Post by mabel on Mar 21, 2009 18:17:04 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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MABEL MONTGOMERY[/CENTER]
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PAINTED FACES FILL ,
[/font]PAINTED FACES FILL ,
the spaces i can't reach
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NICKNAMES: may or bells
AGE: twenty-one
D.O.B.: march third
ALLEGIANCE: confused
PROFESSION: professional hobo
WAND TYPE: 9'9 ; unicorn hair ; hazel wood
[/SIZE][/ul]
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YOU KNOW THAT I ,
[/font]YOU KNOW THAT I ,
could use somebody
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EYE COLOUR: dark hazel
HEIGHT: 5'4
WEIGHT: 109 pounds
BODY TYPE: weak and anorexic-like
VOICE: mouse-like
PERSONAL STYLE:
Being a homeless person, you have to understand that Mabel's sense of style isn't exactly up to date. In fact, Mabel doesn't have more then three shirts and two pairs of shorts. Which, if you think about it, are all covered up my her huge jacket anyways. In conclusion, Mabel only really wears the same thing everyday for the things that she DOES change aren't visible.
her jacket A huge, purple jacket with red linings is her usual outerwear. In fact, the jacket is so huge it can't be really called a jacket; it's more like a giant, warm dress that hides everything underneth. It's a tattered piece of clothing that has quite a bit of holes (thankfully, none of them too big) and even more stitches.
her scarf Besides the jacket, one of the most indenifiable things about Mabel is her scarf; yellow and purple spotted pattern wrap around the knitted scarf. It's a long, thick one that always covers her face, showing only those huge hazel eyes of hers. This scarf seems to be even older then the jacket, for it holds many, MANY stitches, even though it's in slightly better condition than her coat.
her tights & shoes The tights are a darkish green color, while her pumps are a lighter shade of green. For someone as clumsy as she, Mabel is pretty good in those heels; most likely because they're the only pair of shoes she's got, and she needs them. They're scuffled from the long hiking trips she makes around Britian, and more than once had the bottom almost fallen off. Thank god magic can fix that.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION:
[/SIZE][/ul]Mabel has a very interesting apperance. Apart from her clothing, Mabel has pasty white skin that rarely blushes, and never tans. Instead, it burns horribly, leaving her red-skinned and itching everywhere.
A slightly large forehead, and huge hazel eyes that are forever inquiring. You don't see her mouth nor nose often, for it's almost always covered up by her scarf. Why? No one really knows, and no one talks to Mabel enough to ask exactly why. Though if one were to see, they would find a full peach mouth and a button nose. Mabel has an oval head, from which brunette hair spills forth, coming down to about mid-back in carefree waves and curls.
Not to make Mabel seem cliche, but the girl could make a toothpick look fat. This is because of her lack of home and money, and therefore, lack of food. Sure, she has magic. But what good is magic if you don't have some ingrediants you can tinker with? Thus, Mabel is not a picky eater; anything that she can get a hold of falls down her stomach ravenously. Despite her skinny problem, Mabel still manages to have somewhat of a woman figure.
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AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
[/font]AND ALL YOU KNOW ,
and how you speak
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→ scarves
→ hot cocoa
→ sandwiches with horse radish
→ children
→ street preformers
→ unvandilized benches
→ autumn
→ simple things
→ sappy stories
CHARACTER DISLIKES:
→ rainy nights
→ hunger
→ unhappy endings
→ prejudice
→ complicated stuff
→ wind
→ ketchup
→ whiskey
GOALS:
Bums have goals?! Good lordie, Mabel will consider it a victory if she gets a little bit of stew per month!
BOGGART:
There is nothing. It hadn't hurt as much as she thought it would've, really. Just this quick stab and then that's it. It wasn't the dying part she was scared of; everyone had to go through that. It was what was after it that came. The nothing, the suffocation of absolutely vacant. She didn't think. She didn't dream. She saw no colors. She wasn't alive anymore. And yet, why was she still aware of everything? Why did she tremble at the thought of that horrible emptiness that sank in after death? Why was she so fearful of what came afterwards?
