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Archived Applications / Tallulah Sloe
« on: 23/08/2017 at 02:30 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name:  Tallulah Belle Sloe

Birthday: 02 September 1934

Hometown: San Francisco, California, United States of America

Bloodline:  Halfblood

Magical Strength (pick one):  Charms

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfiguration

Year: Fifth (held back a year*); Sixth

On the corner of the bed of one Tallulah Belle Sloe is a self portrait--clearly ripped out of some bound journal of Muggle make, almost as clearly forgotten where it was discarded.  While I am not an expert in Art or in human psychology (or even, as it were, in Tallulah Belle Sloe), I will do my best to interpret it for you.

The first element of note is a change in medium.  Where before the girl in question favored crayon to the exclusion of all else, she seems now to have switched to oil pastels.  Present on this particular piece are also a few mixed medium items as well--rippings from what looks like newsprint (both magical and muggle), a few bird feathers, something that looks dangerously like it might have originated in a library book--affixed with what is either simple muggle glue or some sort of poorly executed sticking charm (I say this not to be rude but because it doesn’t seem to have worked quite as intended; corners of most of the items so affixed are peeling up or elsewise hanging on by a bare thread, though perhaps this is an artistic choice). While it could simply represent a natural evolution in Tallulah’s artistic process, from what I know of the girl, I am almost certain it’s something else, something more.  What, exactly, I am not quite sure.

Next, I suppose, we should discuss the general style, as there has been quite a bit of development in this area as well.  Gone are the ball-headed, unevenly-limbed, garish sort of caricatures from her younger youth.  In their place, she seems to have adopted a more...see, here is where my lack of art knowledge betrays me.  Her style is decidedly more life-like than before, but more--perhaps the word is stylized.  What was once round and squat has now elongated, gone waif-like and exaggeratedly thin. It appears almost as if the subject of her work is pulled between two fixed points, stretching out the length of her neck, the lines of her arms and legs, giving the impression that the subject is merely ghosting across the page, a sort of smoke-like hint at the person herself.  The overall impression, while not unpleasant per se, is still somewhat unsettling, though it is undeniably much more aesthetically pleasing than some of her earlier work (again, I say this not to be rude but from a place of honesty).

Where the meat of the discussion lies, however, is in the subject herself.  As mentioned above, there’s that sort of feeling of being an apparition, of being not-quite-physical, but it lacks any sort of connotation of the ephemeral.  What is smacks most of to me is a sort of down-trodden medieval art.  You know the ones of which I speak, I am sure; the strange saints, all forehead and gilded halo, with fingers as long as death and politely distant glances.  The portrait of the artist in question has that sort of feeling, but with the (already limited) life of it turned down.  Against a nondescript and lazily swirling dark background (featuring bloodied, deep maroons and soiled goldenrod, and including the mixed media items previously discussed), the subject is stark.  Pale.  Eyes sunken, angry black circles beneath.  She stares just off the page but in no particular direction.  The line of her lips is neither soft nor hard, but seems an indifferent sort of slack.  The tip of the nose is rounded and stands out as much redder than the rest of her.  The whole of the head is tilted sideways slightly, like the subject couldn’t quite muster up the will to hold her head straight.  Behind a mess of brown, tangled hair, there is what could only be described as a sort of halo--or at least a roundish sort of lightening of the dark shades of the background, a corona in pastel shades of icor and bile.  Limbs ghost out where sleeves would be but are not, out of the background itself as there is no body for them to grow from, and are as pale as the rest.  I feel like it speaks for itself, though should you need a prod in the correct direction, I venture to say it’s not a terribly hopeful one.

Art is, naturally, subjective, but I feel the portrait provides an accurate reflection of Tallulah Sloe not only as a growing artist, but also as a girl in crisis.  It is perhaps inappropriate to go into biographical details, but the general malaise seeps off the very page like thick waves of some gloomy incense; again, I feel that it speaks for itself, and voluminously so, of the sort of tribulation she has faced since last we took a moment to observe her artwork.


House Request: Gryffindor

In a word: different.

In another: colorless, perhaps.

