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Topics - B. Foster

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Archived Applications / B. R. Foster
« on: 08/04/2014 at 21:07 »

Application for Hogwarts School

Name: B(eowulf) R(osencrantz) Foster, goes by Bee or Foster.

Birthday:January 6th

Hometown: Glasgow, Scotland


Magical Strength (pick one):

Magical Weakness (pick one):
Conjuring & Summoning

Year (pick two):3rd or 4th


1974 New Years Eve

He did not want them to go.

They left every year to a party hosted by the English Department Head. Each time his father complaining about the event days before it happened, about how unnecessarily extravagant it was, but the English Professor would still hum giddily "Moonlight Serenade" when he got himself dressed in his best suit and bowtie for the evening.

Beowulf’s eyes watched had watched his parents countless times before getting ready for this event. The only difference every year was he seemed to be a bit taller as he stood by the doorway with a forlorn pout on his lips. Forced into his pajamas, and told he really was not missing anything too exciting he doubted those words each time they were told to him. This year though, there was an anxiousness in his gaze. Wide eyes turning to look at his mother who examined which earrings she would be wearing to the event. The ones his father got her that Christmas, or the old pair that she got from her grandmother when she was a little girl.

It was always her grandmother’s earrings she wore to church or special occasions. This night was no different.

Except… it was.

"Da'... You don't have to go.” He licked his lips hoping that his voice sounded the right amount of childlike flippancy, “You always say you don't like his blathering on and on about what he'll be changing next year."

His mother had chosen the earrings it seemed. Placing the simple pear studs in her ears and feigning examination of them in the mirror, as she gave a meaningful look at his father. Foster caught it. His pout becoming more pronounced, as he could see this was going to be excused as his yearly attempt to get to go along.

"I thought we had this conversation last year," His father said absently as he continued to fiddle with the bow tie. Never learning how to tie one correctly, and always waiting for his wife to swoop in and save him. “You can go when you’re old enough.”

“I am old enough!” He started and then he gave a hiss as this argument was only meant to distract him from his actual reason. Jealousy was not why he did not want them to go, or to leave him behind.

He just had a feeling.

A terrible dreadful feeling that ate at the pit of his stomach. It told him something bad was going to happen, even though he could not explain what it could be.

Licking dry lips he tried again, “There is a test… after holidays. I don’t think I’m ready for it.” He did not hide his anxiousness then. Looking nervously from his mother and his father, starting to pretend he was going to hyperventilate. Education was very important to his family, his parents both being educators. Of course, they would also be worried about his grades and future.


His father was quick to debunk this excuse. Staring at him pointedly before turning to look at his wife, who had stood up to start working on the bowtie he had given up on.

“No! Not nonsense! If I don’t pass then… then what if they keep me behind? What if it means that I’m an idiot? I don’t want to be an idiot!”

Temper tantrums generally did not get him anywhere, but he had to make it look like he was actually worried about this. “If I’m an idiot I might as well lose my sight! Or become a vagrant. Yes, that is exactly what’ll happen. I’ll go blind, become a vagrant and I’ll live under the bridge like a troll!”

This got a sigh from his father who moved over to his son. Kneeling down so that he was looking at his son, “You are one of the brightest boys I know. Even if you fail this test, it does not mean you will become a vagrant.” He smiled at him, “Even if you do, me and your mother will always love you.”

He had calmed down when his father looked at him, but he was disheartened when his father had decided that this was not considered a reason to panic. “I well…” He was going on to desperate measures, “There’s a monster under the bed.”

They had both looked at him like he had said Santa Clause was coming down the chimney.

Frustration was building. They did not believe him, and he could not understand why. They were his parents, he loved them, and they loved him so they should believe him. Tears began to form in his eyes as he began to sob and hiccup, his mother the first at his side. Wrapping her arms around him, and allowing him to smear tears and mucus on her dress.

Soothing words, and cooing were given as she picked him up and headed towards his room. As much as he begged and pleaded, she had left.

His father saying they would talk about this in the morning but…

He woke up cold.

The chill of the night air making him shiver and open up his eyes to look at the field that was open up before him. The stars shining brighter than he had ever known before. Panic of course should have been his first reaction. It would be anyones reaction when they woke up in a place they did not know, but he settled for a sense of inevitability.

