Peter Rhys Kingsland

[Peter Rhys Kingsland]

Application for Salem Institute

→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Peter Rhys Kingsland

Birthday: 31 July 1921

Hometown: Belfast, Maine

Bloodline: Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one): Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Year: Senior, Junior

Biography:

The timeslip (that's what the newspapers called it-- it seemed to him more like a timeshove, violently vintage now they were) had sent the world as he knew it into a frenzy, and as such Peter found himself in England.

Oxford, specifically, because that's where his mother was from: the Englund family held its seat there, in a manor with a stretch of land which they called a "garden"--

--but it was a stupid garden, with no vegetables and no useful herbs, just acres of mowed grass with hedges and rosebushes sticking out of it in brushy distractions for the eye. There was a pond however, with big orange fish and cattails and reeds, and Peter had amused himself that first summer by sampling the water and keeping records of the fish and their behaviors in a black notebook which he had kept from his previous year at Salem.

Dad was a Muggle and was therefore gone, but Peter wasted little time in being sad about the whole matter-- he regretted it, of course, but spending time that could otherwise be productive being upset about something which could probably be worked out one way or another seemed wasteful and boring.

His grandmother seemed to only want to talk about his father, however, gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and hands folded too-neatly in her lap: her eyes were icy blue and rather disconcerting, and all time Peter spent with her he spent looking elsewhere, else stubbornly down at his tea.

He hated tea.

"What was it like, dear?" She would ask, to which he would respond, 'What?' and a knowing thin-lipped smile would appear on her wrinkled face and she would reply, "Having a Mudblood as a father?"

His mother informed him that his grandmother meant well and her speech was evident of the time and family she'd grown up in; but Peter did not see this as fitting reason to forgive her. Purebloods were bigoted and backward, and if they were going to shove prejudice at him then he was going to shove it right back. And to hell with their disgusting red badge. No one needed to know he was a halfblood but him.

At the end of that summer he expected that he would return to the States with his mother, so that he might go back to school; or even that he would return alone, because Boston was a bit southwards of Belfast and there was nothing left for mother to go home to, anyway.

But no: too late he was informed that his aunt ran a school in Norwich called Blackhill Wood and getting in would be easier than at Hogwarts and it was closer to Oxford than Boston was and he would be very happy there because it was small and the academics were good.

He received a warning and a month's worth of detentions his second week for setting his roommate's bed on fire, and spent the rest of the term under observation. After Christmas they shoved him in with the Transfiguration professor who attempted to "guide" him into "proper, English behavior" by doing weekly chats, but of course Peter resisted.

He missed Salem. Even stupid Pansy, who had started calling him Perky in Primary I because his middle name was Rhys, and even the grouchy librarian-- perhaps she'd retired already and he'd missed it.

Like bloody hell he'd be going back to Blackhill Wood his last year. The place was a madhouse for students that couldn't go to Hogwarts and the Transfiguration professor was under the impression that they were friendly and if he had to spend one more afternoon dodging and wading through a sea of obnoxious primary students he was going to go darkside and embark on some sort of violent spree which would end with rather more than just a bed afire.

Adult age was seventeen, and he reached it July before his supposed final year of education, upon which he informed his mother and bigoted grandmother that he would be returning to the States for the culmination of his education.

And there was nothing they could do, because he was an adult. Adults did as they pleased.

Not that Peter didn't do that anyway.

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Note: This section is optional, and is up to you to complete.

Society Request: Knight.
He was played here a couple of terms ago- I think when he was IC a fourth year? Anyway, he was a Knight when he was here before. Personality-wise he doesn't really fit with them (quiet, studious, etc) but his interests-- especially in alchemy-- line right up.

Personality: He is not one to suffer fools lightly. Peter is quick, and to keep up you need to be quicker: his mind makes sometimes unintelligible leaps, and in conversation you might start out talking about breakfast and somehow end up talking about men's fashions of the nineteenth century. Quick-tempered, his mood can turn on a dime and he'll snap at you just the same as laugh at your jokes. There is no medium setting for Peter Kingsland: he's either going hard and at a million miles an hour, or asleep. As such, he is impatient. Try not to get on his bad side.

Appearance: Pale and freckled, his fingers are long and bony and his nose is sharp. His face is soft, squarish, but severe; his thoughtful face is really more of a scowl, framed by a tangle of vibrant ginger hair which falls in lazy waves to brush his shoulders. Tall, his shoulders are thin but broad, and his posture is rather dismal; likely from the hours bent over desks, working on whatever experiment he has concocted that week.

→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to the Sample Roleplay below.

His mind buzzed, eyes glazing over the page, like a radio transmitter picking up some scrambled cross-country signal.

Wars were boring because there was always a winning side. One side was stronger than the other so one side won. Nothing scientific, nothing to be observed, just brute force and stupid arms races, and lots and lots of blood.

The Civil War was really no exception, except it was made stupider by the fact that it was just Americans fighting themselves and killing their own people. Professors all liked the phrase "brother against brother" but it felt shallower than that, like the south was just throwing some great tantrum against the north because they didn't like what the north was deciding and announced like an enormous six-year-old that they were running away from home and joining the circus.

Peter stared dully at the page, fountain pen inkless and tapping against his parchment, chin cutting into the surface of the table. There was really nothing more boring than wars.

"How about I write the essay and stuff? You can just put your name on it. Sound good?"

Lifting his head, he eyed his classmate with a dusty suspicion, the tip of his chin just barely reddened.

His eyes narrowed.

"How do I know I can trust you?" A sniff, and Peter leaned a little across the table, sneering. "You didn't bother to put Angela's name on your paper when you were partnered last. She told me."

Fingers pulled a bottle of ink toward him, screwing open his fountain pen with almost disgusted countenance.

"We're in this together. Like it or not."

→ ABOUT YOU.

Previous Characters (if applicable): Dacian Ellwood-Luxe, Camille Chaucer. and more!

How did you find us?: a mermaid washed ashore and handed me a seashell. within was a transparent pearl, which when held up to the light revealed this website's name to me.

...just kidding it was google.

[Eirwen Medraut]

Mr Kingsland,

Congratulations, your application to Salem Institute has been accepted. Term has begun as of 01 May, 2013.  Should you choose, you may also visit our Elsewhere board via the Floo Network to visit or purchase school supplies. We look forward to seeing you at the School.

Regards,
Eirwen Medraut