Post by antonin on Apr 26, 2011 20:10:06 GMT -5
ANTONIN MAREK DOLOHOV
[/font]IS GONNA BE TOTALLY AWESOME ![/color][/font]
please put the doctor on the phone cause i'm not making any sense
blame anyone but me for this mess
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OH, JUST GIVE THEM ALL B-'s AND BE DONE WITH IT!
NOW THAT'S EVIL. YEAH THANKS, I AM THE DARK LORD[/color][/font]
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AGE/DOB: Seventeen//October 13
YEAR: Seventh
HOUSE: Slytherin
AFFILIATION: Death Eater
SEXUALITY: Heterosexual[/SIZE]
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[/color][/font]GOYLE, WHO DO YOU THINK IS THE UGLIEST
GIRL IN SCHOOL? HMM... OH, BUCKBEAK, FOR SURE[/color][/font]
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EYE DETAILS: Antonin's eyes are chocolate brown, and you know how some people describe brown eyes as 'warm?' well, his aren't. nope. they're as cold as his tiny little soul
HEIGHT/WEIGHT/BUILD: Antonin stands at a little less than 5'4" and is around 125 pounds. yeah he's a little bit on the runty side, but don't let his size make you think anything less of him--he's a ruthless as they come
FACE: gorgeous
STYLE: Style? Antonin doesn't know the meaning of the word
FEELINGS: that purebloods are God, and everyone else is lower than dirt
PLAYED BY: James Franco[/SIZE]
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[/color][/font]MAN, BACK WHEN I HAD A BODY, OOH. I HAD MAD GAME
WITH THE BITCHES. JUST ASK BELLATRIX LESTRANGE![/color][/font]
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-- Small furry creatures
-- Sleeping
-- Being outside
-- Experimental spells
-- The ocean
-- Being alone
-- Darkness
-- Silence
-- Violence
-- Fire
LOATHES:
-- People
-- Muggles
-- People who cause pain to small defenseless creatures (muggles don't count as small and defenseless)
-- Children
-- Sarcasm
-- Open spaces
-- Tight spaces
-- Bright lights
-- High-pitched noises
-- Physical contact
BOGGART: death, his own of course
DEMENTOR: 'tonin's worst memories are those of his childhood. it's basically a montage of pain.
PATRONUS: Antonin's happiest memory was. . . well, that's a tough one. Probably when he first invented his spell, that wonderful spell that's all his. But to be honest, he cannot cast a Patronus, though if he could, it would probably be a coyote
AMORENTIA:
-- Smoke
-- Rain
-- Roses
VERITASERUM:
-- wants to be a Death Eater
-- he's not exactly wholly sane, and he knows it
STRENGTHS:
-- his magic
-- he has a way with plants~~
-- his paranoia may be considered a strength. it keeps him safe
-- his nearly total lack of a conscience is a strength as in he never holds back
WEAKNESSES:
-- cowardly
-- weak-minded; lets other people tell him what to think
-- loyal to the point where he would never say no
OVERVIEW:
The first thing you notice about Antonin when he walks into the room is the overwhelming confidence he exerts. He walks into a room with His head held high—he owns the room, and everyone in it should know this indisputable fact. His smile isn’t one that should be taken for happiness; no, that smile is the self-satisfied smirk of someone who is fully aware that he intimidates people, and he makes sure it stays that way. Arrogance is obvious in both his posture and the way he treats others; in his world, Antonin is God. He is the one and the only, and whatever Antonin wants, Antonin gets.
That Cheshire smile, yes, see? That one he’s giving that muggle-born boy over there, that one’s dangerous. This particular brand of Antonin kindness generally precedes moments of intense cruelty. He is the type to play with his food before he eats it. Being still young, Antonin is more prone to physical cruelty than mental, as he does not yet possess the perception or observation skills necessary to cut into his victims. But Antonin is a curious teenager, always pushing and prodding people further and further, always searching for what exactly makes them tick. He sees them almost as experiments, something he can test on over and over again just to see what hurts them most—and this is both physical and mental weaknesses he is intent on exploiting.
