app for cyclical.
OOC.
Name/Alias: ribbon
Contact Info (e-mail/messengers): thescarletribbon@gmail.com
Timezone: CST
How did you hear about us? (optional) jenna’s coercion
Character.
Character Name: Autolycus Christopher Sly
Birthday: May 22nd (17 years old)
House & Year: Gryffindor / 7th
Blood Status: Pure-blood
Wand: Hazel (Artistic ability, magical knowledge, optimism), Leprechaun hair (Somewhat temperamental to non-Irish folk), 13 inches
Physical Description: With shaggy brown hair that falls in his eyes and nearly to his shoulders, people often tease him and suggest he get a hair cut. All in good fun, of course, and not that he would listen; he thinks the long hair gives him a proper roguish look and refuses to trim it even an inch. When not hidden by his hair, his eyes are a piercing blue, so deep they can put the object of their stare under much discomfort. His cheekbones are high and sharply angled, matching his square jaw and strong chin. Very tall like his father, he stands at an imposing 6’1” - broad-shouldered but not overly muscular. His shape is chiseled and fit from his own time spent running and flying - he played Beater for the House Quidditch team up until this year. After the summer’s incidents, Autolycus lost interest in team sports. The others attributed it to his scatterbrained, A.D.D. nature, always flying from one activity to the next and never settling down.
PB: Trent Ford, mmm delicious~
Personality: A true Gemini, Autolycus Christopher Sly (gee, but his parents must love Shakespeare!) is an incorrigible class clown and all-around layabout. Throughout his years at Hogwarts he has become infamous for pranking anyone he likes, regardless of House. He’s a right card at parties, telling jokes and flirting with the ladies, running amok with his mates and creating general mayhem. Everyone knows Auto as ‘the fun one who never takes anything seriously’ - they have no idea how truly mistaken they are, especially now that his girlfriend was murdered. He loves a good romp on the grounds and has dared the Giant Squid to eat him several times with his excursions into the Hogwarts Lake. Anything that is forbidden is automatically fair game to him, so he makes a hobby of sneaking into Filch’s office and among the shadows of the Black Forest after curfew. He is an irrepressible con-artist -- mind your personal belongings while he talks to you lest you miss them later! His recklessness has mounted to a degree that some people worry he is trying to fall in harm’s way on purpose, taunting Death, like he has something to prove. Or possibly he wishes to die, secretly in his heart of hearts, feeling guilty for Muirne’s murder. But no one knows about the latter possibility… yet.
Hobbies and talents:
-- Artistry: whether it be to paint on canvas or to organize dungbombs in a genius-like creative design, Autolycus has a talent.
-- Sense of humour: he uses it to both deflect and garner attention to himself, and can always be counted on to cheer someone up (even if his jokes are lewd). His wit and normally good nature win him followers, and he leads them willingly.
Weaknesses:
-- Academics: he is a bright boy, but he refuses to apply himself, earning him the frustration of most of his professors. His grades are mediocre… and he just doesn’t care.
-- Short temper: it flares up at the strangest triggers, and more often now that he has a real cause to be angry with the world. Without intending to, he can hurt the feelings of those he cares most about.
-- Dangerous recklessness: almost as if he has a death wish of his own, he daredevils his way across campus, walking ridgepoles and somersaulting out of windows onto his broom. He taunts his enemies into prohibited duels and fist-fights as much as he can. It is not unusual to see him return to the Common Room with a black eye or fat lip - but you should see the other guy.
-- Extreme sloth: he is lazy about nearly everything, the King of Procrastinators, favouring sleep and relaxation over homework or even socializing at times.
-- Pretty girls: an incessant flirt, he has always got the hopes up of any bonny lass he fancies, only to abandon them before anything gets serious. Before, it was probably due to the fact that he was truly in love with Muirne. Now, he uses it as an instrument of torture - both on himself and on the unfortunate lass in question. Shouldn’t everyone go around with a broken heart if he must?