PATRONUS:
"Gramma Montie?"
"Yes child?"
"Tell me a story."
The old woman stopped knitting and placed her scarf and needles on the coffee table next to her. She sighed, and dragged an eight year old Mabel onto her ancient lap, in which Mabel snuggled and laid her head on her grandma's chest, listening to her old heartbeat while the old woman tussled her hair.
"Well, let's see. Once apon a time, there was a very sweet little girl. And she had so much love in her heart that all the flowers in her home bloomed every Spring, without fail. And her parents and everyone around her loved her very, very much."
Little Mabel yawned, and closed her tiny little eyes. "What happened to the sweet girl, Gramma Montie?"
Gramma Montie smiled, picked up the scarf she was sewing, and began to once again weave while she answered; "She grew up to be a beautiful woman who treasured every little thing." And with that, Gramma Montie took out the knitting needles, and strung the huge scarf around Mabel's neck. "So, learn from the sweet girl and keep this scarf for a very long time."
[/SIZE][/ul]
DEMENTOR:
She had been in Hogwarts for barely a month, and all hell had broken loose already. It was at the end of the year when she had been informed. The battle between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort did not go well. Their school was in ruins, taken over by Lord Voldemort. And it was in this horrible time of havoc when Mabel recieved her news./blockquote]
She recieved the letter from her father on a bright and sunny day. Despite the fact that she was being driven into madness by the whole Hogwarts set up, she had been a bit optomistic today. She had been happy. The letter had only made her a bit happier; she had expected good news.
Mabel opened the letter with a piece of toast hanging out of her mouth. That piece of toast had dropped, along with the letter, into her poridge, and was left forgotten as the young girl had sped away from the Dining Hall, tears streaking down her face.
There had been a raid at their sleepy little town. By the Death Eaters. Father hadn't been home at the time; he was on a business trip. Mother, who had been a half-blood, was killed. Along with Grammie Montie, who was a muggle.
She spent the rest of the day hiding in Moaning Murtle's bathroom, ditching classes and crying to herself.
AMORENTIA: flowers. hot cocoa. her scarf. raspberries.
BASIC PERSONALITY: sweetheart. confused. simple. lively. loving. shunned. idiot. stupidly honest. clumsy. odd.
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COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
[/font]COUNTLESS LOVERS ,
under cover of the streets
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MOTHER: sarah-kate grace montgomery
BROTHER(S): none
SISTER(S): none
OTHER: gramma montie
BLOOD STATUS: impurity
HOMETOWN: london
CURRENT RESIDENCE: the streets of hogsmede (but she often takes hiking trips to other towns nearby, and even london sometimes. she does not know how to apperate)
BIOGRAPHY:
Gramma Montie's real name was not Gramma Montie. In fact, the name 'Gramma Montie' was because of a family inside joke that I am not willing to explain. In any case, her name was Bonny-Lee. And Bonny-Lee had been a muggle who had fallen in love with a wizard. And Bonny-Lee and Marty had gotten married, and had little baby Sarah-Kate.
And glory and behold, Sarah-Kate grew up and she married a pureblood wizard also; Felix Montgomery. And together, they had a baby named Mabel Montgomery, who is our little brave soldier.
Mabel grew up in a life of middle-class luxury with her parents and Gramma Montie (Marty had passed away, so they had taken in the old muggle woman). She was a happy little pumpkin. Not too smart, but still happy and always ready to smile. She made jokes. She danced around in her underwear. She played with her mama's brooms and broke plates and climbed trees. And at night, she would snuggle into bed and Gramma Montie would tell her a story. And of course, when she was eight, Mabel was presented with her most treasured possession; a scarf, knitted by her Gramma Montie.
It was the good life.
She wasn't aware of the horrible things happening outside of her home, though. And when she was sent off to Hogwarts, Mabel had gotten more than she could chew. It was that year that Voldemort had taken control of Hogwarts, defeared Harry Potter, and brought the ministry down. He rose to power. Her town was raided, and Gramma Montie and Mother were both killed in the fire-line. Father was spared only because he was not in town at the time; he was traveling for his work.
