Post by skeleton on Mar 13, 2009 6:17:16 GMT -5
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I BEEN ROAMIN' AROUND ,
[/font]I BEEN ROAMIN' AROUND ,
always lookin' down at all i see
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DEIRDRE BEATRICE MURPHY[/CENTER]
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PAINTED FACES FILL ,
[/font]PAINTED FACES FILL ,
the spaces i can't reach
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NICKNAMES: murphy, murph, bumble bea (her father's clever creation).
AGE: twenty-four.
D.O.B.: may 14th.
ALLEGIANCE: if ever asked by a stranger which side she would give her life for, deirdre would immediately root for he-who-must-not-be-named (ten years after the death of harry potter and she still cannot bring herself to utter his name). this is a lie, of course, to save her ass and a possible future headache. if her loyalties were questioned by a friend, she would honestly respond with "the good guys", whomever they are. sure, "the good guys" haven't really made much of an impact, but that doesn't mean deirdre can't place her faith in the triumphant return of the order of the phoenix and the subsequent ass-kicking of every death eater that will surely follow. however, deirdre is no hero and she knows this. deep down, she is neutral. she knows it's sick and wrong what the death eaters and the purebloods do and think, but is too frightened and not strong enough (or so she thinks) to join any secret, underground revolutionary parties.
PROFESSION: bartender.
WAND TYPE: 9 3/4'', pine, dragon heart string.
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YOU KNOW THAT I ,
[/font]YOU KNOW THAT I ,
could use somebody
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EYE COLOUR: bottle green.
HEIGHT: 5'7''.
WEIGHT: 121lbs.
BODY TYPE: tall and gangly with thin limbs, small and delicate hands that tremble and pale skin splattered with freckles, deirdre seems to be trapped in a perpetual state of exhaustion. heavy purple bags rest under her eyes from lack of sleep and her hair is always in some form of disarray.
VOICE: low, hoarse, and paced quickly, it shakes when emotional and cracks too easily. however, if she were to slow down and take her time when speaking, it would be revealed that her voice has a sweet, almost pleasant quality to it.
PERSONAL STYLE: comfy and casual. deirdre prefers to wear loose, almost ill-fitting clothing as opposed to slinky dresses and midriff baring tops. t-shirts, jeans, sneakers and extra-large robes dominate her closet.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION: deirdre is a tall yet unhealthily skinny young woman. her coltish legs are lean and knobby-kneed and her fingers are bony with round, protruding knuckles. her chestnut brown hair is naturally thick and somewhat long, reaching just a bit past her shoulders. she often keeps it pinned up in a messy bun or disheveled ponytail. her unevenly-cut bangs fan out across her forehead and often fall in front of her bottle green eyes.
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AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
[/font]AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
and how you speak
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- pulp-free orange juice.
- the more-than-occasional muggle cigarette.
- boxing.
- muggle beer.
- spring time weather.
- nights that aren't full moons.
- muggle poker.
- what precious few hours of sleep she can get.
- cats.
- sweet-smelling hand lotion.
CHARACTER DISLIKES:
- full moons - for obvious reasons.
- the way everything turned out.
- big dogs.
- fish.
- over-cooked meat.
- people who crack their knuckles/suck their teeth.
- people who ask too many questions.
- death eaters. duh.
- her job.
- brightly-colored nail polish.
GOALS: at the very top of her list is get cured, god willing. really, that's all she wants. maybe start playing quidditch professionally, after she's fixed. she's always been a fairly skilled player, having played as a seeker for two years back in hogwarts, and even helped lead her house to the championship once year.
BOGGART: simply put, deirdre's greatest fear is transforming into a werewolf at the worst possible time--say, when she's at home, or maybe in a crowded public area, like diagon alley. of course, the odds of her ever venturing outside of her "secret spot" during the wicked full moon are slim (you can't be a werewolf for nearly ten years and not set up some personal boundaries and rules), but she is still worried that circumstances may arise and she's forced out into the open and into that cold silver light.
PATRONUS: twelve-years-old and in the spring, lying on her back in a grassy field as a cool breeze stirred the treetops over head and a trail of ants marched over her bare ankles.