Grief overtaking him as he sobbed and stood up in an attempt to find shelter from the cold.

It did not take long before he was found by the men in robes. Taking him away from the barn he had found as his shelter, and explaining as best they could what he was.

He did not care.

Everything he had was gone now.

Fall 1938


He always seemed to be afraid now a days. Scared that he will not find shelter for the night, scared that what shelter he found would be taken, scared of being taken away again. Recently he was scared of being killed.

If it was just pain he was scared of he probably would not be running so fast, or desperately through the crowded streets. Bumping into people, tossing them into the fray in an attempt as shields and distractions. He did not care if strangers got angry at him. They would come out of the situation with a bump or a bruise, and that would be the end of their suffering.

If he was caught, Foster probably would be suffering for awhile.

That was something he wished to avoid as he spun another innocent bystander into the fray. Hand dipping into the bag his victim held, fingers brushing inside hoping to find something helpful. A smooth and cold texture graced his hands, eyes lighting up as he pulled it out and was again running down the streets of Diagon, with the group of unsavory folk on his heels.

It was not his fault.

At least, when he told his side of the story, it would not be his fault. Certainly he was guilty of picking a few pockets, but it was not his fault that he had heard about what they planned on doing. It was not his fault that he had accidentally got his hands on the big guy’s wand (it just kind of jumped into his hands), and it definitely was not his fault that he shot sparks into the equine looking man’s face (his fault for surprising him). Then again, perhaps dropping the wand and apologizing should have been his first feat instead of running.

He probably should have gone to Hogwarts when they tried to send him the first time.

If he had gone he would not be in this position, or at least he would have been able to do more with a wand then shoot colorful sparks.

Still, he just had to keep on running until the trace took over. The authorities would grab him and he would be back at the orphanage, which was easy to leave. It perhaps offered safety and protection for a night, but it was still a place he did not want to be. He had a family. He did not want to look for another.

Skidding as he turned into the next alley, he found himself panting out curses as he found himself at a dead end. The large thugs that had followed him, slowing and jogging until they had him cornered at the end. Panic was beginning to surge through him as he took steps backward, wondering just how long they would taunt him like this.

Until his back hit the wall or would they attack before then?
Wetting his lips he swallowed before giving a nervous smile and laugh, “Y’know… If we just talked about this, we’d all be a little less tired.”

He was scared. Anyone in this situation would be scared, and it was heard in the tremble of his voice. His grip tightening around the vial he had grabbed moments before on the street. Hoping that whatever it did, it at least would provide enough distraction for him.

The men did not seem to want to comment as they scowled at him. One of them beginning to charge him, and he decided he might as well make his play. Tossing the vial of potion onto the ground, he snapped forward at the crack of glass against the concrete. The liquid pooling and then spindling out as it grew slick and solid, freezing in the small area it had splattered. The man that had charged him, slid forward and lost his balance. Foster, continuing to run, and sliding on the ice, falling back on his rear and nearly avoiding being caught by his shirt.

He scrambled as the ice ended, crawling on his hands and feet like a dog before picking himself up and running again.

It was not long after that, he had ran into some Aurors.

He attempted to act apologetic when he had been brought back to the Orphan’s wing.

Attempted, but they all knew he was lying.

Spring 1941


He sat there silent, looking down at his shoelaces. The wand he had claimed as his own for the past two years was clenched tightly in his hands on his lap. Blackthorn, and crystallized boomslang venom core. Not a cheaply made piece, but no one had come to claim it. Perhaps they had been scared when they saw the aurors. Decided that it did not matter if they lost their wand, it could be replaced. He could not understand that.

Supposedly, wands were important. A piece of wizard’s personality revealed. He wonder what his said, if it said anything about him considering he now claimed it as his.


Bad luck and a short future.

Green eyes looked up this time, narrowing at the caretaker at the home. The woman pursing her lips in return as she eyed the wand in his hand. Most likely she was thinking of taking away the wand, the thought simply making him tighten his hold and bring it in closer to himself.

He barely used it, but it was his now.

He would keep it as his.

“Beowulf, answer me. Why did the other boys attack you?”

He refused to answer. Not to that name, not when it came out of her lips or anyone else’s lips. The question was rhetorical anyways. She already knew the answer, she just wanted him to admit it. The reason was out there on her desk. A cache of goods that he had acquired through his inability to keep his hands to himself. Dipping into pockets, and taking small things that would not be missed. Knuts that were misplaced from coin purses, buttons, perhaps a small ring, or a pocket watch. Nothing too big, and nothing too important.