A common misconception that people often have about Antonin is that his physical appearance belies his personality. Yes, he looks rather innocent—a little fragile, like someone who needs to be protected. This is not the case. Antonin often uses this to his advantage; he lures them into trusting him, in order to get much of the information he wants. He often appears to be interested, and, indeed, to be in a sort of mockery of ‘love.’ Antonin does not exactly understand the meaning of the word ‘love.’ He is a user, plain and simple, with the wide eyes and the handsome that often delude people into trusting him.
Antonin is cursed with wildly conflicting emotions that tend to change on a dime. One moment he is happy, laughing and joking—and the next furious, with that dangerous glint in his eye. He is easily offended and quick to violence, and not easily appeased. While it can be said that it would be good not to get on his bad side, Antonin is curiously not the type to hold grudges. He is flighty and forgetful. Antonin is not the type to have very close friends—although they may believe themselves to be his close friends, he does not exactly have more feelings for them greater than mild affection.
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[/color][/font]NOT EVERYONE INHERITED ENOUGH MONEY TO
BUY OUT NASA WHEN THEIR PARENTS DIED[/color][/font]
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FATHER: Antony Dolohov, 48, Unknown, Death Eater, attended Durmstrang
SIBLINGS:
-- Dolohov, Sixteen, Brother, Slytherin
-- Dolohov, Fifteen, Sister, Ravenclaw
OTHER IMPORTANT FIGURES: n/a
WEALTH STATUS: As his dad came from a prominent, rich family, he does have money. But being unaware of his father's current profession (it is suspected he does not exactly work) and the way the family spends the money, it is unlikely to last very long
BIRTHPLACE: Nížkov, in Zdar nad Sazavou District in the Highland Region of the Czech Republic
CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England
OVERVIEW:
Antonin's father was a Russian wizard who had fled to the Czech Republic because he was being hunted by the Russian authorities who believed he'd been brutally murdering Muggles. Whether he was or wasn't was hazy; no one ever really knew whether he was responsible, as he would adamantly deny having anything at all to do with it. His mother, on the other hand, was a native Czech who had helped his father into the country with setting off any warning bells within the government. It was there that they met and fell in love. They moved away from Prague to a small village that seemed fairly safe (as safe as a hunted wizard could be) and they settled there in relative peace.
Antonin didn't have the best childhood, if you could believe that. He was born in Nížkov, in Zdar nad Sazavou District in the Highland Region of the Czech Republic. His parents hadn't wanted a kid; it was too much trouble, they said. It was too much of a hassle to raise a child. So, in the end, he was pretty much ignored and left to his own devices once he turned four and was no longer quite so needy, as his mother put it. It was probably not the best idea to let their young son wander about on his own at such a young age, especially since that was when his magic started to manifest and when they didn't live in a Wizarding community but instead a Muggle village, where there was quite the risk of being exposed. While his mother and father were both exceedingly careful, the young Antonin didn't have quite the same idea of 'careful.' In other words, he wasn't in any way careful at all.
Antonin did magic in public, without exactly knowing what he was doing. He was just the village freak, he was that Dolohov kid, the stupid child with the irresponsible parents who could not even control they're own son. What was more true was that most likely no one could control 'tonin, as even at such a young age it was obvious his magic was strong. The adults tended to keep their distance from the child, but their own children took it upon themselves to make Antonin's life a living hell. Even from a young age Antonin was rather scrawny and on the smaller end, making him the perfect target for the larger, more cruel muggle bullies that lived there.
And so began the torment and the cruelties of the muggle children, who only knew him as that freaky little scrawny kid who does weird things. Different, as a general rule in that area, was bad. Mostly it started with harmless stuff; calling him names, pushing him around, doing what seems so cruel to small children. It was when he started to get older that things started getting a little bit more violent. It was when he came back from his first year at Durmstrang, as a matter of fact. This learning of dark magic and this sort of anti-Muggle sentient he learned there bled over to his time back home in the Czech Republic, and made him a little bit more confident, a little more like he was better than all these other kids who didn't have a drop of magical blood in their body.
Those kids didn't like that, oh no no no. It mostly made it worse. More taunts followed, and the more they pushed, the more Antonin faltered. His stutter developed, and that just became cause for more ridicule, and more things for them to make fun of--they often just made him talk so they could laugh at him. Antonin became introverted, became less likely to talk and more likely to keep everything to himself. He made up stories to his parents to account for the bruises, the scratches, his nightmares--but nothing ever seemed to get better for him, it only got worse.
