Post by Deleted on Jan 12, 2013 14:41:50 GMT -5
Character Name: Ridley Reddick
Year At Hogwarts: 7th
Least Favorite House: Slytherin
What would a typical day in your character's life be like? Ridley would get up bright and early to go for a jog before her morning classes. Then, after showering and getting dressed, she would meet her friends at the Great Hall for a quick, healthy breakfast, and dash off to her classes for the day. Most of her classes she finds particularly yawning, but DADA has always been a favorite. In the afternoon and evening, she would spend time with her friends, go to Quidditch practice, and save her homework for last. She's a bit of a procrastinator when it comes to her studies, but she still receives decent grades.
Describe your character's personality: Charismatic, daring, stands up for what she believes in, athletic, active, strong-willed, bold, passionate.
A sample of your RPing:
Important word from rules: Accepted
And just for our own curiosity, how did you hear about us? Already a member here
Year At Hogwarts: 7th
Least Favorite House: Slytherin
What would a typical day in your character's life be like? Ridley would get up bright and early to go for a jog before her morning classes. Then, after showering and getting dressed, she would meet her friends at the Great Hall for a quick, healthy breakfast, and dash off to her classes for the day. Most of her classes she finds particularly yawning, but DADA has always been a favorite. In the afternoon and evening, she would spend time with her friends, go to Quidditch practice, and save her homework for last. She's a bit of a procrastinator when it comes to her studies, but she still receives decent grades.
Describe your character's personality: Charismatic, daring, stands up for what she believes in, athletic, active, strong-willed, bold, passionate.
A sample of your RPing:
As Grace’s chest grew heavier and her tears begin to sting and dry her cheeks, she thought about the state she was in. The shock, the pain, the total loss for words, not understanding a single thing going on around her. It was an all too familiar feeling she had experienced far too many times in her life. Grace thought about the letter she wrote to Warren and Ash, the wait and disappointment from never receiving a response, the disastrous attack at the minister’s ball and finally, when she snapped and fled Galaxia immediately after graduation. Most of all, she thought about Ash. She could formulate the most clear pictures in her head… Ash holding Georgie, crying over her lifeless body. Ash laughing with Georgie on their wedding day. Ash smiling at her, loving her, showing a side of himself Grace had scarcely seen. She had missed so much… and to think, she had blamed him for so much.
Through tears, she saw the glistening tombstone again. There were no flowers anywhere, no rocks in her honor, and Grace grew even more sad. Who cared for her here? What was Ash doing right now? She could imagine that even after a year, the devastation still hit every morning. Though Grace had never been in a relationship where she slept with a man in the same bed, she could still imagine the pain of turning over and not seeing your lover beside you. It was obviously very different than the camping slumber parties her, Warren and Ash had together, but she knew that warmth of waking up to Warren’s closed eyes, with one arm wrapped protectively across her body. Grace imagined this purity, this innocence, in Georgie and Ash’s love and began to weep harder.
She heard some footsteps in the distance, but took no notice of them. Breathing was getting harder now. Her thoughts and memories only elevated her tears and made her wish she could do something, fix something. In her travels, she acquired this need to fix everyone’s lives, to help others, as her whole life had been spent being aided by those around her. Though she was grateful to those who helped her, she couldn’t believe what a ‘damsel in distress’ she had become. This realization came to her while she was waitressing in Bordeaux. Her French had greatly improved at this point; she distinctly remembered this moment. A regular, Monsieur Lucé, ordered his usual cappuccino with soy milk and a croque monsieur, with extra bacon. Grace had just written down his order and flashed her sweet smile when she realized what she was doing here. Working in this restaurant, covering shifts her poor boss couldn’t afford to take on because of her single-mom-of-two status, she was making a difference in her life. Her boss relied on her, trusted her to help her. To be there. In this realization, Grace knew that at the end of the year, she had to be there again for those that needed her most.
Her friends. Her family. How could she have left? Before this grave, this question became more cruel than ever. Could she have done something? She didn’t know Georgie well, but Grace kept thinking to herself, would have things been different if she was there… would something have turned out for the better?
