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Archived Applications / Quinn Duxton
« on: 01/01/2015 at 07:43 »
I hope I am not too late here since I only just got off my plane a couple of hours back after being away for December! If it is too late, let me know and I'll have this shift somewhere else 
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Quinn Duxton
Birthday: 1 December 1931
Hometown: London
Bloodline:
Muggleborn/ Halfblood / Pureblood / Unknown
Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination/ Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Divination / Transfiguration / Charms / Conjuring & Summoning
Year (pick two): Year 1, or 2
Biography:
Quinn had very little memory of her childhood.
In fact, the memories were like mist: dissipating through the warm air in the day. She remembered very little, other than the wretched place she grew up in -- a grey, broken building with peeling paint, too many people and very cold. Very, very cold.
She remember the matronly woman she called "Mother", a fat, heavy-set woman in her 40s, with rough hands and fingers and even rougher voice that screeched at the children. "Mother" was always red, puffy and smelled strangely intoxicating. Her rough hands were quick -- quick to clean up after the thin, scraggly kids; quick to administer the right punishments when the children were too... creative in their methods.
She remembered her brothers. Hazy, grey figures whose edges had soften over time in her memory.
"Mother" told Quinn when she was little that she had 4 other brothers. Quinn was the youngest, and the only girl among them. Quinn meant "fifth" and according to "Mother", Quinn's real mother had named her "Quinn" because she hadn't been a very clever woman. Quinn never knew her real mother. She only remember a sweet gentle face, a sweet young thing who had disappeared as quickly as the mist in winter. Similarly, her four brothers disappeared one after another, when they were "of-age", whatever that meant. Quinn hadn't seen them for a while. She didn't particularly like them. They had always called her a "freak" and always demanded the better things from her, for themselves. They had given her very little in the years she knew them.
Quinn had never given them much thought. She had always kept to herself, hiding in the shadows of the peeling house, staying as far away as she could from her four bullying brothers, or from "Mother's" hard, sting hand.
She did remember the frail old lady who shared a room with her and many others.
Mrs Bones.
The old lady resembled a set of bones herself, and despite her fragile frame, was strong while hobbling around on her old walking stick. Quinn remembered the too sweet tea that Mrs Bones loved, and the dry biscuits she would have. She hadn't had any teeth to chew those dry biscuits, and would often soften them in her too sweet tea. Biscuits were luxurious, by the way. At least in the home that Quinn stayed in. She sometimes shared a biscuit with Mrs Bones secretly, and went away for the rest of the day feeling pleased, as if there were a secret that no one knew.
Mrs Bones was the closest to family Quinn ever had.
The day they carried Old Mrs Bones out in a white sheet was the hardest day of Quinn's life.
Quinn remembered that.
Mrs Bone's glassy eyes. Her mouth, slightly opened, with specks of white around the grey lips. The skeletal fingers clutching her sheets, twisted till her knuckles were white. The gurgling sound in the old woman's throat that went on for a while before she was still.
Quinn remembered all that, and remembered how at that moment, she hated the only person who had been almost a friend and family. Quinn hated Mrs Bones for leaving her, for her ugliness then, for her death.
Quinn never cried.
The day Mrs Bones died, Quinn thought she died too. Everything became even greyer than before, and Quinn took to sleeping in Old Mrs Bones' bed for a week after. She felt as if she had gotten older, and more tired.
The day the strange man came to her, Quinn was lying in Old Mrs Bones bed. Lying wasn't quite the right word. Wrapped in white sheets was probably a better description. For an hour the strange man talked to her. Or rather, talked to the wrapped figure. He was talking mostly to the wriggling shape who had stubbornly refused to answer. Then he left. Quinn never unwrapped herself to see who he was, or said proper hello.
But the gist was clear.
She was going away. Somewhere. Like her brothers had.
She was going to leave this grey, peeling place.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Quinn is a thin, mousy child. Staying at The Home in one of the poorer parts of London had given the child the same grey, malnourished look. She is timid and jumpy, preferring to perch herself on chairs than to sit.
Quinn is socially inapt at the moment. Her stay at The Home had impeded her growth to some extent, causing her to behave in rather strange and unexpected ways. However, it must be noted that she is not a sub-normal child -- she has her own talents, still undiscovered.
House Request: Dear Sorting Hat, please put Quinn as you see fit
Personality: Timid, but curious. Quinn is also extremely observant. However, her sense of self had diminished in her time at the home, and this had made her highly suspicious of people around her. She tends to get attached to objects and things... and right now, she is quite attached to Old Mrs Bones' bedsheet...
Appearance: Mousy, thin, with dark hair and dark watery eyes. At the moment, her hair had been haphazardly hacked short, giving her a highly unkempt look.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.