It got to the point where his parents couldn't ignore their (now) three children anymore, and the danger they were in from the antics of the oldest. They relocated to London, where his father became involved with the Dark Lord and his movement. Antonin changed in England. It was like the Czech Republic was a place where he was the bullied, the beaten--and moving the England was the chance to show everyone that that wasn't who he was. he had an entire personality turn-around--he wasn't going to be weak anymore, and he wasn't going to sit back and take the pain. No, he was going to actively inflict it, but carefully, carefully.
Hogwarts was the best thing that ever happened to Antonin. He fell in easily with the Slytherins, he learned how to channel his magic into more. . . interesting. . . enterprises, and during his sixth year, he invented a wonderful spell that involved the destruction of internal organs.
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[/color][/font]IF YOU SWITCH ME DRAGONS I'LL GIVE YOU MY
GUSHERS! NO, NO, NO... I HAVE A FRUIT BY THE FOOT[/color][/font]
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AGE: Sixteen
GENDER: Female
EXPERIENCE: 4+
SECRET WORD: Admin edit
ANYTHING ELSE?: n/a
RP SAMPLE:
last post i did for another site
Maximilien wasn't thinking about Heidi anymore. He wasn't thinking about death, about becoming a ghost, about his tangent of revenge that had taken up most of his time (not to mention oxygen) and he found himself silent, his ravaged face wan and tired. He didn't have the strength anymore, not after all he put into that last spell, that last spell that failed because (hewasn'tafailure) she was the devil and the devil never dies. His legs gave out, finally, finally unable to carry him anymore, and he didn't even have the strength to pick up the wand that had fallen out of his hand. Let it lie there, that proud warrior that had fought and lost failed defeated. . . and. . . all the words washed together in his brain, mixing together in orders he couldn't quite understand, all he could do was keep himself awake--he was on the floor (how had he gotten there?) and some still-rational part of his brain told him he had fallen but. . . but. . . that couldn't be right, and he struggled to move but nothing worked, nothing worked and he was just a brain and no body he was thought and no movement and he wasn't going to die here.
But he just curled into a ball and waited. He could see her, but it wasn't a her, it was an it, and it was all fuzzy and blurry, but it had goat legs and cloven hooves, a forked tail and horns; it lifted a hand and fire came out, but he couldn't move to dodge it, he didn't even have the energy to scream. It hit like a truck, a bulldozer, a thousand wrestlers pile-driving him. . . wherever. He had no sense of up or down, left or right, all he was was a ball of pain and shattered nerves and he was broken, broken in more than one sense of the word, and he didn't know what was happening why it was happening or even what time it was, because he could have been burning forever he could already be dead and never knew it, and all the bad things in his life were already coming back to haunt him and all he could do was watch helplessly as they came around him with soft voices so high he could not hear them and pale faces so translucent he could not see them and they touched his face with their cold hands that could not touch skin and they stared at him with those sad, distant eyes and he couldn't watch anymore.
Sometimes, when your mind can't handle the truth, when your body can't handle the pain, the damage, your brain does things. It sends you places you wouldn't normally be. It distorts events to make them more pleasant. It tries to keep you sane, and sends you to your Happy Place. Where the burns covering Maxie's body weren't from the angry flames in the forest, but from lying on his surfboard in the hot sun without any sunscreen on. Where it was not dried blood and ash that glued his right eye shut but the wet sand and saltwater from the ocean. Where the scrapes and bruises that left nothing unscathed came not from fleeing through the forest, but falling off the board and hitting the rough sand, being tossed around by the relentless waves. Where the general, intense pain of the rest of his body came not from being thrown around like a puppet but instead from a long, hard day of surfing.
Some vague part of him recognized where he was, but the leaves rustling in his ears weren't leaves but wings, and the hard branches that caught him weren't branches but strong arms, and he wasn't in a tree he was saved by his Guardian Angel, who was going to keep him alive--but very breath was agony and every movement brought him closer to oblivion but he wasn't going to let that happen because he wasn't going to die here and thetree angel would save him. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the waves were lapping at his legs, begging him to come back in the water, to let himself be washed out to the sea (because the sea loved him, if nothing else did) but he didn't want to be taken, he wanted to stay, and as he opened his good eye a wind blew away the clouds hiding His Sky, and his eyes caught the glint of a single star before the waves pulled him under.