Look, here’s the thing:  she’s in there somewhere, I swear she is--that frenetic beam of too-hot sunshine and never-staying-still.  Somewhere, deep perhaps in the parts of herself she can’t see right now, she’s there, talking as if in all capital letters through still-grinning lips, asking for more than too much, only to run off, laughing wild and free, a half second later.  She’s there.  I promise.  Somewhere.

But the thing is, she’s had a rough go of it.  Some of it is self-inflicted, some situational, some wholly out of her control but not out of her capacity to feel guilty for it anyway, and it’s gone on mostly in her head.  It started off little and light, a subtle sort of retreat inward, bore out of nothing more than needing a quiet breath (for once) alone.  Somewhere along the last few years, it became more permanent, her isolation.  Before, it could have been said that she lived in a world of her own creation.  The same could still be said of her, I suppose, but to a completely, much less enjoyable extreme.

Puberty did very little to Tallulah Sloe outside of soften her slightly at the edges.  She’s still fairly short and wears her hair with bangs.  What is more notably about her appearance nowadays is that she seems to care less about it than even before. Her uniform skirts are usually rumpled, her stockings typically sporting at least one noticeable run, and it’s a small victory when she remembers to brush her hair.

When she couldn’t go high, she went low.

Here, that meant that instead of going to the South Tower (it was her usual haunt, certain tucked-away rooms she had claimed for herself or for Euphemia Vane), which had experienced a recent and unfortunate rash of excited young couple seeking out a tucked-away place to, as they said, snog, she went to the dungeons to get away this particular night.

Tallulah Sloe had once liked the dungeons, though she couldn’t quite remember why anymore.  Presently, she disliked them, for this evening they stank with a sort of salty cabbage smell, but even that was much preferable to Gryffindor Tower.  She loved her housemates, truly, but they were terribly loud and talkative, and tonight, the Sloe girl simply wasn’t in the mood to be pestered.  The new batch of first year students were particularly boisterous.  Why, even she had never been so loud.

(She had, of course; she had been so many more times worse, but it felt like a distant memory then.)

In a word, Tallulah was skulking, moving about the labyrinthine dungeon corridors in no particular way but stealthily, peeking into rooms here or there when the mood or curiosity struck her.  Again, she much preferred the altitude of the South Tower; there she was usually much more likely to find something of interest--a family of rats, an old piano, strange mirrors hidden beneath sheets (though she shuddered to think what she might find lurking there now).  So far, she hadn’t found anything terribly exciting in the forgotten rooms of the dungeon outside of a collection of once-dried, now-mildewed toadstools.  She was just about to push open the door of a room from which the promising sound of ghostly chains rattling issued when--


--a whisper reached her ear and--

”Hello! Is Emma Birch here?"

--Tallulah Sloe was hit with the strangest sensation of deja vu. One eyebrow arching dangerously high towards her hairline, the girl rounded the nearest corner.


Was that her name?  Yes, she thought it must be.  And she was a first year student, if Tallulah recalled correctly--one of the very same over-loud Gryffindors she had sent herself to the dungeon to avoid.  A strange feeling tugged at her stomach, though; it felt like she had been here before, with this very girl in this very dungeon.

So it went, she supposed, with school legends like the ghost of Emma Birch.

“Did the older girls trick you into coming down here?” Taking a few steps closer, Tallulah’s muted sing-song voice echoed through the hall.  When she had been a first year, even she had almost fallen for the same story she had overheard some seventh year girls telling loudly in the Common Room earlier.  As the head of the small blonde girl loomed closer in the darkness, she reached out was she hoped was a reassuring (if a little clammy) hand.

“They’re a bunch of loons, you know.”


Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): Over 9000.

How did you find us?:  What matters, I think, is that I always find my way back.

*I would like for Tallulah to have been held back last year, her fifth, and to repeat the same.  In-Character reasons for this include a steady decrease in school participation that corresponded to the steady increase in her care-taking for her mother each summer, a general isolation from the student population, and dropping her extracurriculars to replace them with frequent detentions.  I imagine, too, that she missed her O.W.L.s at the end of last year due to a family emergency, though this, perhaps, was merciful; she likely hadn’t studied a wink.

