by Guest Tue Nov 24, 2009 2:16 am
O U T O F C H A R A C T E RName: MAGGIE <3
Gender: female.
Age: fifteen.
How you found Potter's Army: no idea, i found it ages ago.
Any other characters on Potter's Army: none, yet.
B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O NName: Ivory Delmi Vein. Ivy or Ive.
Gender: Femme.
Race: Human - witch.
Blood Status: Halfblood.
Year AND Age: Seventh - Seventeen.
Birthday: 5th of July.
Preferred houses: Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.
Play-by: Kristen Bell.
A P P E A R A N C EHeight: 5"3 and 98 lbs.
Hair: Brown, wavey.
Eye colour: Chocolate brown.
Skin: Slightly tanned.
General Appearance: Seeing as how curly brown hair runs in this young girl’s family, it’s only fitting that she, too, has it. With the women, it’s long, wild, and often unmanageable, yet it is the pride and joy of most. Why has always been a mystery to Ivory, because she, frankly, can hardly stand it. Since returning to her parents, she has been forbidden to cut it off or ‘harm’ it in any way, shape or form. The only solace she has is in knowing that at Beauxbatons, her parents have no control. Of course, she still won’t hack it off herself for fear of messing it up and looking odd and perhaps a bit lopsided, but just what is her remedy? A hairband that is either in her hair or on her left wrist at all times. You never do really know just when you’ll need to tie your hair back to keep it from your face or your neck. Particularly if its length falls to somewhere about the middle of your back, perhaps lower, as Ivory’s does. The immaturity of some people – boys in particular – in her classes, such as said boys tugging on her hair, just adds to her level of reason to keep it tightly together and under control.
On those rare occasions where she does not bother to keep it under control by methods of tying it back away from her face, Ivory can continually be found running a hand through it. Whether it be because of some sort of emotion that isn’t easily vent-able, or because it’s in her face, it’s become a habit hard to break and a very slow method to straightening her hair just a bit. The constant running her fingers through her curls tugs at them, apparently, and causes them to straighten out more than they could possibly by any other means that aren’t magical. She’s usually pretty okay with her magical abilities but severely doubts them when it comes to pointing her wand at her head and using a spell she’s never practiced. Turning her head into a pumpkin or something of the like simply doesn’t appeal to her; makes it hard to wear hats, although the girl doesn’t wear hats all that often. In the winter, she certainly does, but any time after that is completely a spontaneous act. Her clothes don’t typically ‘match’ or ‘go with’ any sort of hat that she has seen other girls her age wearing.
Not only does unruly hair run in her family, but, amongst the women, so does a small frame. Her height has always been a source of self-consciousness for her but with the years, the self-consciousness has faded. Not entirely, but enough that she only gets frustrated or angry when someone purposely makes some sort of ridiculing remark about it. She stands – though just barely – at five foot and, contrary to what other girls may do to either look ‘hot’ or ‘pretty’ or simply to gain a few inches, you will never catch Ivory dead in heels. She prefers tennis shoes, or flats at the most extreme, and neither tend to add any height to her frame. Her slightly optimistic way of looking at this is that, were she to gain a few inches, her body would probably look oddly disproportioned. All her life, it has been slender – now weighing in at one-hundred-three pounds – and now is no different; for her to stand a few inches taller would make her look lanky, like a teenager that hasn’t fully grown into their body just yet. Her deepest wish is that this isn’t her adult body. Five foot is far too short for an adult and she really doesn’t want to be stuck at this height the rest of her life. The words ‘a little old granny’ are starting to worry her a bit and she’s only fifteen, for Merlin’s sake.
Although she doesn’t really like the vantage point from this height, she has found that she doesn’t mind it nearly as much as she once might have. It’s better than being tall and lanky and uncomfortable like some girls she now knows at Beauxbatons, but she still sometimes resents not having another inch or two on her total height. She’s also noticed that her height lets people both undermine her, as though she’s a bothersome child that acts like they know things that people a few years older would know, and they also think her to be a whopping total of twelve. Only her sometimes impressive vocabulary and quick temper allude to otherwise – and that typically surprises the people that have come to expect her to be this dainty thing. A girl doesn’t have to be huge to be startling. You can scare that crap out of someone with a wand as easily as you could with a fist. Well...When it comes to other witches and wizards, that is. When it comes to muggles, there isn’t a whole lot you can do other than act a little older than your age. And this is precisely what Ivory has come to do.
