THE BASICS
Name:
Apricot Virginia Moore (Born September 7th, 1960/61)
For obvious reasons, she despises her real name, and introduces herself as Apri. She will never, ever introduce herself as Apricot. Don’t expect a pleasant reaction if you call her Apricot.
Secret Phrase:
Secret Phrase Correct 2 ~Birch
Former Character's Name (if you had one):
Maurus A. Gale
CHARACTER DETAILS
House Request:
Apri should be a Gryffindor. She exudes a lot of courage in her daily life- She’s not afraid in the least to speak her mind, or stand up to just about anyone at any point. Also, I believe that forming an opinion of ones’ parents, like she has, is not one that any fainthearted person that is blindly obedient. She is the type of person that doesn’t take any crap from anyone, and isn’t afraid to tell someone if they’re being a complete idiot. As a result, I’ve always imagined her under the flag of the Lion.
Year:
1st, then 2nd.
Bloodline:
Halfblood – Apri’s father is a wizard, her mother is not.
Magical Strength:
Divination
Magical Weakness :
Transfiguration
Biography:
As the Late August sun streamed in through the window, Apri stood with her hands on her hips, a scowl on her face and a pencil run through the rough bun fashioned from her long, wavy brown hair. The look on her face told many stories. It told the story of a girl who was fed up, with a great many things. It told the story of a father and a mother that wanted nothing but the best for their children, but expressed it in the most utterly wrong ways. It told the story of an older sister that was worried for her brother, worried that he would take the bait and be exactly like their parents. It told the story of a girl who felt like she didn’t get enough love and appreciation.
And so Apricot Virginia Moore sat, staring at those exact words, her name. There were two trunks in front of her. One was smaller and a bit worn down, with a plain lacquer that was worn in spots. The other was a fair bit larger and more extravagant, beautifully varnished, with little ornate trimmings on the side. But, in large, calligraphic letters on the lid, was scrolled her full name in bright, orange-pink lettering, dotted with little white-pink flowers. The trunk, handmade and hand-painted, and her name, were gifts from her parents. Gifts she would always resent.
“Apricot, darling, I brought you a cup of tea. Aren’t these English traditions fun?” she heard her mother, Wilhelmina, say, as she set the cup and saucer inside her door. Her mother was wearing a gaudy green head scarf and some terrible-looking hemp clothing that she had woven herself. Apri rolled her big blue eyes and didn’t bother looking. The tea would taste terrible, as it always did, and Apri wouldn’t bother drinking it. Her mother would smell of incense and hemp, and Apri wouldn’t even bother acknowledging her unless she had to. The woman was crazy, as was her father.
Ever since they moved from Eugene, Oregon, in the United States last spring, her parents had been caught up in experiencing every English tradition. They even decided to have and “English Christmas” in July, so they could “practice.” They drank tea like it was manna from heaven, and even practiced speaking with “accents.” This was, of course, in addition to her father’s continual rambling about the environment, and peace, and love, and war. They moved to England so they could “share their message” with a “different crowd.” Her father, Thaddeus Moore, was a journalist, and wrote articles for different publications on the environment and things like that. When he wasn’t writing, he was preaching on the street corner like a mad man, telling everyone that they would all surely die if they didn’t stop fighting and littering and polluting. It made Apri sick. The world was fine. Leave the nice people alone.
“Just stop thinking before you go insane, Apri,” she told herself softly, rushed, under her breath, as she rummaged quickly, purposefully, around her bare-walled room, absentmindedly tucking a runaway strand of wavy hair behind her ear. Her icy blue eyes scanned the room one last time, making sure she had everything. She went over the letter, checking quickly over everything. Finally, she confronted the trunks again. Thinking for a moment, she put everything in the small trunk, being careful to use every inch of space she could. It didn’t fit. Apri removed some nonessentials, and tried again. Not to be outdone by a box of wood, she removed yet a few more things, saying she could buy another when she got to Hogwarts, but still it was not close to fitting. Disdainfully, she looked over at the sturdy, well-crafted, much larger trunk next to her. Of course, it had all the space she would need, and more.
But it bore her name. Apricot.
Hissing to herself and in a slight flurry of rage, she relocated everything to the larger trunk. She would simply learn, quickly, how to transfigure it to look different. That was the only other option.
ADDITIONAL INFORMATION
Personality:
Apri is a stubborn flurry of independence and opinions. In every case, she will not hesitate to tell someone what she thinks if they’re doing something wrong. She will not stand for stupidity, idiocy, or people calling by her first name. She refuses to be impressed upon by social or familial norms, be they good or bad. If something is wrong, she will speak up against it. She refuses to take the common opinion if it is the wrong opinion.
Appearance:
Apri is about 4’10”, and has shoulder-length, wavy brown hair. Her eyes are large and blue, and often have a scowl etched into them. She is rather small of frame, but not really below average for her age group. She dresses sensibly, and often has her hair pulled back in a bun or a ponytail. She does have a very feminine style, and always adds a bit of flair to her outfit.
SAMPLE ROLEPLAY
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't deserve 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!"
~~~~
Apri didn’t have time for Quidditch. She really didn’t care which House was better at flying around on brooms. It made no difference to her, as long as she didn’t have to be bugged about it. So when that James kid sat down next to her, she rolled her eyes and took another small, neat bite of the pork chop in front of her. The celebrations erupting around her and behind her were rather annoying, and Apricot felt herself get more and more impatient with them.
Obviously, things were weighing down on the guy’s conscience. The way he flopped down on the bench and shoved the plate out of the way suggested some degree of self-loathing within the boy. Apri rolled her eyes again, and set her fork down calmly as the boy lashed out at someone behind him. Considering the words she was going to say as she chewed the portion of meat in her mouth, she turned to the boy and spoke.
“Really, have a bit of maturity and common sense,” she began, raising an eyebrow at the kid. “You’re clearly not the only person who made a mistake, so would you PLEASE grow up and get over it? My word, you drop a quaffle and you think the world is ending…” she said. She looked at the plate he’d pushed aside, and put a spoonful of mashed potatoes and a turkey leg on them. “Now eat, or it’ll only suck worse.”