Lunch went without a hitch.
Quinn was getting used to school. She could still remember the first day in the dining hall. Such debauchery and wastage -- it was more food that Quinn had ever seen and remembered. It was like... like magic! She had spooned more than she could eat, stuffed herself silly and puked.
That was almost a month ago.
For today's lunch, Quinn had shovelled as much as she could manage in her mouth and then her pockets. Now as she waddled down the corridors, she kept as much as she could to the shadows, ducking out of sight when she could, taking care that her too full pockets did not spill over. She was going to go back to her room, and...
“Hey!” Quinn froze.
Someone had caught her stealing from the dinner tables!
She ran down the corridor, her cloak flying behind her. Windows and rooms flew past in a blur. Good thing no one was around. Someone could catch her and stop her. Made her empty her pockets. Called her a thief. Perhaps the Headmaster would hit her like Mother did. Sent her back to that old grey depressing place.
No.
She couldn't have that!
Her legs peddled faster, her fists pumping. She needed to hide.
“Wait up! It’s for the paper!”
Paper? What paper? The school paper? Is her tail going to write about her theft and report it as an example to the school.
No.
Quinn rounded up the corner and came to a halt.
Dead end. She frantically looked around her. She was trapped. The mousy girl turned and looked at her wheezing quarry. She was caught like a mouse. In a situation like this, it was always fight or flight. Quinn had learned her lessons, and had learned to pick her battles. But it was always a good idea to pick flight over fight. She looked at the figure hobbling up, panting, tired. There! A hole next to her person. Quinn could duck and run when the girl was not paying attention. Wiggling past the girl might be a problem, however. Quinn was half the size.
She got herself ready. The timing must be perfect. She couldn't miss this one chance. She was going to...
“What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”
The question caught Quinn off-guard.
"What?" Quinn rasped. She was not expecting that. "They serve frog legs here? For lunch?"
She had heard of it, of course. Old Mrs Bones talked about it once. From the description, it sounded heavenly. Quinn could feel her mouth salivating. Her posture of flight changed almost instantly to one resembling a hungry puppy. "Take me to where this heavenly food is. Then we talk." Quinn found herself saying.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): NA
How did you find us?: An old friend who played here recommended the site. She had left eons ago, but spoke often of this fondly.
Application for Hogwarts School
→ CHARACTER INFORMATION.
Name: Quinn Duxton
Birthday: 1 December 1931
Hometown: London
Bloodline:
Muggleborn
Magical Strength (pick one):
Divination
Magical Weakness (pick one):
Year (pick two): Year 1, or 2
Biography:
Quinn had very little memory of her childhood.
In fact, the memories were like mist: dissipating through the warm air in the day. She remembered very little, other than the wretched place she grew up in -- a grey, broken building with peeling paint, too many people and very cold. Very, very cold.
She remember the matronly woman she called "Mother", a fat, heavy-set woman in her 40s, with rough hands and fingers and even rougher voice that screeched at the children. "Mother" was always red, puffy and smelled strangely intoxicating. Her rough hands were quick -- quick to clean up after the thin, scraggly kids; quick to administer the right punishments when the children were too... creative in their methods.
She remembered her brothers. Hazy, grey figures whose edges had soften over time in her memory.
"Mother" told Quinn when she was little that she had 4 other brothers. Quinn was the youngest, and the only girl among them. Quinn meant "fifth" and according to "Mother", Quinn's real mother had named her "Quinn" because she hadn't been a very clever woman. Quinn never knew her real mother. She only remember a sweet gentle face, a sweet young thing who had disappeared as quickly as the mist in winter. Similarly, her four brothers disappeared one after another, when they were "of-age", whatever that meant. Quinn hadn't seen them for a while. She didn't particularly like them. They had always called her a "freak" and always demanded the better things from her, for themselves. They had given her very little in the years she knew them.
Quinn had never given them much thought. She had always kept to herself, hiding in the shadows of the peeling house, staying as far away as she could from her four bullying brothers, or from "Mother's" hard, sting hand.
She did remember the frail old lady who shared a room with her and many others.
Mrs Bones.
The old lady resembled a set of bones herself, and despite her fragile frame, was strong while hobbling around on her old walking stick. Quinn remembered the too sweet tea that Mrs Bones loved, and the dry biscuits she would have. She hadn't had any teeth to chew those dry biscuits, and would often soften them in her too sweet tea. Biscuits were luxurious, by the way. At least in the home that Quinn stayed in. She sometimes shared a biscuit with Mrs Bones secretly, and went away for the rest of the day feeling pleased, as if there were a secret that no one knew.
Mrs Bones was the closest to family Quinn ever had.