Ivory’s complexion is fair and has always been so, even during the summer due to her desire to remain indoors placating herself with simpler tasks. Those tasks would include reading or writing, as she is a fan of both, or playing games with her younger cousins. However, there are those times where she’ll seek complete peace and quiet and it would be those times were one would find her outside, climbing a tree with a battered book that she had probably memorized years ago. Those are the times where her hair will be hanging free and her overall attitude would be much more peaceful, calm, and relaxed than it is on an everyday basis. Yet her clothes would be jeans and a t-shirt and nothing else. Once, when she was little and forced into little-girl skirts and whatnot, she had climbed a tree. She never would forge the snickers of her male cousins and the demure smiles of her aunts and uncles at a family reunion when her knickers just about flashed everyone as she climbed up that tree. Perhaps that fueled her dislike for such frilly and girly things now – she isn’t entirely certain.
She’s a girl that enjoys being a bit more tomboy than girly girl, but doesn’t really venture outside when she’s at home. There’s nothing there that holds nearly half the interest that the places outdoors at Beauxbatons do. And being a bit more tomboy also implies that she doesn’t really hold any sort of interest in fashion or anything of that nature. She doesn’t, not even a whit. Her clothes typically consist of jeans and a t-shirt and jeans and a sweater in the winter. Recently, she’s taken to wearing flannel shirts rather than the sweaters because they’re soft and sometimes more comfortable. Some hang down to her knees and some fit her just right. Her mood indicates the sort of colors she likes to wear and as of late, she’s been wearing clothes of the brighter variety. When she wears sweaters, it’s usually when she intends to go outside and those almost always hang to midthigh or lower. Did she mention that they’re always soft? Soft clothing is the best kind of clothing and even her well-worn t-shirts have taken on that soft, fuzzy sort of feel to them. That’s probably not a good sign for t-shirts as it usually means that the threads are easily breakable, but this girl will take comfort – and soft shirts – over anything else any day.
Most girls her age like looking pretty and at their best every day with gobs and gobs of makeup that tends to wear off during the middle of the day where it then all needs to be reapplied. What purpose does that serve than to be some sort of mask that others see? Ivory’s never quite seen the point in that, either, and probably never will. She can’t bring herself to see the point in applying goop that feels like a second skin and therefore has never worn it except on special occasions with her family or otherwise. The otherwise applies to the various events that Beauxbatons has, such as balls and whatnot, and those are not everyday thank goodness. She doesn’t like makeup – it always takes too long to fiddle with anyhow and it’s like some of the things are torture devices, honestly. Alright, so she’s exaggerating a bit, but the concept is still the same.
While there are many things that Ivory won’t wear, there are things that she has taken to wearing lately. Sweaters that are of pastel colors are one of them, but jewelry is another. She’s never really worn jewelry except the plastic kind when she was younger. Recently, however, she’s taken to wearing a silver band on her right ring finger that has an old German saying engraved into it. Alte Liebe rostet nicht, which translates into ‘all in good time’, or ‘all in its time’. If people tend to notice the engraving, she’ll explain it to them but not always happily. It’s sort of a personal sort of thing, something that’s faintly private, and yet she wears it on her finger for the world to see. It’s a bit hypocritical of herself, but most people have traits that do that to themselves.
P E R S O N A L I T YSkills: - Good with a wand.
- Has a natural aura.
- Kind and loving to all.
Weaknesses: - Vulnerable to change.
- Can be threatened if loved ones are involved.
- Too trusting at times.
Likes: - Cute animals.
- Being held.
- Her friends and family.
Dislikes: - Snakes and insects.
- Being alone.
- Feeling unwanted.
Motto: Never let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game !
