Application - Herr Drosselmeyer from Princess Tutu
((OOC: To avoid godmodding issues, Drosselmeyer's canonical story spinner abilities (i.e., writing stories that come true) have been voided by the magic of Hogwarts. Of course, he can surely find other ways to mess with people's lives...))
An old and eccentric man strode through the Sorting Room doors, a red cloak flowing from his hunched shoulders. His eyes lit up upon seeing the desk and chair situated in the room, and he hurried over to settle in the seat. Sighing in contentment he closed his eyes, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, laced his gloved fingers together and began, “Uzura, our next stop shall be--”
And paused at the lack of footsteps pattering in after him, or the now-familiar tapping of a drum. “Uzura?” Drosselmeyer opened an eye and looked around the room. Where had that little cobbled-together Pinocchio of Edel's remains that Charon had made for him gotten to? “Good help is so hard to find,” he sighed. Not that Uzura was particularly excellent help, and Edel had had her flaws as well, but it would be far more trouble to replace them with brand new tools if Uzura didn't show up soon.
Drosselmeyer pouted, tapping a foot against the stone floor while he waited, until he noticed the parchment and quill on the desk. He scooted the chair forward with an excited cackle and leaned eagerly over the desk to read the paper. “What sort of story have I found myself in, I wonder?”
State your full name.
“You may call me Herr Drosselmeyer,” he declared. He smiled widely when the Dictaquill took down his words for him. Oh, he would certainly have to bring that along when he left. So much more poetic than that cumbersome machine he'd constructed to write his story in Gold Crown, and not so easily disassembled by meddling successors.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
He scowled and waved a hand in impatience. “Eating is one of those trivial necessities hardly important to the plot. Unless you're setting the mood of a scene. In which case, may I suggest a good cup of coffee?” Drosselmeyer smiled, warming to the topic as he continued, “Hot or cold, taken black or sweetened, bitter and burnt or perfectly done, even the ware it's served in will help you achieve the perfect air of tragedy, or irony, or a deceptively quiet moment that sweetens the impending sorrow all the more.”
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
“Oh no no, that will never do,” Drosselmeyer clucked. “You sound as if you want them dead. In that case it would be better to leave both alive, and craft a suitably tragic end for a character to whom the audience is more ardently attached. Writing must be poignant to move people's hearts!”
3. What time is it where you are?
Drosselmeyer hummed and pulled out a gold pocket watch. He opened it, glanced at the face for a few moments, then clicked it shut and spirited it back into its home. He adjusted his hat, straightening out the many colorful plumes attached, and seemed to make himself quite at home before finally remembering the question and replying, “Why, it's the perfect time for a little exposition, I believe. As tempting as it is to skip straight to the climax, that just wouldn't do.”
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Just because he had an excessively creepy demeanor and had written two young, lovely ballerina heroines in appropriately fanciful costumes and Mytho's occasional disdain for pants didn't make him an old perv. Drosselmeyer crossed his arms and pouted. “Myself, playing the part of one who returns from the grave merely to sexually harass others?” He snorted before continuing, “I prefer watching from the audience, rather than joining the actions of the cast onstage. Unless it's necessary, of course.” It was questionable whether this answer was any less incriminating.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Drosselmeyer stroked his beard as he thought. There were quite a few good possibilities, but for the one in which he was the bartender, the choice certainly was: “The Grave.” A place, in his experience, dark enough to satisfy anyone, but not so dark that he couldn't get his work done.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
He read the names again and raised his eyebrows. “Oh my, this is quite a tangled forbidden romance. But comedy is so boring; wouldn't it be better if Harry were to expire before the date of the wedding to either of them? Much like the sad fate of Giselle and the Wilis.”
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
“Ah, a fellow writer,” Drosselmeyer sympathized, and nodded his head a few times. “You're editing the drafts of your work, of course, a job which never ends. Somehow it seems the stories take on lives of their own and refuse to conclude, hm?” He laughed. “They're a pesky investment, just like children.”
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
Drosselmeyer smiled and wrung his hands together, adopting a playfully mournful voice. “That's such a terribly difficult task, I'm afraid. It is so hard for doddering old men to prove any usefulness to the newer generations, much as we may try to talk about our glorious deeds past.”