That was his rule.

He had done it before, always when he planned on making a run for it. Once he had enough, to pawn off and survive for awhile then he would make his escape like he had times before. Of course, the home (as they called it), had a different layout than the hospital but it that did not make a difference.

He had wanted to leave as soon as he was brought in, and he made a plan to do such a thing.

The other boys had found his stash, and that was why the fight had started. He had attacked them, not the other way around. Of course, she wanted him to admit his fault. To admit that he was stealing, and that he had been wrong in starting the fight. She had been talking while he had been thinking. Talking about how they would be keeping a closer eye on him, and also enforcing a stricter curfew.

During the summer he would also be sent to camp. A way for him to not run away like he had the times before.

“Beowulf, do you understand?”

He had not moved. Had not seemed to acknowledge in the slightest he had heard what she said. His silence would annoy her, which was proven as she shrieked at him just a few moments later.

“Beowulf! Answer me!”

He might as well say something. Her voice grating in his ear was annoying, and he just wanted it to end. Taking a deep breath he spoke, his voice quiet and steady, “Do not call me that.”

“What was that?” There seemed to be some shock in the woman’s voice. Most likely on her face too, but Foster did not care.

Another deep breath and he lifted up his head to give her a steady gaze, “I said, Do not call me that.”

“That is your name, Beowulf.”

“But you have no right to call me it.”

Quidditch was not exactly a game that Foster saw to pay much attention to. The war basically stopped most of the teams from playing, although there was talk of a woman’s league starting at some point. Give people a reason to fill stands again, and think about something else. Not like he could think of anything else, as everyone seemed rather hyped up about the current victory, and defeat.

The noise just made him roll his eyes. Shoveling the last of his food into his mouth he swallowed and grunted out his request to leave the table. Any reply he would have gotten was ignored as he headed towards the double doors, most likely going to the dorm or one of the towars. He found the roofs were the quietest places to be at Hogwarts, and like always he just wanted to be alone. He was willing to forget about the celebrating students, and quidditch until he suddenly got attacked.

"WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"

He recognized the boy. The second year that supposedly lost the game for his team. A face that he had held no memory or emotion other than neutral observance. That is until this moment.

Eyes narrowed at James. His body visibly tensing as he clenched his fists before taking a deep breath through his nose, the image resembling a bull ready to charge. “I’ve seen loser’s before. I’ve never seen one as pathetic as you though.”The plate in his hand began to shake as he was trying to contain his anger.

It was one game, and it was not the end of the world. The thought that something so inconsequential and immature could make someone so upset made him angry at the prospect of even talking to this person. Foster had stopped crying over things like that after he was found to be an orphan. He had reasons to cry, still had reasons to cry. His family was gone, home was gone, and all without an explanation or reason.

“Run, before I give you a reason to cry.”


Previous Characters (if applicable):Kristoffer Carlisle, et al.

How did you find us?:Recommendation.

Archived Applications / Thomas Sincade [Columnist - Style]
« on: 06/10/2012 at 20:43 »

Character Name: Thomas Sincade
Gender: Male
Age: 19

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, 1967-1974 (Ravenclaw)

The Warbling Rogue, Diagon Alley, London

Applying to be: (select one, see here)

Department of choice: (select one)

Why did you request that particular department?
It was hiring.

Requested Magic Levels: (see here on how to do this)
  • Charms: 11
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Divination: 6
  • Summoning: 7

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Aloysius Carlisle II, Jonas Tuck, Frank Viggano Jr., Caleb Lance, Jane Montclaire

Biography: (300 words minimum.)
My name is Thomas Sincade.

I learned at a very early age that information was an important thing to have when it came to my mother's family. The Carlisles, are an old pure-blood family, with money and influence. There is very little scandal in the family, and they work rather hard to keep it that way. Either paying off those they need to, or silencing others, the Carlisle name is clean when it comes to those looking at their family history. Their reputation is everything, and my mother had used that to her advantage to be accepted back into the family after her marriage with a muggle-born wizard, was torn apart.