The day they carried Old Mrs Bones out in a white sheet was the hardest day of Quinn's life.
Quinn remembered that.
Mrs Bone's glassy eyes. Her mouth, slightly opened, with specks of white around the grey lips. The skeletal fingers clutching her sheets, twisted till her knuckles were white. The gurgling sound in the old woman's throat that went on for a while before she was still.
Quinn remembered all that, and remembered how at that moment, she hated the only person who had been almost a friend and family. Quinn hated Mrs Bones for leaving her, for her ugliness then, for her death.
Quinn never cried.
The day Mrs Bones died, Quinn thought she died too. Everything became even greyer than before, and Quinn took to sleeping in Old Mrs Bones' bed for a week after. She felt as if she had gotten older, and more tired.
The day the strange man came to her, Quinn was lying in Old Mrs Bones bed. Lying wasn't quite the right word. Wrapped in white sheets was probably a better description. For an hour the strange man talked to her. Or rather, talked to the wrapped figure. He was talking mostly to the wriggling shape who had stubbornly refused to answer. Then he left. Quinn never unwrapped herself to see who he was, or said proper hello.
But the gist was clear.
She was going away. Somewhere. Like her brothers had.
She was going to leave this grey, peeling place.
→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION.
Quinn is a thin, mousy child. Staying at The Home in one of the poorer parts of London had given the child the same grey, malnourished look. She is timid and jumpy, preferring to perch herself on chairs than to sit.
Quinn is socially inapt at the moment. Her stay at The Home had impeded her growth to some extent, causing her to behave in rather strange and unexpected ways. However, it must be noted that she is not a sub-normal child -- she has her own talents, still undiscovered.
House Request: Dear Sorting Hat, please put Quinn as you see fit
Personality: Timid, but curious. Quinn is also extremely observant. However, her sense of self had diminished in her time at the home, and this had made her highly suspicious of people around her. She tends to get attached to objects and things... and right now, she is quite attached to Old Mrs Bones' bedsheet...
Appearance: Mousy, thin, with dark hair and dark watery eyes. At the moment, her hair had been haphazardly hacked short, giving her a highly unkempt look.
→ SAMPLE ROLEPLAY.
Please reply to one of the Sample Roleplays below.
Lunch went without a hitch.
Quinn was getting used to school. She could still remember the first day in the dining hall. Such debauchery and wastage -- it was more food that Quinn had ever seen and remembered. It was like... like magic! She had spooned more than she could eat, stuffed herself silly and puked.
That was almost a month ago.
For today's lunch, Quinn had shovelled as much as she could manage in her mouth and then her pockets. Now as she waddled down the corridors, she kept as much as she could to the shadows, ducking out of sight when she could, taking care that her too full pockets did not spill over. She was going to go back to her room, and...
“Hey!” Quinn froze.
Someone had caught her stealing from the dinner tables!
She ran down the corridor, her cloak flying behind her. Windows and rooms flew past in a blur. Good thing no one was around. Someone could catch her and stop her. Made her empty her pockets. Called her a thief. Perhaps the Headmaster would hit her like Mother did. Sent her back to that old grey depressing place.
No.
She couldn't have that!
Her legs peddled faster, her fists pumping. She needed to hide.
“Wait up! It’s for the paper!”
Paper? What paper? The school paper? Is her tail going to write about her theft and report it as an example to the school.
No.
Quinn rounded up the corner and came to a halt.
Dead end. She frantically looked around her. She was trapped. The mousy girl turned and looked at her wheezing quarry. She was caught like a mouse. In a situation like this, it was always fight or flight. Quinn had learned her lessons, and had learned to pick her battles. But it was always a good idea to pick flight over fight. She looked at the figure hobbling up, panting, tired. There! A hole next to her person. Quinn could duck and run when the girl was not paying attention. Wiggling past the girl might be a problem, however. Quinn was half the size.
She got herself ready. The timing must be perfect. She couldn't miss this one chance. She was going to...
“What do you think about serving frog legs at lunch? Some say it’s a delicacy, but others think it’s plain gross.”
The question caught Quinn off-guard.
"What?" Quinn rasped. She was not expecting that. "They serve frog legs here? For lunch?"
She had heard of it, of course. Old Mrs Bones talked about it once. From the description, it sounded heavenly. Quinn could feel her mouth salivating. Her posture of flight changed almost instantly to one resembling a hungry puppy. "Take me to where this heavenly food is. Then we talk." Quinn found herself saying.
→ ABOUT YOU.
Please list any characters you have on the site (current and previous): NA
How did you find us?: An old friend who played here recommended the site. She had left eons ago, but spoke often of this fondly.