Out of character and certainly selfishly, I just really want to play her fifth year.  It’s when all the good things start, the angst and the woe and so on, and I want to do Edgelulah justice.

Archived Applications / Tallulah Belle Sloe
« on: 02/12/2015 at 01:36 »

Application for Hogwarts School


Name: Tallulah Belle Sloe

Birthday: 2 September 1934

Hometown: San Fran, Cali, USA

Bloodline: Halfsies.

Magical Strength (pick one): Charms.

Magical Weakness (pick one): Transfig.

Year (pick two): First, death (ok, Second).


[You can click here to read Miss Sloe's first self-published autobiography.
For those who would like to avoid Miss Sloe's attrocious handwriting and questionable art skills, a transcript of the book follows below.]


[a large picture of Tallulah's head is centered.  She has an over-large smile.]

a book about
tallulah belle sloe
starring: tallulah Belle sloe


My name is Tallulah Belle Sloe...

[An arrow points down to a full-body illustration of Tallulah.  She wears the same over-large smile, a red shirt, a grey skirt, and red boots.  Various arrows point to various things about her.  They read: "a girl," "brown hair," "brown eyes," "smile," "eleven," "a skirt," and "red boots."]

...except for when it's not.  Here are some times when it isn't.
[Here, there's a page break, but it's really just two sort of squiggly lines.]
When I am at my mom's, my name is LULA.  Her name is LOLA.  Sometimes it gets confusing!!!!

[Here, there's a disembodied speech bubble coming from the left of the page.  It says "HEY, LOULA!!!"

Beneath, the heads of Lola and Lula are side by side.  Both look either distressed or confused.  Each has a speech bubble caption beneath.  They read:
LOLA: Was that an O?!
LULA: or a U?!]


Maybe it was silly to make our names so the same, but Mom is basically the boss, so what she says GOES!!!

[Here, there is a picture of Lola's head.  A crown floats above her head.  Her face looks stern, or angry; she grimaces, and her eyebrows are arched severely.  An arrow points to her, with the text beside reading "THE BOSS."]

She lives in San Fransisco, in California, in the U. S. of A.  I used to live there, also.

When I did, I had a baby sitter called Coral.

[Below, there's an illustration of a red-headed girl with blue eyes that stare at opposite sides of the page.  An arrow points to her, and the text beside reads "Coral, the big dummy."]

Coral called me LULABELLE.

Lulabelle is a name of a cow.  I am not a cow!

[Below is an illustration of what Tallulah might look like as a cow--which is apparently a usual cow, but with brown eyes and brown hair.  A speech bubble reads "MOO!"]

(I'd be a pretty good cow, though!)

ANYWAY, I moved away because I don't know I guess those were some dumb names or something.

[The names Lula and Lulabelle are written in red and gold, and then crossed out.  Surrounding them are red and gold "no's."]



When I am at my dad's house, my name is TULA.  His name is Neil.  His wife's name is not Lola.  I don't think they like the name Lola, so I changed the L to a T, because that's easy and sounds more different.

[Below are two pictures of Neil.  On the left, beneath the name LULA, is a very distressed looking Neil, with an arrow pointing up from below; the words read "SAD DAD."  On the right, beneath the name TULA, is a very happy looking Neil, with an arrow pointing up from below; the words read "happy dad!! Go Tula!"  Between them, in parenthesis, are the words "minus L, plus T.']

I have a half sister and a half brother.  Their names are Setlla and Finn.  They are younger than me by a lot.  I guess Dad had to think about it for a while after I came into the world!

[Be neath is a large Neil-Head, who looks terribly anxious.  His eyebrows are flat and his mouth looks tense.  All around him are question marks.]

When Stella and Finn were smaller, they had a lot of names for me like LULU and TULU.
But those are circus girl names.

[Below, a pole sprouts from the bottom left side of the page.  A tight rope stretches across to the other side.  To helpfully illustrate this, there is an arrow pointing to the tight rope, with the text reading "tight rope."  Falling off of the tight rope is an upside-down Tallulah in a pink leotard and purple tutu, holding a pink and purple umbrella which clearly did very little to help her keep her balance.  Her face wears an uncomfortable sort of expression.  An arrow points in her general direction, with text that reads "me falling off of a tight rope."]