It had been a whirlwind romance, which a young Melissa Carlisle had begun out of rebellion and had turned into love. Love became marriage, and soon after I was born.  I was told it was bliss for the first few years as a new family. That was until the head of the family, my grandfather, Michael Carlisle decided that Melissa needed to come back to the family. It took a year or so, until my Grandfather had achieved his goal. Kenneth Sincade disappeared one night, leaving his wife, and his five year old son. I was supposed to go with my father, but it seemed that he did not want to take me, neither was my mother going to allow it.

In the end, I was accepted in the Carlisle family.

I was not all that active as a child, compared to my cousins. I was thoughtful, and I rarely spoke unless I wanted to. My relationship with my cousins was tenuous at best. I was lucky if I was ignored. My cousin Arthur did not like me in the least, and whenever he had a temper tantrum I was his favorite victim. I had to resort to violence to get him to stop. Broke his nose when I was in my fourth year, and he was in his fifth. He only resorts to contemptuous looks now, but I know if I push him correctly I can get him to get into a fight. Have not decided if I wanted that yet.

 I knew from an early age, that me being accepted into the family meant that I would have to make some sacrifices. I was informed of these in my first year of Hogwarts. One, was that I would have to change my name upon Graduation, and another was that I would have to marry who the head of the family chose for me.

I was fine with that.

Girls were of no interest to me then, and as I grew older and saw older students in relationships I found myself rather disliking myself getting emotionally attatched to someone. That was of course until Erynn stepped into the picture. She was my first kiss, is my first love, and I want to say she is my only love.

Jim hated Mondays.

He had always hated Mondays, really; that cursed beginning of the week, that day where it still should have been the weekend and yet there was work to be done - deadlines to be made - stupid lunch meetings to attend.  Even when ‘lunch meetings’ had been just plain lunch; ‘work’, homework, he had despised the start of classes and - all at once - the next five un-fun days before the weekend started up again.

Now, cloudy October morning, Jim hated Mondays more than ever.

His desk filled with the wide-open arms of the Sunday Prophet, he scribbled furiously over sections with a bright red ink.

All the new graduates with their impeccable NEWTs and superb teacher recommendations had come in last month, only too eager to start preaching the truth - their truth - to the whole of Wizarding Britain.

Jim’s train of thought was bitter, but he smiled wanly, for he had once been one of those recruits themselves.

Most of their dreams should have been been smashed in the first week, from the first time people like Jim had told them to fetch the group some coffee. Day after day, hour after hour, that was what they now said to their youngest colleagues, as their older counterparts had told him years before: At some point everyone has to fetch us our drinks.

Almost every year, the new recruits sat down and took it - and fetched the group some coffee - and maybe it was just the age or the nostalgia, but Jim was fairly certain that they deserved it all.

They did not deserve to publish half-coherent drafts with way too many adverbs and completely unmodulated opinions.

Jim threw down the quill in disgust, ink splattering onto his button-down shirt as though it were blood.

Smartly, he piled up bits of paper, and then, still angry, face marred by an unhappy Monday, deposited the pile in front of his door before reaching out to grab at the first person he saw.

What happened to this paper?”

Roleplay Response:
Thomas blinked up at the face of Jim. Narrowing his eyes at him for a moment before brushing off the offending hand.

When Thomas had thought about his future, he thought that he would be at the Ministry of Magic, working in the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in the beast division. He had taken an internship with a Dragon Research group in Romania in preparation for that, but he was now at the Daily Prophet. He had never participated in the school newspaper, neither did he have interest in writing or reading insipid gossip columns, or reviews. If he liked something, or wanted to go there he would do his own research instead of following the advice of someone else. This was a job though.

It was a job that paid out money, and he needed that if he was going to survive on his own without the support of the Carlisles.

Taking a deep breath he glanced down at the pile of papers that Jim had tossed before looking back up at him, “It seems like someone marked it with red ink.” Was his calm response. His green eyes looking back at Jim and brow raising up slightly.

“Is there any other questions I can answer for you?”

It was a job, but it seemed that Thomas was not going to do this sort of thing with a smile on his face. Neither was he going to be amicable to people that suddenly grabbed him by his shirt front, and demanded an answer to an inane question.

Elsewhere Accepted / Jonas Phin Tuck
« on: 11/02/2012 at 01:52 »

Character Name: Jonas Phineas Tuck
Gender: Male
Age: 27 (April 5th, 1945)

Salem Institute, 1956-1960
Hogwarts 1960-1963, Ravenclaw

London, small flat close to work.