General Personality: A point can’t be proven if one doesn’t try or keeps it to themselves, right? As it turns out, Ivory has many points to prove, most of them only making sense in one place – her head. Very rarely do others see things the same way she might, a source of frustration for her for many years. Her failure to cause someone to see things another way will, oftentimes, bring out that fiery temper of hers that will get her into trouble in some way or another. It is usually under tight control at home, where anyone’s temper is not tolerated, much less her own, but Beauxbatons is another story entirely. Sometimes, people don’t really know when they ought to quit speaking or just quit in general and her low patience as well as stubborn attitude rarely ever manages to work to her benefit. Wands in someone’s eye and spells can’t always solve everything, a problem that she is slowly beginning to realize. Sometimes, calm and rational words are the only things that seem to solve anything, much to her dismay – when angry, it’s very hard for this particular girl to be rational and calm all at the same time. Even when she is not angry, it’s hard to her to be rational. The fact that her German accent is more prominent when she is angry, too, often makes it harder to be understood and only aids to frustrate her further.
And for one that would much rather resort to wandwork that exchanging harsh words, Ive isn’t all that bad at it. She was ruddy for the longest time but it’s amazing what a bit of practice tends to do. The only thing that she usually likes practicing in is Quidditch but that’s opened up a bit to include spells and such for her classes and a little beyond that. Her preferred sort of spells – the ones that come easiest to her – are those that are either self-invented in German or those that her parents have taught to her, also in German. Speaking in her natural tongue, she would guess, is the easiest way to perform spells correctly and without issue. But while she is good as spells and charms and whatnot, every person has their downfall and her particular downfall falls along the lines of mixing things together. Things like ingredients. And ingredients are used in potions. So her least favorite class would be Potions because there’s always a way to mess things up so completely that you either have a cauldron performing a trick such as exploding, or you have a thick, congealing mess at the bottom of it. And this is usually the problem for Ivory – the last time that she successfully made something in Potions was in her first year and she was about as stunned as her professor. Nowadays, it’s self-doubt that prevents her from getting the potion done the right way because there’s honestly nothing to it; she knows that, and yet she still manages to not get the potion done within the class time or stirs counterclockwise when the ‘recipe’ calls for the opposite. Too easy to mess up, in her opinion, but she supposes that other people are right – self-doubt is a truly horrible thing.
Self-doubt can sometimes give way to being a bit of a klutz or vice versa. In this case, the two haven’t always gone hand-in-hand but they’ve come pretty damn close. Because of her sometimes flippant and careless attitude, Ivory won’t do things all the way through – for example, putting shoes on the proper way just to walk a few feet when shoes are necessary – and then she’ll end up on her rear on the floor. Or she’ll do things to hastily – like trying to get out of bed too quickly while her feet haven’t yet hit the ground – and she ends up flat on her face. She doesn’t fall all that much, thank goodness, but she sometimes gets the feeling that it’s why she likes Quidditch so much; she has a huge passion for the sport because the only thing you need is a good broom and knowledge on how the game works. When she cuts through the air on her broom – happy at now having a Nimbus something-or-other – she feels almost otherworldly. Perhaps it’s a bit too poetic for flying around on brooms trying to catch a ball the size of a walnut but Ivory likes it and likes it immensely. When it comes to a broom in the air, you either fall off or don’t; it’s pretty good incentive to be careful and thorough all the way through.
As shown above when conversing with people in an argumentative manner – what a delicate way to put it – Ivory can be a bit of a passionate person but she can also be a bit distant. She’s more distant when it comes to relationships with people, excluding her parents. Emotions are hard things for some people to show and Ive falls under that category of people. It’s easy to see when she’s happy and easy to see when there are things on her mind, yet she won’t always give it away to people, she won’t always tell them just exactly what’s wrong or what’s got her in such high spirits. Although, truth be told, it’s much easier to get things out of her when she’s in higher spirits than not. But one emotion that she never shows people are her tears – when something has her upset, she’ll immediately seek refuge in a place that is less traveled so there will be no interruption and, if there is an interruption, she will hurriedly wipe at her eyes and deny, deny, deny. People give you sympathy or their pity when they see you cry, or such has been her experience, and she doesn’t care for it. She doesn’t know what to do with it but has come to, more or less, accept it as being there.
The tendency that she has to display emotions in an odd way – or not display them at all – has also kept her in a bit of a shell built entirely by herself. She isn’t much of one for physical contact; even at home, when her mother strokes her hair, she’ll automatically draw away until the hand has fallen and she realizes what it was that she did. It’s hard to willingly let people touch you because that gives you some sort of intimate bond of varying sorts and then you can become easily hurt. Her past and her present make it harder for her to be accepting of physical contact but she tries to be. Especially after being called out on the trait so blatantly more recently in her life. Making it harder for people to get in backfires on you – words to live by.