I am not a circus girl!

Now they just call me TULA, too, but it sounds more like TWO-LAH because they and Dad and Not Mom all live in Cheltenham (and I do too now) and they have silly accents.  I don't. I guess I stick out like a sore thumb!

[Below is what can only be described as a really poorly drawn hand.  It is giving a thumbs up.  There is a bandage around the upreaching thumb.  Two arrows point to the thumb, one on the left and the other on the right, reading "bandage" and "sore thumb" respectively.  There is a speech bubble that reads "OUCH!!"  The nails are painted red.]

At least no one thinks my name is SORE THUMB!

When I am by myself, my name is TALLULAH.  OR sometimes I think of different names I could have.

Like Jezebel.

[Below, there is a full-body image of Tallulah in what should be a very fancy ball gown, in red and gold.  She wears a shameful amount of matching red lipstick.]

OR Marzipan.

[Below is a full-body picture of Tallulah in a short pink dress with streaks of red and purple on the skirt.  Maybe it's supposed to be a cupcake dress.  There is a cherry on top of her head where a bun might go.]

But mostly I am JUST TALLULAH, and the other names don't matter.  And that's ok.  And I'm ok.

[Below is another Tallulah-Head, the same as on the title page, but this one has a comically large smile on her face--it extends below her chin and off of her face.  Arrows below point up from the left and the right, reading "very happy!" and "BIG SMILE!" in turn.]

the END!!!


House Request: Gryffindor or Bust--she's a little Lion Legacy.  (Just kidding.  If not Gryffindor, then wherever Julian Vartan goes.  And if not there, I'm afraid this baby would be a Hufflepuff.)

Personality:  It would be terribly difficult to pin down the personality of any eleven-year-old child simply because its an age that is in such flux, but the task is even more difficult for a child like Tallulah Sloe.  If one word has to be chosen for the young lady, it would be extreme.  Due to her upbringing between two very different households and two very different parents, Miss Sloe is as likely to behave like her mother (bold, brazen, a little too quick to judge, prone to speaking without thinking) as she is her father (steadfast, understated, a little too quick to forgive, prone to thinking without speaking).  When she's interested in something--be it a subject in school, a hobby, a book, et cetera--she is one hundred percent invested in it, but if she's not particularly interested in any of the same, she couldn't force herself to care even if she was offered no homework for life to do so.  She's as caring as she is careless, as deep-thinking as she is thoughtless, as clueless as she is observant, and, on a scale of one to ten, she's either a zero or an eleven with (at least at present) very little grey area in between.

Her moral alignment is firmly, unshakably good (even if she'd tell you otherwise, probably)--but the lawful/neutral/chaotic element varies from day to day, depending on her mood, or the weather, or who is involved, or if there's cupcakes.  If she were an animal, she would be a bird--and she would certainly be eager to tell you what bird, exactly, it was, and where it came from, and its habitat, and its preferred diet, and it's nesting habits, and-and-and.  Her favorite place to be is usually exactly where she is, because she's not the sort of person to stick around somewhere she's not terribly fond of.  If she were a color, it would change daily, but she would be one hundred percent that color when she told you.  Her hobbies include baking cupcakes, studying Charms (she's currently particularly taken with Incendio), not studying Transfiguration, singing (loudly), making up stories in her head, and Quidditch.

Appearance:  Stop the presses--Tallulah Belle Sloe has recently experienced a growth spurt.  Once on the lowest end of the smaller size for her age, Tallulah is now taller than nearly all of the girls her age and many of the boys, as well--a feat that the young girl feels particularly proud of, though she had absolutely nothing to do with this outcome.

(Put in to feet and inches, she's an even five.  Put in to metric, she's "not sure that's even a real measurement."  Put in to context, this will be the last and only growth spurt Miss Sloe will ever experience; let's not crush her with this information yet.)