Do you plan to have a connection to a particular existing place (example St Mungo's, the Ministry, Shrieking Shack) or to take over an existing shop in need of new management?
Ministry of Magic, The Department of Magical Cooperation

Requested Magic Levels:
  • Charms: 14
  • Transfiguration: 7
  • Divination: 1
  • Summoning: 10

Please list any other characters you already have at the site:
Thomas Sincade and Verity Faith Mays

Special Phrase:tibbles beard of power

Jonas Tuck was born and raised in Manchester, New York. His father was American Wizard, and his mother had been an Irish Witch. They had met during the war, and in the end they fell in love and had Jonas. He grew up in a happy home, and when his abilities began to manifest he was sent off to the Salem Institute. He did rather well there, made friends, ran around and even fell in love. He did not like divination. Did not like the idea of being able to tell the future and that was it, that and he insulted the teacher a few times. Needless to say he was not welcomed in that classroom. He wanted everything to be a surprise, and well an event definitely surprised him close to his fifteenth birthday.

Jonas's parents were killed in an automobile accident, before the end of his fourth year at the Institute.

For a month after his parent’s death he did not talk to anyone. Just simply held onto the locket that his mother had been wearing, fused shut and smashed, he did not have the heart to try and open it.

For a month after the funeral, everyone seemed to be fighting with what to do with him. The state wanted to take him away, his grandparents on his mother's side did not want anything to do with him, and his father had been an only child. It took a while, but finally his mother's youngest brother decided to take the boy in. He traveled a lot studying dragons and protecting their migratory routes, but considering no one else wanted to take him Jonas did not object. He liked his uncle. He was rather scatter brained, and his uncle's house in Wales was cluttered with random objects and curios from his travels, but his Uncle was a patient man.

He let Jonas adjust, and create his own space and even suggested he take a year off from school to travel with him, if he wanted.

Although that was exciting, Jonas had declined. He needed to continue his education, and considering it was easier to travel to Hogwarts instead of Salem he was transferred in to start his fifth year. He met some people, made some friends, some rivals, and he even got to play quidditch a few times. He liked the game, but he knew he could never go pro with it.

After graduating from Hogwarts, he took some time to go back to the United States, working at the Ministry there, along with working at a muggle library part time. He had gone back in an attempt to find the girl he loved, but he had not much luck trying to find her.

Last year, he had been offered a position within the British Ministry in the Department of Magical Cooperation, and he decided to take it. His uncle helping him again with setting up a place to live in London, and then that is where he is today.

Jonas has a few vices. He smokes, he curses, and although he is rather professional in the work place his home is rather cluttered and not nearly as neat as he would like. He eats out a lot, not doing well with cooking except maybe toast and spaghetti. He enjoys muggle things, and has a collection books and records, and also a work in progress of his family tree is hanging from a wall in his room. He had started it a year after his parent's death trying to connect himself back to his father, considering he did not know much about that side of his family. He has something of a temper, not scared of speaking his mind or emoting what he is feeling. This makes him seem rather careless at times, but he had adopted a philosophy that seems to work well with him: If it happens it happens, and it won't happen unless you do something.

Reply as your character to the following:

It was impossible for Dianne to stay out of trouble. It wasn't that she was looking for trouble, it's just that trouble always managed to find her. Today she wished she could find something equally familiar but more comforting.

The five-year old girl hugged her puffskein closer to her and brushed her face in its soft fur for comfort. She had named him herself and he was always her special pet. No she was certain she had never gone down this side street before. Her anxiety increased every second as darkness fell as she walked down the road. A loud noise came to her left and she buried her face in her pet's fur completely. The scared girl bolted the opposite way slamming the both of them into the wall of the nearest building. Tottering back a few steps she found a door a few feet to her right and ran to open it. What light there was inside spilled out into the darkness and she spilled into the room.

Once in, she was caught between the impulse to curl her cloak up more tightly around her and loosen her grip on it. She wasn't alone anymore but she was now among strangers instead, which was nearly as terrifying. Her puffskein had recovered from the shock of the wall and now was purring contentedly as the girl hugged it, causing a mildly calming effect on the girl. Gathering her courage, she marched up to the nearest person, pulled on the nearest clothing hem and blurted out in a loud voice:

"I'm lost and it's dark and I wanted to know where I am but I'm not scared but I am worried that Sambundeakin is scared because he's little and needs something to eat and wants to go home."