Drawing away from the habit of keeping to herself, Ive does have a few other habits, ones that can sometimes get her in trouble or are about as harmless as a rabbit. The harmless ones include fidgeting with her hair – she does it almost constantly. When it’s down, her fingers are running through it and when it’s up, her fingers are twirling stray strands around her fingers. Usually, when she’s twirling strands, it’s because she’s thinking as she works on homework or when she’s sitting in a tower of some sort and thinking of different things on life. Another harmless habit includes cracking her knuckles excessively, sort of as something better to do than simply sitting when she should probably just simply sit. She’s been told that she’ll have arthritis someday but would much rather take the risk than be told not to do something with her body. She can be a bit of a rebel in that aspect.
A not-so-harmless habit includes speaking up for people that don’t always necessarily want to be spoken for. Usually it’s for her friends that have come to expect her to be a little bit confrontational, but other times it’s been for random strangers. Some have gone away a bit grateful and friendships have come out of that; other times, people have been angry and it comes out that the girl has made another enemy. Not exactly what she had intended to do but some people have an independent attitude that matches her own – they don’t need some small chick to defend them and some people have told her as much.
H I S T O R YFamily Information: - Dieter Vein - father.
- Daphne Vein - mother.
- Patrick Vein - brother.
Childhood: Ivory doesn’t like to give people a detailed description of her past. Most people don’t anyways, but she doesn’t for reasons that will always sound perfectly justified in her head, and yet they may sound like utter nonsense to people she actually chooses to tell. Those people are far and few between; indeed, in her lifetime now, Ivory can only recall telling one person, but she knows that she’ll have to tell people at some point or another in the future. The whole ordeal is not something that she likes remembering - she doesn’t like to be reminded of the possible events that may or may not have led to the death of her uncle and she doesn’t like to feel almost as though it’s her fault that he could have been murdered in the first place. He was a good man, Uncle Amot was, and he’s been missed terribly throughout her lifetime, his memory managing to filter into her own sometimes as she sits quietly up in a tower. But, as is a habit, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Starting from the beginning is always a good idea to do.
Born around the middle of the summer, Ivory was a quiet, observant baby. She rarely cried out for silly reasons such as hearing a sound that startled her, or for hearing raised voices in just the other room. No, she was quiet unless something demanded immediate attention - and even then she rarely cried. Looking back on it at her age now, Ive would be stunned to believe such a thing. You’ve read her personality - to imagine that she wasn’t always loud and feisty like she is now is almost comical. But yes, she was a quiet baby born to proud parents and a brother that loved carting her around for the sole reason of appearing important to others. He was a good brother and was six years older than she. So when a trip that entailed her parents’ attendance rolled around, he was permitted to attend with them. Ivory’s options were to stay home - though her parents didn’t leave the options directly to her, for she was nothing more than a four year old - with a caretaker, or to go to her grandfather’s house and spend her time with her grandmother and several uncles. Thrilled at the prospect of meeting new family, the little girl was eager for her parents to leave so that she may go to a house she’d only seen in pictures and had promptly fallen in love with.
Her parents, as it turned out, knew quite a lot less about her grandfather - father to Ivory’s mother, Daphne - as Dieter and Delmi had followed an old view of their parents, and that view was that the wife should raise the girls and take on all the household tasks and that the husband should take on the process of raising the boys in the family. Her grandmother was strict but kind, and it was with her where Ivory spent most of her time along with her aunt and uncle - the uncle that was previously mentioned, no less. They were more sociable than Dieter and his other three sons, and they were a lot more fun, too. Her aunt would play with her whenever she so desired and her uncle would often take her out-of-doors to look at the garden that Delmi had planted twenty years ago. The young girl loved to frolic about the flowers - but this part of the story is irrelevant.
