Hogwarts School: A Harry Potter RPG

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character Name: Bunny Märchen.

Gender: Female.

Age: 9 (6th April, 1947, Easter Sunday).

Bloodline: Halfblood.

Parents/Guardians:  MacDonald Märchen and Bo (Peep) Märchen (NPCs).

Residence: Märchen farm, Wales.  Hogsmeade.

Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place? No.

Do you wish to be approved as a group with any other characters? No.

Please list any other characters you already have at the site: Ronnie Jay Carter, et al.

Biography: (100 words minimum.)

1. The heavens turned white with her fur, the ashes of a beastly Pompeii.

She rose as a giant, somewhere along the horizon.  Long ears poked at the clouds, and rose-tinted whiskers slashed against the creamy-blue skies.  Two large teeth stuck out from pale lips, and gnashed at the shivering rays of the lowering sun.  Her feet were tremendous and awful, and when she stepped they shook the tree trunks and broke boulders.  She lay out above the countryside, a shadow that stretched from the abandoned fields of sheep to the edges of the earth where their leader had vanished.  And she was the architect of it all, the prologue to the greatest debates.

Oh, my Lord, have you forsaken your origin?  Have you forgotten the goat at your left hand for the vanity of the sheep?

—

2. There are witches in these woods, singing roses into monsters.

In the beginning, she grew from the ground, a pink nose sniffing from the rabbit's hole.  Her claws were like knives, white fur stained brown from dirt and chocolate.  When she blinked, cockroaches grew wings and flew into the mouths of robins.  Her feet were not tokens of luck but warnings of danger, and even the crows shrieked their despair when she neared.  And she sniffed and grinned, and blew them kisses that turned sour in the winds of spring— they attached themselves to the backs of creatures, and the acid consumed them.

Soon, she was the only beast left to preside those woods.  And she cried, for the loss of such a gentle, destructive love.

—

3. In the Garden of Eden, the angel and the serpent are as one.

She emerged from the leaves as one of them, a venemous vine, a snake that wound around roots and ankles.  The air seemed to rattle in unison with her tail, and even the dirt shrunk away from her warm belly.  Her target hardly moved, a tall figure in uneven grasses.  A long pole stuck up from the dirt, and somewhere above her, it curved around the sun, a wooden lasso wielded by Adam's fingers.

A hiss grew in her stomach and rippled through her esophagus, only to sit on her tongue and simmer, an unspoken warning.  Again she swelled to unnatural size, a bubbling creature whose laughter could not be contained, and pierced every ear with its bladed tone.  (Somewhere far away, a sparrow fell dead in its flight.)

"Hissssssss!!!"  She squealed, waving a jelly slug in the air.  "I'm a sNake!  Ssssssss!"  She hopped over a twig, and ran at one of the munching sheep.  "SheEpie!  Run aWaY, there's a snaKe!!  AAAH!"  The animals stumbled away from her, and the dog barked its annoyance.  Her only acknowledgement came in an eager cackle, and she shoved the sweet into her mouth as she turned toward Bas.  Any animosity that might have shown on his face went unnoticed, and Bunny gestured wildly to the little wagon she'd dragged out to him.  It held a worn little cup, a bucket of water, the little white rabbit she called Chickabiddy, and of course, a small pile of sweets.

She jumped up and down in excitement.  "I brought things!!  But don't eat aLL of the candy, it's for the shEEpS too!"  The Easter Bunny never failed to arrive, late or early or in a thousand places at once, no matter how you begged.  She beat her own drum, and tickled her own fancy.  And she wouldn't be caught stalling, no matter how many times you told her 'no'.

—

4. Out of the whale's belly, a new prophet; yet still Nineveh fell.

Her movements began with the screech of a mountain lion.  Its mouth opened wide and tortured, and the smell of stale caramel and tin foil fermented even the stone and pine.  The cougar broke its own back for want of escape, an artful display of devastation.  Its teeth stretched across the peaks, glee and agony entwined with roots beneath the dirt.  And from its tongue, fashioned as a staircase to a darkened heaven, emerged a girl.  A little creature, smile stained by brains and chocolate and love.

And when her toes touched ground, they spun her into a spider's web, into a prima ballerina, and she plucked the lion's claws from its eyes.  The terror dissolved into a mere ache, and a vision of rosy cheeks and a rosier tulle skirt— the cougar was now only a hen's beak, gaping to swallow the morsel it was given.