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
“Hm...” Drosselmeyer tapped his chin and made a show of thinking hard. “Ah, I know! I humbly offer to you my services as a master storyteller. You'll never lack for entertainment with me around,” he promised. He bowed from where he sat in the chair and looked up for potential persons to be bribed with a smile that, though quite wide and full of energy, radiated a rather sinister and creepy foreboding.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
One day, marmalade will rule the world. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
An old and eccentric man strode through the Sorting Room doors, a red cloak flowing from his hunched shoulders. His eyes lit up upon seeing the desk and chair situated in the room, and he hurried over to settle in the seat. Sighing in contentment he closed his eyes, rested his elbows on the arms of the chair, laced his gloved fingers together and began, “Uzura, our next stop shall be--”
And paused at the lack of footsteps pattering in after him, or the now-familiar tapping of a drum. “Uzura?” Drosselmeyer opened an eye and looked around the room. Where had that little cobbled-together Pinocchio of Edel's remains that Charon had made for him gotten to? “Good help is so hard to find,” he sighed. Not that Uzura was particularly excellent help, and Edel had had her flaws as well, but it would be far more trouble to replace them with brand new tools if Uzura didn't show up soon.
Drosselmeyer pouted, tapping a foot against the stone floor while he waited, until he noticed the parchment and quill on the desk. He scooted the chair forward with an excited cackle and leaned eagerly over the desk to read the paper. “What sort of story have I found myself in, I wonder?”
State your full name.
“You may call me Herr Drosselmeyer,” he declared. He smiled widely when the Dictaquill took down his words for him. Oh, he would certainly have to bring that along when he left. So much more poetic than that cumbersome machine he'd constructed to write his story in Gold Crown, and not so easily disassembled by meddling successors.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
He scowled and waved a hand in impatience. “Eating is one of those trivial necessities hardly important to the plot. Unless you're setting the mood of a scene. In which case, may I suggest a good cup of coffee?” Drosselmeyer smiled, warming to the topic as he continued, “Hot or cold, taken black or sweetened, bitter and burnt or perfectly done, even the ware it's served in will help you achieve the perfect air of tragedy, or irony, or a deceptively quiet moment that sweetens the impending sorrow all the more.”
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
“Oh no no, that will never do,” Drosselmeyer clucked. “You sound as if you want them dead. In that case it would be better to leave both alive, and craft a suitably tragic end for a character to whom the audience is more ardently attached. Writing must be poignant to move people's hearts!”
3. What time is it where you are?
Drosselmeyer hummed and pulled out a gold pocket watch. He opened it, glanced at the face for a few moments, then clicked it shut and spirited it back into its home. He adjusted his hat, straightening out the many colorful plumes attached, and seemed to make himself quite at home before finally remembering the question and replying, “Why, it's the perfect time for a little exposition, I believe. As tempting as it is to skip straight to the climax, that just wouldn't do.”
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
Just because he had an excessively creepy demeanor and had written two young, lovely ballerina heroines in appropriately fanciful costumes and Mytho's occasional disdain for pants didn't make him an old perv. Drosselmeyer crossed his arms and pouted. “Myself, playing the part of one who returns from the grave merely to sexually harass others?” He snorted before continuing, “I prefer watching from the audience, rather than joining the actions of the cast onstage. Unless it's necessary, of course.” It was questionable whether this answer was any less incriminating.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
Drosselmeyer stroked his beard as he thought. There were quite a few good possibilities, but for the one in which he was the bartender, the choice certainly was: “The Grave.” A place, in his experience, dark enough to satisfy anyone, but not so dark that he couldn't get his work done.
B. Gryffindor - Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
He read the names again and raised his eyebrows. “Oh my, this is quite a tangled forbidden romance. But comedy is so boring; wouldn't it be better if Harry were to expire before the date of the wedding to either of them? Much like the sad fate of Giselle and the Wilis.”
C. Ravenclaw - You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
“Ah, a fellow writer,” Drosselmeyer sympathized, and nodded his head a few times. “You're editing the drafts of your work, of course, a job which never ends. Somehow it seems the stories take on lives of their own and refuse to conclude, hm?” He laughed. “They're a pesky investment, just like children.”
D. Hufflepuff - Prove you are not useless.
Drosselmeyer smiled and wrung his hands together, adopting a playfully mournful voice. “That's such a terribly difficult task, I'm afraid. It is so hard for doddering old men to prove any usefulness to the newer generations, much as we may try to talk about our glorious deeds past.”
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
“Hm...” Drosselmeyer tapped his chin and made a show of thinking hard. “Ah, I know! I humbly offer to you my services as a master storyteller. You'll never lack for entertainment with me around,” he promised. He bowed from where he sat in the chair and looked up for potential persons to be bribed with a smile that, though quite wide and full of energy, radiated a rather sinister and creepy foreboding.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. __Herr Drosselmeyer__
One day, marmalade will rule the world. __Herr Drosselmeyer__