Personal History: Born and raised in Limerick, Ireland to father Barnabas and mother Enid, Autolycus is the second of three children. His older sister Aislinn (pronounced “Ashlyn”) graduated three years ago from Hogwarts as a Ravenclaw, and his younger sister Siobhan (“Shevawn”) is ten and shall attend Hogwarts next year, if all goes well. Autolycus, known as Sly among his friends, gleaned his indisputable wit and sense of humour from his father. They’ve clowned around together since Auto was a wee bairn, often much to his mother’s chagrin. From her, Autolycus inherited an often unseen sensitivity and creativity. She is an artist with her own shop in Limerick who paints both moving portraits and still life with the aid of magic. Like his mother, Auto also paints, though it is not something he normally shares with his mates, who would probably think it highly unmanly of him. But every now and then he can be caught with an easel and oils or acrylics, painting a portrait or abstract scene while skiving off class, as usual! He also won’t hesitate to use the paints in a prank, especially if he is caught in a compromising position with them. “Zomgz, practical joke guys, that’s all I swear!”
Auto is extremely proud and protective of his family, taking responsibility for his sisters as the only son in the brood. He thinks they hang the moon, the lot of them, and would do anything whatsoever for them, even if it was not entirely on the up and up. Autolycus has no problem engaging in taboo or prohibited activities, and he often does that solely to get attention as the notorious prankster he is. Whether its strategically placed dungbombs smuggled into Slytherin satchels or stealing from Potions Master and Head Ponce Snape, you can bet he’s the culprit. But somehow he manages that Slytherin tendency to “never get caught.” Well, almost. Detention and Autolycus have made quite good friends by now; they go way back.
Born with a rebellious nature, Autolycus defied his parents’ wishes and associated with many Muggles in his hometown. Their anxiety didn’t spark from an elitist blood mentality, but more out of fear for what drawing attention to yourselves as Purebloods mucking about with Muggles might do. The war had been mounting in severity these past several years, and both parents only wanted to protect their children and keep off the radar. For safety reasons only, his parents never declared an alliance openly with one side or the other, though in their own home they made sure to express to their children what a horrid expedition You-Know-Who was on and that by no means should they abide it. However, part of their advice was to keep a low profile and not speak openly about sides with any of their fellow wizards. Autolycus found he couldn’t abide this secrecy, this cowardice, more so than the war itself. He often argued with his parents that if they felt one way about the ordeal they should own to it and be proud; they should stand up for what was right. And to further disobey them, he kept mostly Muggle company when he was at home, staying out late with his Muggle mates and romping about magic-free.
One Muggle he became particularly attached to over the years - her name was Muirne (“Mir-na,” appropriately named after a druid whose father opposed her match to a man from an opposing tribe, and played by Mandy Moore in certain icons), and although Auto’s parents disapproved of the relations, they couldn’t help liking the girl once they met her. She was kind, lion-hearted, with a keen sense of compassion. She and Auto grew up together playing football and cricket in the alleys with the other neighborhood children. As they got older, with Autolycus returning home every summer from “boarding school” to spend time with her, the wizard realized his feelings for Muirna had grown much more intense than fond friendship. He discovered he was in love with her, and had probably always been, even before he knew what such a thing meant. After he finally chased off her abusive street rat of a boyfriend in his 15th summer, he confessed to her what he felt and was ecstatic to find she felt the same way. No wonder he had never expressed any real interest beyond flirtation in the girls at Hogwarts - his true love was back in Limerick, waiting for him.
Nearly two years after they had been together, while Auto had come home every holiday to visit her, Muirne went missing. Desolate and confused, he searched with her family all over Ireland, unable to pick up any clues as to her whereabouts. As time wore on, all but Autolycus began to lose hope that she would be found alive, if at all. He beat her insolent ex-boyfriend senseless, but gleaned no information from him. Who else would have done this to her? And then one day, walking the shores of a small lake they had spent much time near, a place he had combed over time and again hoping to find her… he did. Her prone corpse was laid out amongst brambles and reeds, frozen with a look of fright and confusion on her face, eyes wide open. Her hands clutched a note, placed there post mortem. “Muggle scum get what they deserve. Better luck next time.” He knew instantly what it meant.
He has returned now the following term scarred by the experience and a good deal more morose than he ever was, despite how he could be moody as hell when he liked. Had his parents been right? Should he have stayed away from Muggles? If he had, he would never have put Muirne in danger. Auto berated and blamed himself entirely for her death - his parents didn’t even have the heart to say ‘I told you so.’ It was too horrible, too unreal. Of course, his friendship with Muggles had been purely isolated from Hogwarts; no one knew when it hit the papers that this Muggle, this girl, had been his girl. And he preferred not to tell anyone. It was too hard… too painful to talk about it. Better that his friends didn’t know. Sly tries very hard to cover up his pain with clowning off more than ever, playing the happy-go-lucky bloke he’d always been, and taking it up a notch. But not infrequently he slips into a bout of depression, still trying to deal with the summer’s events and mourning the loss of his love. He has grown considerably more violent as a result, and he has a vigilante-like penchant for taking down any Voldemort supporters who cross his path. Who knows - it could be one of these slimy Death Eater groupies at his school who committed the murder. And if and when he finds out their identity… their death will be bloody, brutal, and far from quick.