The girl spoke, and her omnipotence was crushed, as quickly and easily as an Easter egg beneath a falling stone.  A shrill and melodious battlecry burst from her mouth, so guiltless and ravaging.  In the hen's eyes: panic.  But Bunny merely grinned, and offered it yet another piece of chocolate.

"CHiCKiES!"

—

5. From the dirt, a Messiah all your burned books could not predict.

She smelled of jelly beans and melted chocolates, dusty sugar in a trail.  Her fingers were stained pink and yellow and green, and her cheeks were painted as mural of brown, a picture of cocoa in the worst possible way.  She was Easter in only the most superficial way.  She was spontaneous and ever-changing, a bright beacon of sunlight that burned your eyes into scorched caverns.  She fed confections to chickens and smiled like corn stalks when the hogs galloped to her open hand.  And she loved them all, even as they fell sick from the chocolate, and even as they began to cower from her approach.

She loved them, because she was Bunny, and that's what Bunny did.

—

6. Fists curled in blessed anger; she bites on his behalf.

She was a nightmare.  She was a dream.  She was innocence, but she unknowingly cut its name into savage pieces.  She followed the steps of her brother, unaffected by his refusal to accept her sweets, and oblivious to the way he shifted away from her inclusions.  And it did not matter that to Da, he was 'the boy', or that Ma looked at him in the same way she looked at a sickened goat.  Da, too, but if he saw one of them in his fields, he'd stick it in the dirt so quick its eyes got locked lookin' sideways.  She knew it 'cause she'd seen it, and she'd kissed its nose when he was gone.  Bad news, them goats, Da said.

No, it didn't matter, because his big hair made her laugh, like the orange-pink fish in the river, and when she misbehaved, she was another of his sheep.  "Baa, baaa," she giggled, with her neck in a crook, and gave the cows a lick of her acid pop when he wasn't lookin'.

Then, he was gone.  He vanished a little at a time, and then all at once, a scrape against wood, a rusty nail on the shed's rooftop.  And when the sun went down over the fields, she thought of the feet that trudged somewhere unknown.  She thought of the fingers that dragged her away from the herds, and the teeth that scolded her.  She didn't sleep, because she thought of the wolves that might bite his nose, and the beetles that might nip at his heels.

Little was said about it.  Da grumbled that they would have to find a farm hand, and Ma kept her mouth shut like she'd swallowed a lime tree.  In Bunny's short lifetime, Ma had swallowed a lot of lime trees.  Mary frowned and hugged her lamb to her chest, and Blue didn’t play his horn as loudly that day.  But Bunny—

Bunny tore the farm to pieces.

She screamed and she wailed, her upset every bit as pastel as her love, and she clung to the rabbits and sheep and cattle like they would bring back to her the thing that she had lost.

They would not.

—

7. This is how the earth spins, in destruction, in skin and bone.

After so many months, after crying minty green tears into all the rabbit holes, and after searching every attic and under every box, Bunny came to the conclusion that it wasn't, in fact, an elaborate game of hide-and-go-seek.  Or at least, if it was, it had a much bigger range than she’d anticipated.  Her face turned purple when she woke up in the morning, and again when she went outside, and again when she fell asleep at night.  She gnashed her teeth at the forest that had hidden his path from her, and fogged up windows with her wolf’s breath while she waited impatiently for the day of his return.

It never came.

Eventually she took it upon herself to find him, on Easter morning years later when Da let her take a crook to the fields, and Ma didn’t even grit her teeth like she’d been caught in a bear trap.  Bunny took her basket and Chickabiddy Number Two and four pockets full of chocolate eggs and a little knife Da had given her.  And she when they reached the farthest field, she ran, shouting wildly at the sheep to go back to the house without her.

They didn’t, but Bunny didn’t stop.

The underbrush parted for her, and tumbleweeds turned lavender when she stepped past them.  Everything gravitated to her, because she was the beginning of it all.  She was creation, and everlasting change, like the clouds that drifted slowly past, or a hare chased into a snake's hole.  It was all an upset in the cycle of life, but she was conveniently blind to eccentricity.

