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Post by ZANE ALEXANDER HAMMOND on Mar 10, 2011 4:13:37 GMT
"There's no need to call me sir Professor."
FULL NAME: Zane Alexander Hammond
NICKNAMES: N/A
AGE: 16
BIRTHDAY: March 15th
SEXUALIY: Bisexual
BLOODLINE: Halfblood
HOUSE: Slytherin
YEAR: 6th
JOB: Student
SIDE: "Neutral"
SPECIES/SPECIAL ABILITIES: None
CANON: No
"You don't know what I'm capable of, you don't know what I've done!"
GENERAL APPEARANCE: Zane stands no taller than many of the other boys in his year and, while may yet have a few more inches of growing to do, it is unlikely that he will ever be considered above average in the height department as, perhaps, some of the other boys might given a year or two. Neither does he have any outward appearance of strength, though it is said that he's gotten himself into a few scrapes here and there over the years, Zane himself would be the first to proclaim that he is more of a lover than a fighter and, as such, doesn't feel the need to look like his "head's all stuffed with muscle." Instead of some impressive pseudo-manly physique, he would be likely to state that his eyes are one of his best features, their being a rather unique shade of hazel flecked with green (or some similar combination therein)...and perhaps that's all for the best. Exercise never did seem to jive with him all that well.
His short black hair is often as unkempt as he can manage, being that he generally his fingers to a comb, stating that "beggars can't be choosers when you're two minutes past late to class." It gives him a rather carefree look, often heightened by the fact that he's usually lounging about doing a far cry less than he ought to be. In general, he prefers rest, relaxation, and as few restrictions as possible in his life (yes, this includes clothing, seeing it as yet another of life's daily restrictions). However, despite his tendency toward looking as though he's 'just rolled out of bed' and fierce debates about the relative merits of clothing (or lackthereof), his own threads of choice are actually quite 'high end,' a testament, perhaps, to unconcious Slytherin sensibilities.
MOST LIKED FEATURE: His eyes.
MOST HATED FEATURE: A scar that runs across his left hip.
HERITAGE: British-Irish
ETHNICITY: Caucasian
"The mind is not a book, to be opened at will and examined at leisure."
GENERAL PERSONALITY: Zane is, by no means, stupid, though one might form that opinion of him should they meet him and neglect to bother actually getting to know him. Merlin only knows how many times he gone out with the intention of doing something utterly idiotic in nature, nevermind the number of times he's done such a thing without actually meaning to. If anything he's something of a dreamer, an optimist, a visionary, a damn rare thing in the Slytherin quarter to be sure, though he's just as loyal to his house as any other snake and has absolutely no delusions about what that oftentimes entails. He's never been beyond a little teasing or a Grade A prank, far from it in fact, though he rarely gets into fights unless absolutely necessary. Of course, when push comes to shove, there is little doubt in the minds of certain folks that when Zane does fight, he fights dirty.
As far as his studies go, Zane doesn't seem to pay them too much attention, often arriving to classes just in the nick of time, if not a few minutes late. It's not that the subjects don't interest him, on a theoretical level they all have something that ought to hold his interest but, as he's stated a number of times "they just don't," and he's often hard pressed to find a reason to focus on something he doesn't give a rat's arse about for more than fifteen to twenty minutes at a time (at best), at least that's what he tells folks when they ask. Why read about how to make a potion and follow the instructions written down in some "older than dirt relic of a textbook" when you could try to invent your own version of it, or better it? Alright, so the things he came up with didn't always end up doing what they were supposed to (or anything at all), or they blew up in his face five minutes into making them, but still, he was visionary damnit, and all visionaries experienced set backs. In actuality, he practically lives for his classes, thankful for each and every distraction that crosses his plate, so to speak. Those who keep busy have no time to dwell on the past. To this end, he sometimes offers to help tutor people he sees struggling with their classes, which is often taken as some manner of insult given what little attention he appears to pay his own studies.
Outside the classroom, his free spirit and apparent optimism tend to do more harm than good, getting him into spots of trouble because, when push comes to shove, most students don't like being approached by Slytherin upperclassmen on a good day and, regardles of house affiliation, if Zane sees a person who can potentially allieviate his boredom, he takes the chance, so to speak. It is as though he has retained the purity of a child in all that he does. In fact, most folks can't tell if he's actually trying to befriend them, trying to get them 'into the sack' so that he can brag about it with his 'buddies,' attempting to play some nasty trick on them, or if he's actually just a bit of a nutter. However, when push comes to shove, those closest to him know that he is unfailingly loyal to those he cares about and a good sight keener than he lets on. Now if only he knew when to keep his mouth shut...
HOBBIES: - flying
- collecting plants
- brewing questionable potions and other such substances
DISLIKES: - silence
- boredom
- rules/restrictions (or perhaps he merely has something against figures of authority)
- house elves
- the order
- death eaters
- chocolate cake
- the smell of things burning
LIKES: - scandals
- potions
- firewhiskey
- flying (and possibly quidditch by extension, though no one has bothered to ask)
- sleeping in
- herbology
- idle chatter
- singing
- people
FEARS: - Dying alone.
