, you're hurt. You're going to lose more blood..."
Cassius did not answer, just continued down the corridor, hair mussed, angrier than Lucien had ever seen him.
"Cassius." He put his hand out, finally matching his cousin pace-for-pace, and grabbed his shoulder to stop him, turning him around more roughly than he had intended.
"I told you to sod off, Lucien!" It was less than a beat after Lucien spoke that the response exploded out of him, and Lucien shut his mouth immediately. Cassius' eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed, as if he had been crying, but his voice betrayed no emotion but that of the rage he had been displaying since they exited the ballroom. "I didn't want you involved, don't you understand?"
"I was just--"
"Sod. Off." Cassius leaned in so close that Lucien could feel his cousin's breath on his cheeks, could make out the flecks of green juxtaposed with brown in his eyes. His tone was icy, and it cut through Lucien like a shot.
"I was trying to.... I was trying to
help you," Lucien offered, eyebrows knitting, frown forming. "That's what family
do for each other, they
help..." "Well,
fat lot that's been, yeah?" Cassius' tone was rising, and he displaced his bloodstained hand from over his bleeding chest to brandish in Lucien's face. "Look where family's gotten me, Luce! A couple of pints less blood and a ruined suit!" He made a sudden movement to gesture down to himself, but it seemed to twist his wound painfully, and he swore.
"Cass, don't..." Lucien tried to push past the things coming from Cassius' mouth, knowing he was angry, didn't want him to hurt himself further. Lucien loved Cassius more dearly than a brother, couldn't bear to see his blood so boldly painted down his body, seeped into his clothing, caught beneath his fingernails, stained into his skin. He fumbled for his wand, fingers trembling into his jacket pocket, pulling it out and racking his brain for any and all medical charms he'd learned that year. "Just hold still, okay? Just hold still."
"Don't touch me." Lucien blinked and froze, his mouth slightly open, green eyes wide and staring.
"You-- What?"
"I told you to sod off, Lucien, or did you hear me?" Cassius hissed, and turned slightly, as if making to leave. "I don't want to see you."
I don't want to see you.The phrase washed over Lucien, so strange, so foreign: how could Cassius not want to see him, when they hadn't spent more than two weeks apart in the past ten years? Lucien hadn't done anything wrong, to the extent of his knowledge, save for what he always did, which was step in and try to help his best-loved cousin from being cursed into oblivion.
How many times had he done that, Lucien wondered suddenly, studying the familiar lines and slopes and curves of Cassius' face.
Something snapped, then, in Lucien's mind, and he wasn't able to keep his expressionless facade any longer.
"You know, then, Cassius," He snapped, shoving his wand back into his jacket pocket. "Maybe it's you who should be sodding off, then, yeah? If I'm so
useless to you. If I'm just
another cousin to bother you. By all means, Cassius, leave!"
Cassius' face softened slightly, and Lucien could tell that he regretted what he had said. "No, Luce, that's not-"
"It's too late for that, Cassius."
Lucien stood resolute, arms dangling uselessly at his sides, shaking his head, never taking his eyes from Cassius'.
"Luce... Lucien, come on, you know you're more than just a cousin-"
"Shut up, Cass!"He did.
Lucien took a deep breath, swallowing the obtrusive lump that had formed in the base of his throat. He must not cry. He was half Ellwood-Luxe, and Ellwood-Luxes did not cry.
"Near eleven years we've been friends, Cass." He choked out, and looked away, hands clenched into fists to stay his emotion. "Near eleven years, and all I do is follow you. All I've ever done, really, is follow you."
Cassius was stock-still now, listening, the color draining from his face.
"I-I don't think I can do it anymore," Lucien continued, locking eyes with his cousin again, hesitant. He wanted a cold tone, but wasn't sure he could manage it. "I do everything for you, and then you turn around and just..." He gestured to Cassius' bloodstained dress shirt, lost for words, and let his hands drop back down to his sides rather ungracefully. "You've been so high-strung since you became the proper heir, do you know that? I understand it's hard, I do, but you're wearing me out."
His cousin said nothing, just pressed his lips together, perhaps in attempt to suppress any outgoing emotion.
"You're not the only one inheriting a name, Cassius. I don't need you. I don't."
Cassius shut his eyes tightly, grimacing, and pressed his free hand over his eyes, taking in a shuddering breath.
"Lucien, I'm so sorry, I-"
Lucien paused, looking at his cousin with a rather stricken expression. It wasn't like Cassius to be apologetic.
"No, it's... It's too late for that," He replied quietly, his voice disappearing into the bricks of the corridor. He broke Cassius' gaze and looked down at the floor, avoiding his cousin's eyes. "I meant what I said."