OWL scores:
Astronomy: A
Charms: A
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O
Herbology: E
History of Magic: D
Potions: A
Transfiguration: E
(And choose 2-3 electives from the following:)
Ancient Runes: A
Arithmancy: A
Care of Magical Creatures: O
Divination: D
Muggle Studies: A
Current Classes:
Potions
CoMC
Herbology
Transfiguration
Charms
DADA
Gryffindor, Year Seven
8 am
10 am
12 pm
1 pm
3 pm
6 pm
Monday
Free
Free
Lunch
SH
CoMC
Supper
Tuesday
Charms
DADA
Lunch
Free
Herbology
Supper
Wednesday
Free
SH
Lunch
Transfiguration
Potions
Supper
Thursday
Free
SH
Lunch
SH
Free
Supper
Friday
Free
SH
Lunch
SH
Free
Supper
Best subjects - max of three: Care of Magical Creatures is probably the only class he takes an avid interest in, partly because he loves the outdoors and wild things - and also because the professor is a right fit bird.
Worst subjects - no max: Just about everything else! He doesn’t fail his classes, but he barely scrapes by, doing the absolute minimum and sometimes less. He has grown more apathetic about academics than before after this past summer.
Sample First-Person RP:
Was at The Three Broomstick’s last week with Mags, jes’ havin’ a craic, as ye do-when that smarmy pretty-boy git West sees fit to rain on our little parade. What is it about Slytherins that they jes’ canna see fit to leave a bloke alone when he’s chattin’ up a pretty bird? Swear he’s gunnin’ for her, what with all the looks he steals at her in Transfigs.
Ain’t right. Hands off the Gryff ladies, all you snakes. I saw ‘em first.
Sample Third-Person RP:
Long fingers clenched the bedclothes as a lithe, desperate body writhed beneath the covers. Beads of perspiration broke out onto a furrowed brow as the head was tossed from side to side across the pillow. Incoherent murmuring, nearing pleas for mercy, escaped dry lips that curled into an agitated snarl. Bare legs thrashed against the mattress, fighting for freedom from sheets, trying to run.
He was having another nightmare.
Where Sly’s fingers clutched at covers, he believed they clung to the jacket of a young girl with short dark hair and opinions for eyes. She was evading him, backing away, and her face was a laugh and a cry all at once. Sly clawed out for her, just missing her body, feeling the rush of air as fingertips glided by ribs.
“I can’t stay,” she was saying to him, growing fainter. “You’ve chased me away. You’ve killed me, Auto,” she cried with a strange laugh. “You always kill me!” Words of amusement twisted to mean something much darker, much uglier, and Sly responded with a plaintive whine. He lurched forward to tackle her, pin her, keep her. Somehow he managed to get his arms around her, and she ceased struggling. He burrowed his face into her soft neck, eyes clenched shut.
“Muirne,” he murmured possessively. “Muirne!” His eyes flew open.
Sly was hugging his pillow to his chest, panting for air, with nothing but the harsh, judgmental glow of the moon to witness his desolation.
Extra:
Theme Lyrics: “Angry Angel,” by Imogen Heap
This is an obsession, a kind of aggression with himself
It's the way he’ll always be
He loves to rebel, to go against his ten commandments
For him, that’s just being free
And he always will get his thrills, the only way he knows how
Well it might make you frown
But he just loves being that dove, roaming where he cares to go
To a state of mind which no-one knows
Over there stands my angry angel
And he’s shaking his head, in disgrace with me
Over there stands my angry angel
And he’s frowning like hell, but I'm not feeling guilty
Over and over again, more and more for the pain
To release himself, from this shell
Time after time, you may glare at him
for the way he looks like something drawn up from hell
But that's just his cover from what is under it
All his imagination, his passion for a creation which he has discovered,
Uncovered a world, of amazing sensations,
His own little nation
I don’t care,
I'm flying