She paused to draw a breath in her nearly never-ending sentence, "He misses my and his mommy."

To explain the scared girl held up the custard-colored puffskein. Sambundeakin the puffskein, however simply purred as if nothing on earth was wrong in the world.

Roleplay Response:

Jonas blinked down at the little girl, holding the puffskein in her hands. Then he looked at the lit fire at the end of his wand, and also moved the unlit cigarette in his mouth from one side to the other. It had been a long day at the office. Too much paperwork, and everyone trying to put their job on him. It was enough for some to go crazy, and Jonas had been quite close to doing that. The only saving grace he had was that he had people that owed him favors, along with the ability to intimidate others into doing his work. Not that he would admit it was intimidation.

It was somewhat hard not to be intimidating really. When Jonas stood at his full height and didn’t slouch, he was taller than average, he also had the ability to give a glare that made people turn around before ever speaking to him.

"He misses my and his mommy.”

Giving another glance at the young girl, he gave a sigh as he distinguished the flame and tucked his wand back into his coat pocket. Taking the cigarette from his mouth he crouched down to get closer to the little girl’s eye level, looking her over. “Can you tell me where you last saw your mother?” Best to start there than to start wandering off in a random direction.

The little girl’s mother was probably looking for her right now, and he rather not be reported for kidnapping.

Archived Applications / Thomas Sincade
« on: 15/12/2011 at 07:29 »

Name: Thomas Sincade

House Request:

Year: 6th (first choice) or 5th (second choice)

Bloodline: Pureblood

Magical Strength (pick one):Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Divination

Thomas learned at a very early age that information was an important thing to have when it came to his mother's family. The Carlisles, are an old pure-blood family, with money and influence. There is very little scandal in the family, and they work rather hard to keep it that way. Either paying off those they need to, or silencing others, the Carlisle name is clean when it comes to those looking at their family history. Their reputation is everything, and his mother had used that to her advantage to be accepted back into the family after her failed marriage to a muggle-born wizard.

It had been a whirlwind romance, which a young Melissa Carlisle had begun out of rebellion and had turned into love. Love became marriage, and soon after Thomas was born, with most of his features resembling his father's, but having the green eyes of his mother. The marriage did not last, because of the Carlisle's. They had done all they could to sabotage the relationship, and in the end Kenneth Sincade left his wife and child. Melissa, looking towards the future of her then five year old son, had done what she could to keep herself in the family. If not to have the name, then to have the money needed to support her child. It took a little social blackmail, but in the end her son had not grown up in poverty.

Not overly liked in the Carlisle household, he still made it to reunions and family events. Seen as the black sheep, he really did not share that much in common with the family except he knew he had to be cautious around them. His cousins at first used him as a guinea pig for practical jokes. He learned quickly where to go to avoid them. Once he got too big to hide, he found other ways of keeping them away. When he was eleven, he got information to keep his cousin's away from him. Threatening to expose rather embarrassing information, if they did not "act nice" to him. His oldest cousin at sixteen, did not stop bullying him until he dislocated his cousin’s shoulder, and also gave him a broken nose, when Thomas was only 14. The Carlisle's now simply tolerate Thomas, and he is fine with this.

Truth be told, he rather not be associated with the Carlisle’s. It is not his name, and they are not his family. Although they have influence, Thomas wishes to make his own imprint on the world, and he would rather it be his accomplishment.

Personality:Thomas is an introvert, in the sense that he likes solitude. He does his thinking better in an enclosed environment, and he generally avoids crowds whenever he wants to relax. He is not shy though, he will speak his mind when it comes down to it, and he will defend himself if someone attacks him (physically or verbally). If Thomas likes you, he will not tell you. If he dislikes you, then he will definitely make it known at least once verbally. He does not seem all that studious, usually sitting in the middle of the classrooms, and his gaze drifting off distracted from his textbook during lectures. Still he is smart, and gets surprisingly good marks. He acts polite even to people he does not like, and will smile even if someone is yelling at him angrily. Prides himself at being able to open almost any lock, along with being able to get information and use information to get what he needs, or accomplish a goal. He does not like rudeness, and he has a habit of biting the inside of his mouth whenever he's thinking. He can be seen as apathetic at times, along with manipulative, having started fights on purpose at times for his own reasons.