They say that right before your broken, beaten body decided to shut down completely, when that single thought of you might not wake up pops into your head, your priorities assert themselves. You learn what you care about most, what you care about least--and that last thought in your mind before the darkness wraps its velvet arms around you and puts you to sleep is the single most important thing in your entire life. And while Maxie was lying on his Guardian Angel, while he tried to keep himself breathing through his broken ribs, while every intake of oxygen was followed by excruciating pain, he thought about his life. What he'd done. What he hadn't done. What he wanted to do. His life flashed before his eyes; start to finish--and he honestly thought he was going to make peace with the world. His brain was tired, overworked, and hurting, he slipped into the part of unconsciousness where the brain sent him nothing. His last thought was not I'm going to wake up, no, that was his second to last thought. Instead his mind went halfway around the world and he dreamed of a Someday Place, his Future.
In the middle of a dark forest in England, Maximilien dreamed of California.
But he just curled into a ball and waited. He could see her, but it wasn't a her, it was an it, and it was all fuzzy and blurry, but it had goat legs and cloven hooves, a forked tail and horns; it lifted a hand and fire came out, but he couldn't move to dodge it, he didn't even have the energy to scream. It hit like a truck, a bulldozer, a thousand wrestlers pile-driving him. . . wherever. He had no sense of up or down, left or right, all he was was a ball of pain and shattered nerves and he was broken, broken in more than one sense of the word, and he didn't know what was happening why it was happening or even what time it was, because he could have been burning forever he could already be dead and never knew it, and all the bad things in his life were already coming back to haunt him and all he could do was watch helplessly as they came around him with soft voices so high he could not hear them and pale faces so translucent he could not see them and they touched his face with their cold hands that could not touch skin and they stared at him with those sad, distant eyes and he couldn't watch anymore.
Sometimes, when your mind can't handle the truth, when your body can't handle the pain, the damage, your brain does things. It sends you places you wouldn't normally be. It distorts events to make them more pleasant. It tries to keep you sane, and sends you to your Happy Place. Where the burns covering Maxie's body weren't from the angry flames in the forest, but from lying on his surfboard in the hot sun without any sunscreen on. Where it was not dried blood and ash that glued his right eye shut but the wet sand and saltwater from the ocean. Where the scrapes and bruises that left nothing unscathed came not from fleeing through the forest, but falling off the board and hitting the rough sand, being tossed around by the relentless waves. Where the general, intense pain of the rest of his body came not from being thrown around like a puppet but instead from a long, hard day of surfing.
Some vague part of him recognized where he was, but the leaves rustling in his ears weren't leaves but wings, and the hard branches that caught him weren't branches but strong arms, and he wasn't in a tree he was saved by his Guardian Angel, who was going to keep him alive--but very breath was agony and every movement brought him closer to oblivion but he wasn't going to let that happen because he wasn't going to die here and the
They say that right before your broken, beaten body decided to shut down completely, when that single thought of you might not wake up pops into your head, your priorities assert themselves. You learn what you care about most, what you care about least--and that last thought in your mind before the darkness wraps its velvet arms around you and puts you to sleep is the single most important thing in your entire life. And while Maxie was lying on his Guardian Angel, while he tried to keep himself breathing through his broken ribs, while every intake of oxygen was followed by excruciating pain, he thought about his life. What he'd done. What he hadn't done. What he wanted to do. His life flashed before his eyes; start to finish--and he honestly thought he was going to make peace with the world. His brain was tired, overworked, and hurting, he slipped into the part of unconsciousness where the brain sent him nothing. His last thought was not I'm going to wake up, no, that was his second to last thought. Instead his mind went halfway around the world and he dreamed of a Someday Place, his Future.
In the middle of a dark forest in England, Maximilien dreamed of California.
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[/color][/font]HUFFLEPUFFS ARE PARTICULARLY GOOD
FINDERS! WHAT THE HELL IS A HUFFLEPUFF?[/color][/font]
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