DEMENTOR: one would think that having one's arm nearly bitten off by a werewolf and having the curse passed on to oneself would be the worst memory ever, but not for deirdre. no, her worst memory is falling down a dark flight of steps into the basement of her childhood home and landing in a dense cobweb filled with spiders. yuck.
AMORENTIA: she loves the smell of freshly-laundered clothes and associates it with her childhood and warmer, happier times. the sweet tang of citrus things, such as oranges and lemons, also remind her of when she was younger.
BASIC PERSONALITY: level-headed, skittish, insomniac, anxious, prone to bitchiness, riddled with self-loathing, bitter, easily aggravated, impatient, heavily guarded.
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COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
[/font]COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
under cover of the streets
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MOTHER: cecilia lynne murphy (neé kelly), 46-years-old, the stern seamstress.
BROTHER(S): n/a.
SISTER(S): marcia claire murphy, 21-years-old, the aspiring celebutard.
OTHER: apollo, 1-year-old, the adorable cat.
BLOOD STATUS: halfbreed - werewolf.
HOMETOWN: dublin, ireland.
CURRENT RESIDENCE: london, england - specifically diagon alley.
BIOGRAPHY: can i add this later? D:
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I HOPE IT'S GONNA MAKE ,
[/font]I HOPE IT'S GONNA MAKE ,
you notice someone like me,
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RP EXPERIENCE: oh, lots and lots.
HOW YOU FOUND US: adhopping.
OTHER CHARACTERS: none!
RP SAMPLE:
To spare all readers both wasted time and effort, Andy's Mun would like to let it be known that she is going to skip the usual "backstory goings-on entrance" she usually makes for intro posts and will instead jump right into the action, eyes closed and head first. She would also like to point out that the posts were straying into tl;dr territory, but she persevered! Hooray.
At some point in the party, after having excused herself from the spotlight of Topher's warm gaze--something she pined for so violently sometimes it made her stomach twist and hurt--and the clutches of his hideous black pleather couch, Andy had killed off another beer or four and had been steadily spiking Juliet's drinks every time she passed the younger girl in the pulsing crowds. "Why?" someone might ask, perhaps horrified that a so-called "friend" could drag another human being down to the bottom of the bottle with them when it became clear that that other human being had some kind of problem, to which Andy would reply, Because it's a party so fuck you.
And there you have it.
Waltzing up to the Juliet and Jacob, somewhat tipsy as she struggled pathetically with the cherry red Bic lighter that refused to catch and light the cigarette between her lips, she nudged Juliet on the shoulder and grinned foolishly. "Hey, girl!" she said loudly, tipping back her head to laugh even louder as her on-for-the-moment friend seemed a hot mess. "Trick, you's is drunk as shit." Durr hurr, nothing escapes from the watchful observations of Detective Andy.
When things seemed to take a turn from the light-hearted to the intensely dramatic (all right under her oblivious nose, of course), particularly as Jacob stormed off in a pissy little huff, Andy rolled her eyes skyward and slumped her shoulders in exaggerated annoyance. "What a fuckin lil bitch, m'I right? If he can't be appreciatin the party that's fuckin goin on right now'n cool his jets, he might as well peace out." As if on cue, hey, it looked like he was peacing out! Good riddance, or so Andy would have said...had things suddenly not taken a turn from the intensely dramatic to really fucking interesting as a fight broke out just a few feet away.
"Holy shit, dude!" Andy exclaimed in excitement, pushing through the throngs of people, who now gathered around the fighting pair like the ignorant rubber-neckers they all were, and getting just close enough to the action to see every last detail of the fight and not pay a horrible price, like a wayward fist flying into her nose, which would really suck. At once, the crafty East Coaster saw a chance to maybe make some quick cash, and she finished her drink in three huge gulps, tossed the bottle over her shoulder without a second glance (hey, she had already called not being on clean-up duty) and began heckling the growing crowd, jostling shoulders and waggling her eyebrows in that comic and exhausting charm that made Andy Doyle, Andy Doyle. "All bets're placed here! I heard ten on the little Aussie fruit, twenty on the beefy homo in the tie!" She accepted the money passed up to her and crushed it into her fist, taking mental notes on all bets shouted over the din of kick his ass, bro! and oh fuck, dude, check out that sloppy right hook!