Appearance:Black hair and green eyes, he wears a pair of black glasses for reading, along with looking at things at a certain distance. He is 178 cm tall (5'10"), and his fashion sense usually falls in line with dressy casual. Although he acts rather laid back, he thinks his appearance is rather important when it comes to impressions. He does not like to wear anything too flashy, unless there is a reason why he wants to be noticed.

Option I:

Blimey, the Great Hall was packed. It seemed like everywhere a guy looked there was some clown waving around a House banner or yelling about the game.

'Can you believe it?' 'No way!' 'This must be the biggest upset in Hogwarts Quidditch history...'

Stupid Quidditch.

James flopped into an empty seat at the end of the table, shoved an empty plate out of the way, and let his head sink onto his crossed arms, squishing his freckled nose down flat against the tabletop. He wasn't sure why he'd even bothered to come here, since he definitely wasn't hungry. He'd probably never eat again, in fact. He didn'tdeserve to eat. He hadn't stopped in the locker room to change out of his muddy, sweaty uniform after the game either, because he was pretty sure he probably didn't deserve to be clean too; and anyway he couldn't stand to see the looks on his team mates' faces after he blew their chance at winning one of the biggest games they had ever played.

Just one lousy shot. That's all it would have taken. If he could have just got that one stupid foul shot to go through that one stupid hoop, they could have won and he wouldn't have been the biggest blockhead in the entire school.

As if to prove the point, half the people at the next table suddenly broke into a loud victory chant. James pressed his face further into his arms to hide the bright red blotches he could feel creeping up his cheeks. That was it. He was just going to have to run away and move to Nova Scotia. He'd just cost the three-year-in-a-row Champions the Quidditch Cup! How do you ever live that one down for crying out loud? He was only a second year and he was going to spend the rest of his life as 'that dumb cry-baby kid who dropped the Quaffle!'

It felt like every set of eyes in the room was boring into him, and James couldn't stand it anymore. He jerked himself back up from the table and stomped right back out of the Hall the same way he had come in. As he stormed into the quieter hallway outside, he could hear footsteps somewhere behind him. James rounded on the sound and began to shout, his brown eyes shining with tears. "WHAT! Haven't you ever seen a loser before? Why don't you just take a picture!"

Sample Roleplay Response:
When it came to being yelled at angrily in the hallways, it was nothing new to Thomas. Usually the person yelling at him was behind him though, and he had done something to deserve being yelled at.  His usual reactions to such occasions were to give a smile, an infuriating quip, and get ready to either run or fight, all in that order. This was different though, considering he could not think of a reason why he was being yelled at. He had only gone to the great hall, planning to get something to eat but decided against it once he saw the crowd along with hearing a few victory cheers. House spirit was all well and good, but it a boisterous crowd was not something he wanted to deal with today. This was why he had been heading back to the common room, which for some reason had led him to this moment of being yelled at by someone he did not know. Still, after the initial shock, Thomas felt himself going with the usual procedure of how to deal with this situation.

"Well a good day to you too," Thomas gave a tip of head, a smirk on his face replacing his surprise from earlier. On anyone else’s face, there would have been confusion and perhaps fear at suddenly being yelled at by a stranger in the hallway. Thomas though, simply was amused. Tilting his head, he gave the second year a grin as he rocked back on his heels. His book held lightly in his hand as he began to study the rather upset looking boy. With the celebration in the Great Hall, the dirty Quidditch uniform, and the tell-tale sign of tears ready to fall in James’s face, it was enough for anyone to put two and two together.  The kid had been on the losing team, and felt at fault for the defeat that had been handed to them.

Thomas could understand that feeling. There had been times where he had been angry at himself for making a mistake, or for allowing himself to be made a fool. It was no excuse though, at least not to Thomas. He was not going to feel pity for this kid. Neither was he going to allow James to be angry at him, unless Thomas had actually done something to deserve James’s ire. Pushing up his glasses back onto the ridge of his nose he gave a wave of his hand, "Now... If you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, I believe an apology is in order.  It is rather rude to yell at a stranger, when all they did was just walk down the same hallways as you."

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