She rose as a giant around the moon.  Long pointy ears stabbed through the stars, and whiskers dripped with the blood of galaxies.  She was the birth of a God, and she glittered like a thousand fireworks in the palm of the atmosphere.  She was stubborn, and kind, and wretched, and she stepped off the property with those large and terrible feet.  Teeth like ivory carrots sharpened themselves on passing tree trunks as she fled, and that knife in her hand was a sword that cut through vine and squirrel alike.

—

8. A trick of the light; a heart attack you created with too-eager teeth.

When she came to the city of Magic and Walking People, following a torn map and a train and a hooting owl, she grinned and was immediately sick between a greenhouse and a candy shoppe.  Her hair was long and matted with sticks and leaves, and when she bared her teeth she was as rabid as a raccoon.  Thin but not frail, she tore the recent weeks from her skin and picked through the dumpsters for old stale sweets.

The cobbled corners were her new home, and she adapted into a street rabbit chewing on filth and sugar.  She wondered at the blinking lights and floating signs, and blended the dirt into her hair until it almost looked natural, a pastel princess in torn tulle.  And all the while she shouted, a single name that soon every wizard would know.  With gummy worms in her fists and twisty licorice in her teeth, she’s come to tear the wizarding world into shreds, all in the name of one humorless squib: Bas Shepherd.

Merlin help us all.


Roleplay:
Reply as your character to the following:

Godric Park.

Overhead, the sky was a crisp blue, for once clear of the ever-pervasive spongy clouds and rain. The sun was a lemony-yellow presence, high in the Eastern sky, and in front of it zipped three broomsticks in a straight line, or something very like one. One... two..... three... the boys passed, their shouts of excitement echoing as they chased the snitch, a tiny shimmer reflecting the sunlight.

Far below was another, much smaller broomstick.

It trudged along the ground, hugging close to it like a sluggish choo choo train and occasionally shuttering in protest. This was because said stick was currently being occupied by a very small girl who was tugging upward on the front of it with all her might, trying to coax it into doing what it had been expressly designed NOT to do.

"John, I said wait up!" The tiny girl squealed, giving the broomstick another tug.

Begrudgingly, it drifted upward a foot, and then sank, depositing the troublesome girl safely on the ground. Janey Hurst was not pleased. In a huff, she hopped off the toy safety broom, grabbing it firmly and thrusting it handle first into the turf.

Her brother was such a beast. He NEVER let her play! She folded her arms, seething blue eyes fixing on another figure nearby.  "You!" She barked, much more sharply than she meant to.

"...Do you want to play?"

—

Roleplay Response:

Bunny Märchen stood in a very strange place.  Her feet moved on the patch of grass, which was awfully short and had turned yellow-brown from neglect.  It had not been loved enough, like Bas' skin under the flickering barnlight.  She hummed around the pink lollipop in her mouth, and stomped her foot, a rabbit expressing its disapproval.  Chickabiddy Number Two pressed himself against her leg and thumped a reply, looking very much like a giant, blinking cotton ball.

Bunny had never played a game of hide-and-find for this long before, and she was already tired of it.  She looked around at the tallest occupants of the park, searching for that dark curly mop of hair.  She’d figured Bas might head to the place most similar to his sheepie field, but most of the people here were much smaller than he was, and they shrieked almost as loud as Bunny could, expressly Not sheep-like.

One little chickie was squealing louder than the rest, scooting along on some sort of stick, with a broom on the end of it.  Bunny watched her like a fox watched its prey, eyes like tubs of melting chocolate, and let her teeth twist into a grin when she approached.  They were big like a rabbit’s, sharp like a coyote’s, and there were many.  She twirled her lollipop in her mouth and thumped her foot on the ground, this time in excitement.

"You! ...Do you want to play?"

Bunny pulled the lollipop from her mouth with a slippery pop, and attempted to boop the girl on the nose.  "SticKs ain't for ridiN', siLLy," she beamed, but her joy was sickly and crooked.  A rotten egg on Easter morning.  "They're for throWin', and turnin' into cRoOks."

She shook her head and took another lick from her lollipop before shoving it straight back into her mouth.  "BeSiDEs," she squealed, the syllables slurred as she tried to speak around the piece of candy in her cheek.  "I'm alrEaDy playin' a game!  It's called hiDE-n-sEeK, and Bas is rEaLLy good at it!"  Maybe, she could convince this little chickie to help her out, because everyone knew six eyes were better than four, and Chickabiddy wasn’t looking as much as sitting, anyhow.

OTHER
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