- Burning to death (this is the way in which his twin brother met his demise when they were younger)
SECRETS: - Zane has always felt that there was some tremendous void within him since the death of this brother and fears that he will someday meet a similiar demise, despite realizing full-well how "bloody illogical the whole thing is." As a result, he often tries to drown himself in the social scene, so to speak, starting up relationship after relationship, sometimes concurrently, and partying at all hours of the night.
- Pending (If allowed, I would like to work this in through a plot and add it later)
"I enjoyed the meetings, too. It was like having friends."
GENERAL HISTORY: His aunt had always been quick to say "put it from your mind" whenever he asked a question, her gaze being particularly stern and disapproving whenever he brought up his parents, but he couldn't help wanting to know why. He knew the logistics, the obvious why. Someone in the village had been helping the Order and there was an attack. His parents didn't make it. That was the simple version, the cut and dried Daily Prophet article, complete with the semi-dehumanizing headline: 'Several witches and wizards found dead after recent Death Eater attack.' There were no names listed at the time, as they'd yet to finish bringing in family members to identify what was left of the deceased. Some were barely recognizable, his parents among them. It was the day he learned what it was to desire revenge, to wish to hurt someone more than anything else in the world.
The attack came at night, a random sweep of the neighborhood, the faithful picking about for Order supporters. His parents had done everything in their power to protect the two of them, Zane and his brother Jake. They'd removed a hidden panel from the wall of the playroom and set the boys inside, sealing it behind them, and warding it for good measure. They'd told them to keep quiet and stay put.
"Keep quiet boys, it'll all be over soon. We're just going to go have a talk with them. Send them away," he mother's words. There was a hint of sadness in those words all but masked by something the boys couldn't quite place. Later they came to know it quite well, that little tremor that only terror can add to a voice.
Even children can tell when lives are at stake, and the boys could no sooner bring themselves stay put then their parents could hide and listen to the sounds of their neighbord being ddragged from their homes and slaughtered like cattle all around them. That night they took a stand. That night they fell, but not before the boys had found a way out of their hiding place. They'd been over it a hundred times 'just in case,' and the moment they heard the familiar screams, Zane began working his chubby little 8 year old's hands at the locking mechanism on their side of the panel. A few minutes later it slide away and the boys sprang from their hiding place, or allowed one of them to do so.
Jake had always been the more easily frightened of the two, a proverbial momma's boy. His mother had told him to stay put, and that was exactly what he was going to do, regardless of his brothers pleas. And, truth be told, Zane had had even less patience as a child and as soon running out into the hall on his own, freezing in his tracks as he caught a glimpse of the ruckus outside - people being marching into the streets, brilliant jets of white and green light as robed figures battled people he'd known all his life.
It wasn't until someone broke down the front door and he heard his mother cry out that Zane knew he was in trouble, by then it was already too late, he was seized by the hair and dragged out of the house.
Even now, Zane can remember precious little of what happened after that point. The next thing he remembers is running for all he's worth, little legs pumping with all their 8 year old might, eyes fixed on the outskirts of the forest on the edge of the village.
Apparently, a single child wasn't worth chasing that far when there was a readily available supply of victims, the adults being far more satisfying to break anyway, and he was able to slip away, able to hide amongst the trees, glued to the spot with terror the moment he stopped running, heart hammering in his chest. After that it was all a blur, arms belonging to a figure half remembered, probably male. Flashes of charred flesh and timber, the smell of something unidentifiable burning, the disorienting whoosh of someone taking his hand and apparenting away from the carnage, and the rising sense panic that came as he realized that his brother was nowhere to be found. Everything had been burning. He remembered that clearly, the glimpses from under an arm, the putrid smell. Everything had been burning and Jake was nowhere to be found.
Several weeks later the article that mentioned the attack was reprinted, this time names were present. His parents names stared back at him, set in harsh black ink, and somewhere below that was his brother's name and two words that would never leave him - burned alive.
FAMILY:Mother - Cecilia Rhea Hammond - deceased
Father - Cyrus J. Cooper Hammond - deceased
Jacob Reinhart Hammond - twin brother - deceased
"Make way for the heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through..."
ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: "Bags!" he swore as the knife slipped from his fingers and fell into the cauldron set out before him. Yes, that was his latest curse of the day, something which he'd found to be right up there with shit, f*ck, and merlin, on the scale of usefulness. Of course, being that it was currently a lesser known word of infamy, he was going to have to use it a bit more often than everyone else to get it spread around and all that jazz. As it was, Alaric was not going to be pleased when he came back to find his sheets splattered with Zane's latest unknown. Surely one would think that he'd come to know better than to work on someone else's bed. But hey, it wasn't as if he wanted his own covered in chemicals. And so, he did the only thing he could think of. He up and left it there, slipped down through the common room like a surprisingly silent specter, and vanished into the depths of the school. He would go outside to the quidditch pitch and plop himself down upon the bleachers, a spectator to nothing in particular, or if one wanted to go and think about it long and hard, a spectator to the world's game, the game of life...Alaric wouldn't think to check for him at the quidditch pitch as anything but a last resort, and by the time he thought to, Zane would have moved on to a more lecture free location. He grinned at his own ingenious little plan as he darted across the grounds, pulling a cloak tighter about his body as he realized that it was a bit chillier out than he'd anticipated. Well, not entirely seeing as how he had managed to remember his cloak this time out. Last time he'd ventured out of doors, he hadn't been quite so fortunate, and it'd been bloody glacial out.
Upon reaching his destination, the pitch, which seemed almost forlorn for lack of people peopling it as they usually did, watching this team play this or that team, cheering, perpetuating strong house rivalries. It was all in good fun, of course, or so one had to suppose. He sure as hell didn't mind when he was up there zooming around, free as a bird taken to wing. Yes, game days were good days the way he saw it. The rest of the world could go to hell while he was up there zipping back and forth across the sky and he probably wouldn't have given a damn. Of course, part of him might feel it necessary to swoop down and save a lucky one or two individuals, but he couldn't carry overly many on a broom with him, and it wasn't as though too many of them would have deserved to be saved as he saw it. No, some had done, in the words of Macbeth, a deed with no name. Wicked little things, playing on petty little rivalries and while he enjoyed them when it suited him to do so, at the moment his mind found itself set staunchly against them. Slytherin versus Gryffindor...It was obvious who would win, and they'd have a hell of a lot of fun doing it. But, right now, that didn't matter. It wasn't a Gryffindor from whom he'd fled and taken root outside, and so he wasn't to turn his anger against them now. In fact, the presence of a Gryffindor with him would have almost assured Alaric's staying away for the time being, until Zane could get plastered enough to cause some other, greater trouble, and somehow bypass the lecture for the first.
Zane climbed up through the stands, hopping from one bleachers to the next as though he were looking for one marked seat amongst the vast emptiness. No one to hinder him, he'd sit wherever he wished, he surmised as he made his way to the box that was usually reserved for the teachers, and sat himself in the back. His head fell back to lean against the wall like structure of the pseudo post behind him, and his eyes slipped shut as he shifted, causing his cloak to slip from his shoulders and pool around him. No wonder he'd found it cold, he was wearing nothing more than a pair of jeans and a thin t-shirt. Goosebumps stole over his arms and he was forced to open his eyes and tug the cloak back up around his body so as to avoid freezing to death whilst he was out here. What a day he thought, what a day. The wind blew, the cloak slipped again as he leaned back. "Bags!" he muttered under his breath, the word taking to wind to be carried off to some unknown reaches. Maybe someone would hear it. Maybe someone would pick it up and spread it for him....That'd be nice. Not at all likely, but nice just the same. The less work for him involved in the starting of something, the better. His little ideas always went awry when he took part in their realization anyway.
Needless to say, Zane was in his own little world when Madison approached and thus, did not truly register her presence until she had spoken.
“So what’d ya do now?”
What had he done now? A valid question to be sure. What had he done now? Nothing much, just...everything and nothing, as usual. Alaric would be miffed if not down right furious this time around, but might decide to go easier on him if he cold find something worse to do to himself, and staying out here like this had seemed, at first, like as good an idea as any other. However, it was damn cold and Zane was fast starting to regret his foolishly impulsive decision, but he was also determined to stick by it. Yet, when Madison provide him with a solution, he took it, grateful for the warmth of the offered sweater. He tugged it on over his head and nodded at her in thanks.
"What makes you think I did something?" The effect, the relief from the cold, was almost immediate and he sighed with pleasure. Even on him it was a bit too large, given that he was fairly slender as far as male bodies went, whereas most had bulk or a more considerable mass of muscle that would have aided in their fitting in such a garment. It didn't matter a lick to him though. it was warm and, right now, that was all that mattered. It was flarking freezing and he was warm at last. Well...at least now he wouldn't freeze to death or get frostbite on any of his prized extremities. He needed those after all...needed them to....well now, that wasn't an appropriate thing to think around Miss Madison, now was it? But when did he care about being all right and proper?
After a few moment's silence, he caved. "It's not like you missed me streaking through the Great Hall during mealtime or anything..I just spilled a potion I was brewing on Alaric's bed. I think it may have burned a hole through the mattress....must have by now." he smiled almost fondly at the thought before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Oh well, he'll get over it, and thanks for the sweater, you never do cease to amaze me with your unexpected wonder Maddi."
"Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate."
NAME: Seri
AGE: 20
GENDER: female
YEARS ROLEPLAYING: roughly 8 or so.
LOCATION: some place cozy, I assure you
HOW DID YOU FIND US: Magic....wait...no....the RPG-D...same thing, right?
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