There is a downside of having recently experienced a growth spurt, however.  Once evenly proportioned, Tallulah is now--there's no kind word for it--awkward-looking.  Her arms are a little too thin and a little too long, the stand-out feature of her legs are her knobby knees, and more than anything she's mostly bone.  She has the distinct appearance of someone who has not yet quite grown in to her adult body and this, of course, is very much the case.  The girl seems not to notice, though, and carries herself with all the pride of someone who feels completely comfortable in her own skin--it's written all over her, from the constant upward tilt of her chin to the swishing, swirling (perhaps over-) confidence in her walk.

Tallulah has brown eyes which she uses to look at anything she can (and all at once, if she has anything to say about it), brown hair (thick, wavy) which is worn short and in varying stages of disarray depending on how late she slept in, and can nearly always be found wearing a part of red Wellingtons that her father got her for her tenth birthday.  The latter come in particular handy when she's outside, which is more often than not, for Tallulah is not a terribly careful girl and her clothes would always be quite a mess without this added protection.  While "fashion" might be pushing it when it comes to Tallulah's style of dress, her typical fashion consists of frocks or skirts with button-front shirts, usually layered with sweaters (plural) and socks (usually holey)--typical for a girl of her age, but worn with an obvious favoring of function over appearance.


Option One.
Hogwarts was hers for the taking, and the best part was that there was so much of Hogwarts to take.

There was really no rhyme or reason for choosing the dungeons.  Perhaps it was because the first several weeks she had spent at the school had been passed exploring Home Base (Gryffindor Tower) and it felt fitting after spending so much time in a place so high above the ground to spend some time below ground, or perhaps it was because there was something about the fabled subterranean corridors that intrigued her--she had heard some older girls talking about the place with a reverent sort of fear in their voices, and the tone of their words has peaked her interest.  In reality, the choice had been absolutely random, more whim than anything else.

Despite the truth that it was past curfew, the eleven-year-old was feeling quite confident; the damp walls of the dungeon were not half as ominous as the older girls had made them sound, and she had managed to put out the fire she had accidentally started (Incendio was a difficult spell to harness, in her defence) without being detected by any patrolling adults.

It was a wonder indeed that she hadn't been caught, Charms practice not withstanding; the girl seemed to be completely unperturbed by the idea.  As she walked through the corridors, she made no effort to cover the sound she made, the falls of her Wellington-covered feet thudding against the cold stone, and every now and then she would stop, raising one booted heel, pressing it to the dungeon wall, and giving it a few firm kicks.

She had heard, after all, that Hogwarts was full of hidden rooms, and, as it was hers for the taking, Tallulah Sloe was not one to miss out on any potential opportunity. 

It seemed she was not the only one who felt this way.  A voice, stuttered and scared-sounding, broke the Sloe girl from her wall-kicking revelry.  Though initially her brown eyes narrowed against the unexpected noise--certainly not because it had made the young American jump from the suddenness of it--the voice sounded familiar.  Without a thought--a pattern for Tallulah--she popped her head around the corner she had been about to turn.

It was...well.  Tallulah didn't remember her name--it was long, she remembered that, and she had enough trouble remembering how many L's where in her own long name as it was--but she did remember that she was in Gryffindor as well.

The fact that the other girl was also a first year didn't register in her memory; there were limits to Tallulah's observation skills.  She was, however, observant enough to recognize that she herself wasn’t Emma Birch, because Emma Birch was dead and had been for some time now—she had overheard some older girls feeding some other young Gryffindor some stupid story about—

It clicked.  Tallulah rolled her eyes grandiosely. 

“Oh please--“  The American girl stopped, paused, remembered that she didn’t remember the other girl’s name, changed her words mid-sentence.  “--You,” she finished weakly.  “Did those old loons--” (Tallulah emphasized the word, because it was an insult and a water fowl at the same time, which she thought was a fun perk.) “--trick you in to coming down here?”

It was (what she now saw was) a mistake she had almost considered making, after all, though she’d never admit to it out loud.


Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous):  None.  I have never heard of this Hogwarts School or of characters.  Where even am I?
(Read: LMS, ADM, AUF, BBB, so on and so on.)

How did you find us?: A ray of sunshine parted the clouds--it was, I swear, the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, so I followed it to the place where the horizon met the sky.  It was here.

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