Things took a turn for the worst. With the school completely under the power of Death Eaters who thus dubbed her 'impure' and her not-so-smarts, Mabel quickly sunk in her Hufflepuff house. She had been getting Ts, and to make matters worse, Death Eaters constantly wouldn't let her forget of her heiritage.
It was at this time that Mabel began to question exactly why she wasn't being treated as fair as everyone else in the school; as fair as the purebloods. Mabel could not find out why they hated her so, though she spent many nights mulling over the question. It was always in the back of her mind, always prying at her.
Throughout her school years, she had dreamed of becoming herbology teacher. This dream, though, soon died as she looked around herself. People of her status could never get the job, and this much was clear to even a person like Mabel. It was clear that she could not make a good living because of her "taintedness".
In her 6th year, she was failing greatly. So Mabel packed her things and left at age 16. Her father offered, begged, her to come back to London and live with him. Said it was for the best. But Mabel refused; she felt she didn't want to be taken care of anymore.
She lived without magic for a year, and when she finally turned 17 and was able to "come of age" she was finally able to use simple spells she remembered. Mabel never learned how to apperate. At this point in her life, Mabel realized she couldn't work as a waitress any longer; no one wanted an impure waitress in their cafe or bar, and thus, doors began to close to her.
Mabel went to the school, finally getting up enough courage to apply for a job. She came into the school for the interview. The Headmaster took one look at her and said; "Denied."
And thus, this was how Mabel Montgomery had ended up on the streets, poor, homeless, and shunned by the rest of wizarding society. And to this day, the question of why still haunts her. She'll send you a postcard when she figures it out.
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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: Since the dinos learned how to control chop sticks
HOW YOU FOUND US: MAGICAL PURPOSE O:
OTHER CHARACTERS: None!
RP SAMPLE:
this is more like a prose, but I can't find any human roleplay samples, and I don't wanna type one up |D;; SORRY!
The doorbell rang.
Genvey didn't bother answering it.
The door opened without invitation, and with it came a wild screech as the young boy squealed in pure joy and ran from the threshold, leaving the door open, and skidding by the kitchen door, screaming out; "HIAUNTIEGBYEAUNTIEG!ILOVEYOU" his shrieks dying as he tore throughout the apartment.
Genvey didn't stop washing her dishes, and her greeting to her nephew was this; "CALVIN, IF YOU BREAK SOMETHING, SO HELP ME I'LL BEAT YOU UNTIL YOUR LITTLE MONKEY BEHIND WILL TURN AN UNGODLY SHADE OF PURPLE. GOT IT?"
"CHILD ABUSE!" retorted the eight year old, his voice slightly muffled by the walls.
A sigh escaped her lips, and once again Genvey began to question just how the hell she ended up babysitting her brother Stanley's kid every other weekend. Certainly it wasn't of her own accord. Why would ANYONE want such a menace in their home was beyond her. Oh. That's why. Because Stanley obviously didn't want him in his home either, and in the grand tradition of her twin brothers always dumping the blame and the crap on their little sister's shoulders, she ended up with Calvin.
And she heard Bruno's (the supposedly-older-by-three-seconds-twin) wife was pregnant. Genvey shuddered at the thought.
She didn't have much time to mull over her thoughts any longer. Before Genvey could go into full-rant-thought mode, a sudden blast of "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls came booming through the apartment. She gasped, dropping the plate she had been washing instantly and came storming out of the kitchen, howling; "CALVIN! MY RECORDS! THAT LITTLE HOLLY TERROR!"
Genvey found Calvin in her bedroom, next to the dingy little boombox that looked like it had been dropped one too many times, dancing and jumping on Genvey's own unkept bed in his underwear (and wearing also one of Genvey's sweaters as a cape, and her bra over his head like a hat) and wailing Spice Girls lyrics at the top of his lungs, mixed in with the occasional ABBA line.
It took everything in Genvey to try and keep her temper. The woman stood at the door, hands on hips and flaring her nostrils. Hell was looking like a better option then facing off with Genevieve.