As soon as the fight began to die down, whenever that was since Andy's mun really only meant to post once in this thread, Andy would be suspiciously absent, having apparently scammed those foolish enough to trust someone as the likes of her with their money. As the saying goes, there was a sucker born every minute, and it seemed all Generation X suckers had all been invited to the same party.
At some point in the party, after having excused herself from the spotlight of Topher's warm gaze--something she pined for so violently sometimes it made her stomach twist and hurt--and the clutches of his hideous black pleather couch, Andy had killed off another beer or four and had been steadily spiking Juliet's drinks every time she passed the younger girl in the pulsing crowds. "Why?" someone might ask, perhaps horrified that a so-called "friend" could drag another human being down to the bottom of the bottle with them when it became clear that that other human being had some kind of problem, to which Andy would reply, Because it's a party so fuck you.
And there you have it.
Waltzing up to the Juliet and Jacob, somewhat tipsy as she struggled pathetically with the cherry red Bic lighter that refused to catch and light the cigarette between her lips, she nudged Juliet on the shoulder and grinned foolishly. "Hey, girl!" she said loudly, tipping back her head to laugh even louder as her on-for-the-moment friend seemed a hot mess. "Trick, you's is drunk as shit." Durr hurr, nothing escapes from the watchful observations of Detective Andy.
When things seemed to take a turn from the light-hearted to the intensely dramatic (all right under her oblivious nose, of course), particularly as Jacob stormed off in a pissy little huff, Andy rolled her eyes skyward and slumped her shoulders in exaggerated annoyance. "What a fuckin lil bitch, m'I right? If he can't be appreciatin the party that's fuckin goin on right now'n cool his jets, he might as well peace out." As if on cue, hey, it looked like he was peacing out! Good riddance, or so Andy would have said...had things suddenly not taken a turn from the intensely dramatic to really fucking interesting as a fight broke out just a few feet away.
"Holy shit, dude!" Andy exclaimed in excitement, pushing through the throngs of people, who now gathered around the fighting pair like the ignorant rubber-neckers they all were, and getting just close enough to the action to see every last detail of the fight and not pay a horrible price, like a wayward fist flying into her nose, which would really suck. At once, the crafty East Coaster saw a chance to maybe make some quick cash, and she finished her drink in three huge gulps, tossed the bottle over her shoulder without a second glance (hey, she had already called not being on clean-up duty) and began heckling the growing crowd, jostling shoulders and waggling her eyebrows in that comic and exhausting charm that made Andy Doyle, Andy Doyle. "All bets're placed here! I heard ten on the little Aussie fruit, twenty on the beefy homo in the tie!" She accepted the money passed up to her and crushed it into her fist, taking mental notes on all bets shouted over the din of kick his ass, bro! and oh fuck, dude, check out that sloppy right hook!
As soon as the fight began to die down, whenever that was since Andy's mun really only meant to post once in this thread, Andy would be suspiciously absent, having apparently scammed those foolish enough to trust someone as the likes of her with their money. As the saying goes, there was a sucker born every minute, and it seemed all Generation X suckers had all been invited to the same party.
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OFF IN THE NIGHT ,
[/font]OFF IN THE NIGHT ,
while you live it up
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THIS TEMPLATE WAS MADE BY CATE AKA GIRL TALKK
OF CAUTION BBY!. IF USING, LEAVE THIS CREDIT IN. CHANGES TO
COLOURS ARE PERMITTED, BUT DO NOT CHANGE LYRICS ("USE SOMEBODY"
KINGS OF LEON). ENJOY!
OF CAUTION BBY!. IF USING, LEAVE THIS CREDIT IN. CHANGES TO
COLOURS ARE PERMITTED, BUT DO NOT CHANGE LYRICS ("USE SOMEBODY"
KINGS OF LEON). ENJOY!