"I know," Cassius broke in, breathless. "But-"
"No," Lucien interrupted him, his eyes flickering up. He turned slightly, away from Cassius. "I can't do this. I can't follow you anymore, Cassius. This is... This is it for you and me."
Cassius opened his mouth to respond, to retaliate, to appeal, but Lucien silenced him with a raised hand.
"Not anymore."
And for the first time in his life, as he turned and walked the way they had came, Lucien was the one who left Cassius hanging, with still words to be said and problems to work out. No, this time Lucien wouldn’t wait on his cousin, wouldn’t patiently work him out of his issues.
Not this time.
ADDITIONAL INFORMATIONPersonality:
He had always been a quiet boy, predisposed completely to (and very content with) being alone. He was not particularly adventurous, very unlike his brothers, the twins- Lucien much preferred a book of adventure than going out and dirtying his hands and trousers in search of a thrill. No, Lucien spent his childhood behind a wall of books, pressed against the cushions alone in his favorite window-seat that overlooked the countryside on his father's estate in Norwich.
Despite his quiet nature, however, he is an extremely willful young man. He's known famously for being one of the only people who Cassius will consult, perhaps his closest friend and companion. Lucien is very calculating, and wants nothing more than to blend in well with his Ellwood-Luxe cousins, often annoyed with his Chaucer family's ways. He is not unfriendly, but distrustful. He enjoys people and conversation, but prefers to keep within his circle of known peers, unless there is something to be gained by striking up conversation with or befriending an outsider.
Deep down, Lucien is extremely emotional and has a great love for everything in the world, just keeps it tied down in order to feel as if he's fitting in better.Appearance:
Lucien is not exceptionally tall, but neither is he particularly short. He is slim and somewhat scrawny, with bright green eyes and shoulder-length hair that is golden blond in color, in typical Chaucer fashion, and rather wavy. He has been attributed by some to have a slightly feminine air about him, having a rather pretty face for a male: the hair usually does not help him in this respect.SAMPLE ROLEPLAYOption II:“Oh, come now!"
Astrid Bixby’s voice carried down the corridor, the tall blonde girl not far behind. Her interviewee – or victim, depending on perspective – turned a corner and she frowned. They were always soelusive when she needed them. Sure, they would talk as if there was no tomorrow during class, but once she actually needed them to say something, they were nowhere to be found. Gryffindors.
Flustered, Astrid stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared, her parchment hanging limply from her hand. She was a good reporter, really, and she always did her best to make sure that everything she wrote was accurate. She glanced down to the quill, eyeing it with disdain. It wasn’t her fault if her quill misquoted. How was she supposed to know? It made for interesting articles, at least, and if she had misquoted the Head Boy last term as saying he had a love for stuffed animals, then that gave him personality. Astrid sighed.
A pout formed on her lips as she turned away, discouraged. The corridor was mercifully empty, though the doors to The Spellbound – the school newspaper – were ominously closed. Corbridge was a mercifully sweet editor, but Astrid was terrified of disappointing her all the same. She hadto come back with quotes.
Her eyes, blue, trailed her surroundings before choosing a new path, and she turned down a new corridor. A figure was ahead, and her eyes lit up, an impossibly rosy smile blossoming across her lips.
“Hey!” Astrid called, her voice light and singsong. She trotted to catch the person, her shoes clicking on the stone floor. “Wait up! It’s for the paper!” Her legs aided her admittedly poor running, and Astrid gasped as she came closer. “What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”
Sample Roleplay Response:
"Bugger,"
He had never been one to swear copiously, but he found that, when left to his own devices, his head was an extremely large place to inhabit, especially alone. He relished, now, the feeling of profanity leaving his lips somewhat a comfort, a filler in an empty space.
And, of course, it was rather natural for one to swear when one's bag splits and one's inkpot breaks all over one's new textbooks when one is late for double Transfiguration with the Gryffindors.
"Bollocks,"
Lucien sighed and pulled his wand from his pocket, kneeling down on the ground, and began to
tergeo the books that had been soaked, piling them neatly next to him so that he could easily carry them later.
"This is utter
bullsh-"A shrill voice cut through his personal profanity time, and Lucien frowned at the timbre. Not now. Please, not now.
"Wait up! It's for the paper!""Obviously," Lucien hissed, looking up at her as she stopped in front of him. "I'm not going anywhere. What do you want, Astrid? It had better be good."
He did not stop his
tergeo work, just looked up at her with icy punctuality, frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
"What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it's a delicacy, but others think it's plain gross."He heaved another sigh.
"Whatever, Astrid." Lucien got to his feet, picking up his stack of books to take with him. He looked at her expectantly, thinking perhaps she'd scurry off. He shrugged. "I've never had frog legs, but my dad's part French. Maybe I'd try it, I suppose."