But Calvin was experienced in bugging his aunt, and in the grand tradition of being an impudent child in the Oliver family, he ignored her and continued dancing and rejoicing before finally, Genvey marched over to the boombox and shut off the music completely, causing Calvin to fall to the bed on his rump, pouting that pout that was so often on Genvey's own face. "Hey! Whassthat for?!"
"How many times do I have to tell you that my stuff is off-limits?!"
"Is that a trick question?"
Genvey shot a death glare at that cheeky little boy, resisting the urge to smack him so hard that he'll fly all the way to Alaska.
"Now, listen up Calvin. This is my house, so that means MY rules and..." Genvey's voice faded from Calvin's inner mind. He stared blankly at his Aunt, watching her mouth move and her eyebrows rise and fall and her expressions change onto that heart-shaped face of hers, her eyes sometimes glaring, sometimes looking like she was pleading, something looking like they wished he would just drop dead. The mouth was certainly moving, but no words were coming out. Or at least, if they were, Calvin wasn't focused on them. After a few seconds, the boy's attention span snapped, and he stuck his finger in his nose and, as his Pops often said, began to "dig for gold."
"CALVIN! Are you listening?!"
He let out another beastly shriek, followed by a huge moo, and to much of Genvey's protest, began to jump on the bed once again, pulling the bra over his eyes and caterwauled; "LOOKIT MEEE! IMMA FLY! BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZZZZ!"
At this point, Genvey had enough. There was only a certain amount of Calvin she could take a day, and it seemed she was reaching her limit. Not that it wasn't amusing to see Calvin's over-active imagination in play; it was just the simple fact that the boy wore her out. She swore she would have premature wrinkles because of that kid.
So, she tried the normal tactics in this sort of thing; Genvey grabbed the boy's feet, pulled him down on the bed, and began to tickle him. Cackles and squirming followed, with Calvin screaming several comments like; "STOPETTTT!" and "HAHAHATHAT'SHAHAHAURTS! AHAHA! ST-AHAHAHA! STOPPP!" and "I'LL CALL AHAHAHA 911! AHAHA! FOR REAL, AHA, AUNTIE AHAHA G!"
"Not until you stop being a such a punk!"
After a few minutes, Genvey finally let her tickle grip loosen up, and allowed Calvin to sit up, still giggling from the aftermath of the attack. Wiping tears from those huge baby blues, he looked up at his Aunt, who know sat at the edge of the bed, and said; "Fine. I'll stop. But you gotta show me some Spice Girl moves."
Genvey frowned, a scowl replacing that victorious smile she wore just a second ago. Tentatively, she finally nodded and answered; "Fine."
"Shake on it?
"Shake on it."
Both humans, the child and the woman, spat into their hands and shook on it.
Three hours later, Genvey and Calvin were both jumping and dancing on the bed to Spice Girl songs, laughing and screaming and provoking quite a few neighbors below them to get their brooms and bang on the ceiling.
And in the tradition of being impudent children (overgrown or not), they both ignored the protests and continued on.
Genvey didn't bother answering it.
The door opened without invitation, and with it came a wild screech as the young boy squealed in pure joy and ran from the threshold, leaving the door open, and skidding by the kitchen door, screaming out; "HIAUNTIEGBYEAUNTIEG!ILOVEYOU" his shrieks dying as he tore throughout the apartment.
Genvey didn't stop washing her dishes, and her greeting to her nephew was this; "CALVIN, IF YOU BREAK SOMETHING, SO HELP ME I'LL BEAT YOU UNTIL YOUR LITTLE MONKEY BEHIND WILL TURN AN UNGODLY SHADE OF PURPLE. GOT IT?"
"CHILD ABUSE!" retorted the eight year old, his voice slightly muffled by the walls.
A sigh escaped her lips, and once again Genvey began to question just how the hell she ended up babysitting her brother Stanley's kid every other weekend. Certainly it wasn't of her own accord. Why would ANYONE want such a menace in their home was beyond her. Oh. That's why. Because Stanley obviously didn't want him in his home either, and in the grand tradition of her twin brothers always dumping the blame and the crap on their little sister's shoulders, she ended up with Calvin.