A sickness was going around and it came to the household and, fortunately, didn’t take everyone with it. Delmi and Ivory’s aunt were the only two to be affected and they both died sometime later. Their funerals were combined and many people had attended, noting the little girl dressed in black whose hand was in that of an older man’s. He, too, looked as somber as the little girl, and with good reason. From that moment on, Ivory had become his charge and she soon became aware of a rule that had been in place the day that she’d arrived: “Do not go down to the basement, Ivory.” Nothing more was said on that subject, but Ive obeyed without a question. The days, weeks, months, and years soon passed. Her parents had come home by then, but had willingly left the girl in the care of Amot. Aside from the deaths, they found no fault in the conditions which she lived in and her brother, named after Dieter, came with her parents to live there for awhile.
Things were going well until the day where Ivory had mistakenly stumbled to the basement-level floor. Alright, so ‘mistakenly stumbled’ is quite the wrong phrase to use; being a child, she had that curiosity (a curiosity that has never subsided) and had formed a perfectly legitimate excuse for coming down to that floor. She’d ‘dropped her ball and it had rolled down the stairs’, and yes, at the bottom of the stairwell, a red ball could be seen bouncing its way down the hall. Her steps, she recalled, had been slow that day, though they were loud. Perhaps that was what tipped off her Uncle Avery, for he arrived with his body stiff and formal with his arms folded behind his back. All it took was one look and Ivory turned willingly around, all thoughts of going further left behind her with that cold gaze.
A few days later, her brother came to inform her that Amot had passed away, seemingly in his sleep. Her family, without any proof that otherwise may have occurred, bowed their heads and attended the funeral the following week before moving back to their house in France. Life went on until the year before Hogwarts became an option for Ivory. Her brother and she were having one of their brief arguments and he had, in a flash of anger, made a comment that made Ivory freeze where she stood; how could uncle Amot have been murdered? Murdered, no less, by his family...? No, her brother had not said that in his older-brother outburst, but he had certainly implied it and now this question had remained - and still remains - locked in her head.
Hogwarts: Upon arrival at Hogwarts the young girl was sorted into Gryffindor. She did not understand why, she wasn’t brave or courageous like the details the sorting hat had implied. Maybe the sorting hat was drunk when he sorted her? She never did quite work out what that ratty old hat had been thinking. And whilst she was sorted into Gryffindor, her brother was a Ravenclaw. Of course they both found different crowds and didn’t have every single class together, but they were still close and kept in touch. Their bond was strong, and nothing could stand in the way of that. Not even the boys that started chasing Ivory as they grew up. From there he became the protective big brother he had promised his father he would be.
First year was a year of growing and learning more about herself as a person. Ivy began to learn about the wonderful world of magic, a world she had not been exposed to as a child. It was a year of growth, as her English became more fluent. Coming for Germany to England hadn’t been easy on any of the Vein family, but it was only a matter of time before her fellow students could understand her strong accent. She learnt which classes she hated, and which she liked. She learnt to stay out of the way of older students.
The years in between were about growing up into the women she is today, where she learnt who she wanted to be and what she wanted to do. From there she decided she wanted to be a healer.
Adulthood: Still to graduate.
Short Roleplay: - - - MOST RECENT SAMPLE.
It was pathetic really, trying to forget about him and move on, Marlene was stupid for ever thinking that she would be able to do it. The case was, that when you were so in love with someone it took more than a few words and a period of not talking properly to forget about them. God knows that she had tried, she’d been short with him at order meetings, when they were together as a group of friends the awkward tension was far too much for Marls to even comprehend. Of all the people in the world, of all of the millions of F*** men out there, Marlene had to fall for the worst one out of them all. There was little she could do about it though, once you fell for someone you fell for them and that was all there was to it, sometimes she wished that it wasn’t true and that she could somehow magically fall out of love with someone, no matter how much she really and truly wanted to forget him she couldn’t. How could you forget someone you loved with every single breath, every single nerve, every single muscle and every single cell of your little human body? There was no way in hell she could make it happen. The thing was she hadn’t even wanted to end it with him, perhaps if that had been the case then she wouldn’t have been in this situation, but the thing was she had done it to protect him. He however, was being a stubborn mule and deciding that she was being stupid and that she would eventually come running back. Well okay so everyone knew that the latter of those comments would happen, there was only so long she could go without waking up in his arms every morning, but she was trying. There was so little for her to do as it was at the moment, what with being in hiding and all of the other things that came with being wanted by death eaters, but for the most part she was ignoring the whole thing and so were her brothers. Still, there was no use running off to see your boyfriend when hey, wait, you didn’t have one. In fact he was so much more than her boyfriend, he had been her fiancé, but she had messed that up too. Love had never been and would never be easy. In fact Marlene had loved Sirius since around her fifth year she just hadn’t know it, because hey Mack was one of the boys, she was doing what they were doing and getting involved in the same things as them why should it even matter who she cared about? Then they’d graduated and suddenly she was with Sirius, then she wasn’t, then they were simply shagging. Then they were together, then they weren’t. Really, it needed to find some kind of end. Still for the minute she couldn’t do anything about it. Was there practically anything in their relationship that Marlene hadn’t completely F*** up already? Probably not.