Just as she was ready to collapse onto Georgie’s grave, she felt a pressure against both of her shoulders and then a head of blonde, tangled hair digging into her shoulder blade. She knew that hair, that warmth. Through her blurred tears she thought she saw someone before her, but she wasn’t focused on the present. Too delusional. Almost instinctively, she wrapped her own arms around the figure, clutching his muscular back and stroking the blonde head of hair. Grace knew this boy, no, no this man in her arms. How could she not? Her brother, her best friend, her true family. There was no one in the world who hugged her like Ashton did, no one who smelled just like he did. Grace didn’t say anything. Did anything really need to be said? They had both wronged each other in the past, she especially, and they would talk on it. For now, she could see that he needed to cry… Heck, she wasn’t done crying! He needed to cry because there was no one ready to cry with him, sit with him, and still see him as the beautiful, strong man he had grown to become.
Grace’s guilt captivated her body, inching through her arms and legs so that they shivered. She sniffled, pulling him closer and whispered his name. “Ash.” She choked on his name, trying to say it again. Perhaps words weren’t necessary, but they were necessary so he knew that she was wrong. Wrong to ever leave the three musketeers in the first place. “Ash.” She said more clearly. She couldn’t muster a ‘sorry’ or ‘forgive me’ or ‘I can’t believe I hurt you’, but in the back of mind, after the guilt and the sorrow, she knew that he understood.
He was here. She was here. Before Georgie’s grave. Safe. That was what was important.
Through tears, she saw the glistening tombstone again. There were no flowers anywhere, no rocks in her honor, and Grace grew even more sad. Who cared for her here? What was Ash doing right now? She could imagine that even after a year, the devastation still hit every morning. Though Grace had never been in a relationship where she slept with a man in the same bed, she could still imagine the pain of turning over and not seeing your lover beside you. It was obviously very different than the camping slumber parties her, Warren and Ash had together, but she knew that warmth of waking up to Warren’s closed eyes, with one arm wrapped protectively across her body. Grace imagined this purity, this innocence, in Georgie and Ash’s love and began to weep harder.
She heard some footsteps in the distance, but took no notice of them. Breathing was getting harder now. Her thoughts and memories only elevated her tears and made her wish she could do something, fix something. In her travels, she acquired this need to fix everyone’s lives, to help others, as her whole life had been spent being aided by those around her. Though she was grateful to those who helped her, she couldn’t believe what a ‘damsel in distress’ she had become. This realization came to her while she was waitressing in Bordeaux. Her French had greatly improved at this point; she distinctly remembered this moment. A regular, Monsieur Lucé, ordered his usual cappuccino with soy milk and a croque monsieur, with extra bacon. Grace had just written down his order and flashed her sweet smile when she realized what she was doing here. Working in this restaurant, covering shifts her poor boss couldn’t afford to take on because of her single-mom-of-two status, she was making a difference in her life. Her boss relied on her, trusted her to help her. To be there. In this realization, Grace knew that at the end of the year, she had to be there again for those that needed her most.
Her friends. Her family. How could she have left? Before this grave, this question became more cruel than ever. Could she have done something? She didn’t know Georgie well, but Grace kept thinking to herself, would have things been different if she was there… would something have turned out for the better?
Just as she was ready to collapse onto Georgie’s grave, she felt a pressure against both of her shoulders and then a head of blonde, tangled hair digging into her shoulder blade. She knew that hair, that warmth. Through her blurred tears she thought she saw someone before her, but she wasn’t focused on the present. Too delusional. Almost instinctively, she wrapped her own arms around the figure, clutching his muscular back and stroking the blonde head of hair. Grace knew this boy, no, no this man in her arms. How could she not? Her brother, her best friend, her true family. There was no one in the world who hugged her like Ashton did, no one who smelled just like he did. Grace didn’t say anything. Did anything really need to be said? They had both wronged each other in the past, she especially, and they would talk on it. For now, she could see that he needed to cry… Heck, she wasn’t done crying! He needed to cry because there was no one ready to cry with him, sit with him, and still see him as the beautiful, strong man he had grown to become.
Grace’s guilt captivated her body, inching through her arms and legs so that they shivered. She sniffled, pulling him closer and whispered his name. “Ash.” She choked on his name, trying to say it again. Perhaps words weren’t necessary, but they were necessary so he knew that she was wrong. Wrong to ever leave the three musketeers in the first place. “Ash.” She said more clearly. She couldn’t muster a ‘sorry’ or ‘forgive me’ or ‘I can’t believe I hurt you’, but in the back of mind, after the guilt and the sorrow, she knew that he understood.
He was here. She was here. Before Georgie’s grave. Safe. That was what was important.
Important word from rules: Accepted
And just for our own curiosity, how did you hear about us? Already a member here