And she heard Bruno's (the supposedly-older-by-three-seconds-twin) wife was pregnant. Genvey shuddered at the thought.
She didn't have much time to mull over her thoughts any longer. Before Genvey could go into full-rant-thought mode, a sudden blast of "Wannabe" by the Spice Girls came booming through the apartment. She gasped, dropping the plate she had been washing instantly and came storming out of the kitchen, howling; "CALVIN! MY RECORDS! THAT LITTLE HOLLY TERROR!"
Genvey found Calvin in her bedroom, next to the dingy little boombox that looked like it had been dropped one too many times, dancing and jumping on Genvey's own unkept bed in his underwear (and wearing also one of Genvey's sweaters as a cape, and her bra over his head like a hat) and wailing Spice Girls lyrics at the top of his lungs, mixed in with the occasional ABBA line.
It took everything in Genvey to try and keep her temper. The woman stood at the door, hands on hips and flaring her nostrils. Hell was looking like a better option then facing off with Genevieve.
But Calvin was experienced in bugging his aunt, and in the grand tradition of being an impudent child in the Oliver family, he ignored her and continued dancing and rejoicing before finally, Genvey marched over to the boombox and shut off the music completely, causing Calvin to fall to the bed on his rump, pouting that pout that was so often on Genvey's own face. "Hey! Whassthat for?!"
"How many times do I have to tell you that my stuff is off-limits?!"
"Is that a trick question?"
Genvey shot a death glare at that cheeky little boy, resisting the urge to smack him so hard that he'll fly all the way to Alaska.
"Now, listen up Calvin. This is my house, so that means MY rules and..." Genvey's voice faded from Calvin's inner mind. He stared blankly at his Aunt, watching her mouth move and her eyebrows rise and fall and her expressions change onto that heart-shaped face of hers, her eyes sometimes glaring, sometimes looking like she was pleading, something looking like they wished he would just drop dead. The mouth was certainly moving, but no words were coming out. Or at least, if they were, Calvin wasn't focused on them. After a few seconds, the boy's attention span snapped, and he stuck his finger in his nose and, as his Pops often said, began to "dig for gold."
"CALVIN! Are you listening?!"
He let out another beastly shriek, followed by a huge moo, and to much of Genvey's protest, began to jump on the bed once again, pulling the bra over his eyes and caterwauled; "LOOKIT MEEE! IMMA FLY! BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZZZZZ!"
At this point, Genvey had enough. There was only a certain amount of Calvin she could take a day, and it seemed she was reaching her limit. Not that it wasn't amusing to see Calvin's over-active imagination in play; it was just the simple fact that the boy wore her out. She swore she would have premature wrinkles because of that kid.
So, she tried the normal tactics in this sort of thing; Genvey grabbed the boy's feet, pulled him down on the bed, and began to tickle him. Cackles and squirming followed, with Calvin screaming several comments like; "STOPETTTT!" and "HAHAHATHAT'SHAHAHAURTS! AHAHA! ST-AHAHAHA! STOPPP!" and "I'LL CALL AHAHAHA 911! AHAHA! FOR REAL, AHA, AUNTIE AHAHA G!"
"Not until you stop being a such a punk!"
After a few minutes, Genvey finally let her tickle grip loosen up, and allowed Calvin to sit up, still giggling from the aftermath of the attack. Wiping tears from those huge baby blues, he looked up at his Aunt, who know sat at the edge of the bed, and said; "Fine. I'll stop. But you gotta show me some Spice Girl moves."
Genvey frowned, a scowl replacing that victorious smile she wore just a second ago. Tentatively, she finally nodded and answered; "Fine."
"Shake on it?
"Shake on it."
Both humans, the child and the woman, spat into their hands and shook on it.
Three hours later, Genvey and Calvin were both jumping and dancing on the bed to Spice Girl songs, laughing and screaming and provoking quite a few neighbors below them to get their brooms and bang on the ceiling.
And in the tradition of being impudent children (overgrown or not), they both ignored the protests and continued on.
[/SIZE][/ul]
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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!