So that was how, ladies and gentlemen, Marlene McKinnon came to be sitting slumped in an overly stuffed armchair in front of a fire in her own home. It was no life to life she decided, and how anyone actually managed to stay kept away for so long she had no idea, there was so very little that she could actually do before she went insane. She had attempted to read a book and had read pride and prejudice so many times that she was beginning to want to slaughter Mr. Darcy, and that was never a good thing now was it. She adored that book but right now she was tempted to throw it into the fire. Snapping it shut with a huge sigh, she cast her eyes around the room. Her chocolate brown orbs came to rest upon the clock above the fireplace and she gave a soft groan, it was half past eleven. Truly she felt like going to bed, but where was the Marlene McKinnon in that? She was not a girl to sit and do nothing when she could have been, she was a true lover of life and that meant that she wanted to be doing something every second she was awake. She didn’t care about danger, or being caught or even death to an extent at least she was living life to its fullest and that was all she had ever wanted. Sure she felt bad putting her brothers in potential danger, but to be honest, they were doing the same anyway and she had such a close bond with her brothers that it hardly mattered. That was the problem really with Marlene, she was such a typical girl at times of course, for example when there was a spider in the bathroom. She recalled a rather distinct memory where she had screamed Sirius’ flat down because there had been a spider in the corner of the bath, she had proceeded to stand on the toilet until he got rid of it. It had of course been about two millimetres big but it didn’t change the fact that she thought it was going to eat her, or poison her or something, never mind the fact that she was a healer, and she knew that spiders weren’t poisonous. When it came down to it however, Marlene was just one of the boys. She had grown up around two elder boys and her father, of course her mother had attempted to put her in the pretty dresses and drag her shopping and sometimes things like that had been nice but really Marlene would have rather been outside kicking a football around than having tea parties with her dolls.
Letting her head drop back against the back of the chair she pulled her knees up to her chest. Her brown tendrils of hair sprayed around her shoulders as her chest moved slowly up and down; an indication that she was still breathing in case you didn’t know. She had so much to think about but Marls never did that kind of thing, she was the fun loving, party starting, trying a bit of everything kind of person. Things happened and she took them in her stride, she told herself she’d go back to them later but she never did. Of course there were some things she didn’t think about on purpose. The war that was going on outside the very walls of her house for example; that was something she pushed to the very corners of her mind until these very dark moments when she had nothing to do but sit and think about what was really going on in her life. The really important things that for some reason she seemed to think didn’t matter all that much, they applied to other people but not to Marlene McKinnon, she was the kind of girl that was always bubbly and taking everyone else’s mind off of it. She knew that eventually it would all become too much for her and she would ultimately have some kind of breakdown to which she was forced to admit and talk about everything that was on her very small and complex mind. Sighing deeply, she let her eyes flutter closed as her memory turned through so many different things that had suddenly come to her. Hogwarts was her main focus, oh how badly she wanted to return to her care-free, alcohol-filled, rule breaking days. The times where she would sneak around Hogwarts with the marauders and Emmeline, much to Lily and Dorcas’ annoyance. Usually the bunch of them were thrown into detention until they were busted out. Those were the days that really counted, the immature times when nothing really mattered because Hogwarts was impenetrable; there was nothing that was going to dampen their moods. Hogwarts had been the time to be kids, but then you took one step into the adult world and suddenly you were faced with death, torture and so many other horrific tasks and stories that chilled you right to the bone. Marlene had to wake up every morning praying that the people she truly loved were still alive and safe.
Perhaps it was the thought of death, or the thought of losing someone close that jolted her from her somewhat depressive and dreary state. She opened her eyes, dark chocolate orbs becoming used to the dim light once more. The truth was that a number of feelings had just shot through her body. One was a complete longing, a longing for someone that she shouldn’t have even been thinking about but that occupied her mine one hundred and sixty percent of the time. She wanted Sirius, she wanted to touch him, hold him, kiss him just be with him again; was that perhaps a little too forward? Still this was Marlene we’re talking about nothing was ever too forward. She didn’t care. Secondly was perhaps something she’d never admit but a sense of fear, she was alone in her home right now. She could die that very second and no one would find her until the order came to check up on her, or Dorcas came to pay a visit, or when people realised she wasn’t sending replies to their e-mails. Then again she was pretty sure there’d be a horrid green skull above her house if she were to be killed. Sighing gently, and now feeling somewhat uneasy about the whole thing, she glanced around the room, well it was clearly time to make a plan. What could Marlene McKinnon do right this very minute? Lily was probably with James and didn’t want to be disturbed, Emmeline was probably out being... her Emme. Dork was probably with Remus and she hardly wanted to interrupt that. That left clearly the one thing that she wanted and that she would have chosen even if all of her friends had owled her that moment and asked her to visit them. Sirius Black was the object of her desire right now and god knows she wanted him back. But could she really do that? Go running back to him and ask for him to take her back and then drop him once again? She hadn’t spoken to him properly, or had a civil conversation with him for at least a month. Now she was planning to turn up on his doorstep? Well actually that was exactly what she was going to do because hey, she was Marlene McKinnon and that was what she did. Where was life without a little spontaneity. There was nothing there to play with, and if she didn’t try she was never going to know. That however, was a problem with Marlene she came to think solely of that moment that she never gave a thought to the future or the past, and how people may have felt later on, when she dropped them again. Standing she dropped her book back on the chair, with a soft thump. Mr Darcy could wait until tomorrow. She had her own to go and find now, stretching her arms above her head, letting her plain purple t-short rise to show her toned stomach. Years of quidditch had helped that of course. Still not the point, tugging the material back down as she lounged into the kitchen and started throwing things together, she knew exactly what she needed, throwing it all into a bag she sighed and straightened up once more.
Smiling slightly to herself as she chucked some cocoa powder into the plastic bag and walked back out of the kitchen. She pondered in front of the mirror checking her reflection. Her black hair hung limply around her shoulders, tumbling a few inches past them with a soft wave to it, her fringe, or bangs as the Americans called it apparently, was neatly sitting on her forehead. Her lively chocolate eyes stared back at her, and her cheeks remained slightly flushed as always, a spray of freckles across her nose and cheek bones if you looked closely enough. She sighed gently, she wasn’t the prettiest of people around but she didn’t really care, only when it came to times like this when she was hoping to impress and she knew that she wouldn’t. Or at least, she couldn’t understand why she would, but it didn’t matter Marlene wasn’t one to wallow in self pity. Grabbing her wand from the chair she had previously been sitting in, she stuffed it into her back pocket. Staring down at her outfit she sighed, grabbing a blue jacket she slipped it on before grabbing her plastic bag, which held perfect ingredients. With a small glance around the room, she was gone with a pop, reappearing at a place that seemed so much more like home than the place she had just been in. On the other side of the door she now face was her home, and it wasn’t a form of walls, it was in the form of a man. He pale hand came to rest gently against the wood of the door, the cold touch under her hand causing her to rethink just for a second before she came to knock gently against the door. She hopped from one leg to the other, bag still clasped in her hand. It was bloody freezing she observed, then again it was the beginning of December. When the door opened she held up the bag, not looking at who was in the door way. ”You know, I really feel like making cakes and I know it’s late but you know that you don’t mind me turning up and forcing you to bake cakes with me at stupid hours. Plus we haven’t spoken in forever so I think that we should you know... talk.” It came out rather quickly and rushed and she eventually moved her brown eyes to look up at his gray ones. Oh big mistake. Now she just wanted to beg him there and then to take her back, to be able to throw herself at him and not have to worry about it. But she simply forced a smile instead, ignoring the raging battle in her head.
Last edited by Ivory Vein on Tue Nov 24, 2009 3:49 am; edited 2 times in total
