Post by Ronald Weasley on Aug 10, 2009 20:49:00 GMT -8
it's time to show you what i'm all about,
,ronald weasley !?
~~~
,ronald weasley !?
~~~
get up, let's see what you're made of
the basics
the basics
Character Name: Ronald Bilius Weasley
Alias: Ron
Birthday: March 1, 1980
Age: Sixteen
Orientation: Hetero, kthx
House: Gryffindor
Patronus: Terrier
Wand: 14", Willow, Core of Unicorn Hair
bring it on; you know i'm not afraid
the secrets
the secrets
Likes:
-Food; all food, any food. As long as it's edible.
-Girls, of course.
-Being the center of attention.
-Wizard's Chess, 'cause I'm good at it
-Hanging around with Harry and Hermione
Dislikes:
-Spiders. Don't even get me started on those creepy, crawly, leggy... ew.
-Being lied to, especially by those close to me
-Housework. Ugh
-Always having to wear hand-me-downs
-Anything that tries to kill me. I mean, seriously, I'm too young to die
Strengths:
-Humour. What's life without laughter?
-Honesty, but only when necessary
-Loyalty
Weaknesses:
-Hot-headedness
-Okay, I'll admit it; I'm a wimp
-Short attention span; I never pay attention in class
Boggart:
A Spider
Veritaserum:
-I'm jealous of Harry's fame
-I'm in love with Hermione Granger
-I secretly love the sweaters my mother makes for me
General Appearance:
Like all Weasleys, Ron is tall (almost reaching six feet) and lanky, with pale, freckled skin and a mop of bright, orange-red hair. He thanks whatever Gods there are that he didn't end up with his mother's curly hair - that would've been horribly embarassing, even though it suits her. He's got pale, icy blue eyes, and usually wears an expression that says, "I have no idea what's going on." His nose is slightly long, and a little on the large side - it's always been a point of weakness for him, but he's getting better about ignoring any snide comments.
never give up when the going gets rough
the history
the history
Mother: Molly Weasley
Father: Arthur Weasley
Siblings: Ginevra Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Percy Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Bill Weasley
Others: Harry Potter & Hermione Granger, best friends; a variety of odd, eccentric relatives
Background:
The second-to-last child in a family of nine, Ron's whole life seems to be a hand-me-down. Nothing's new - clothes, pets, toys, books, school supplies.. he even used a borrowed wand until, fortunately, it was broken by the legendary Womping Willow. In fact, his wand is pretty much the only brand-spanking-new thing he's ever owned, unless you count the sweaters his mother makes, which always somehow end up being maroon. In fact, the dear woman seems to think maroon is his colour. He'll never live down the time he had to wear those awful dressrobes to the Yule ball..
As if being forced to use old, battered books, quills, robes, trousers, you-get-it isnt bad enough, he also has to follow in his brothers' footsteps. All five of them. The problem with this is, he'll never be as strong as Bill, or as fearless as Charlie, or as perfect as Percy, or as funny as Fred and George. The only thing he has that his brothers don't is, perhaps, his friendship with Harry. And, now, it looks like this is going to have even more significance, as their battle against the Dark Lord is slowly coming to a climax.
Ron can still remember the day he met Harry, at the train station, when he was only eleven. The awe he'd felt when his new friend revealed the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. Back then, he'd had no idea the journey in store for them.
Since then, they'd done so many things - saved the Philosopher's Stone, driven Ron's dad's flying car into the Womping Willow, killed a basilisk (the memory of Ginny's involvement still made Ron shudder), escaped a Werewolf, gotten rid of the Prophecy, faced off against countless Deatheaters.. the adventures were endless, the details embedded in Ron's mind.
He grinned as he thought back to before it all began, back to when he'd been just a little, red-haired kid, grumbling when his mother made him rid the garden of gnomes, getting mad at Fred and George's many harmless pranks, zooming around the yard on a miniature broomstick. He recalled the days when Charlie and Bill were going to Hogwarts, and how he and Fred and George would crowd around their older brothers, begging to be taught a spell or two. And how happy their mother had been, when she finally had a daughter. And secretly working on various "projects," similar to the aforementioned flying car, with their father..
At present, all of these memories seemed far-off, as if they belonged to someone else. Because now, Ron's life had meaning. Now, he was the best friend of the boy who was going to change the world. And, though he wished that he could take the spotlight, or be known throughout the wizarding community, he was aware of the fact that helping Harry was the most important course of action at the moment. Not to mention, he really was Harry's friend, not just some random leech of fame.
i'll show you there's nothing that i can't do
behind the scenes
behind the scenes
Player: Kitty
Age: Sixteen
Contact: PM me
Anything Else: I heart Ron..?
RP Sample:
Your journey is one of solitude, Rennick had said. The Torch Bearer now
realized how true this was – jogging quickly along the moonlit road, tightly
packed gravel scrunching beneath every step, accompanied only by a small,
unpredictable breeze that threw his unkempt hair in every direction. He could
make out the soft glow of the city, now, though the night was strangely silent, and
no carriages had rumbled by him for the whole duration of his trip. His breathing
came in short, shallow gasps, and his arm ached from holding the wooden object
for which he was known. The Torch burned faintly – a mere shadow of its former
glory – but it burned still, and gained strength with every passing moment,
sensing the closeness of its home.
Rounding a bend in the road, the Torch Bearer could just make out the silhouette
of the royal castle ahead. It had been years since he had seen it, but it was still just
as tall and looming as the day he had left. Jagged towers of varying heights
imprinted black solidity onto the deep blue of the night sky, and the flapping of
the royal family’s flags could almost be heard from beneath the thick cloak of
silence surrounding the sparse countryside.
The Torch Bearer wanted nothing more than to turn and run the other way - far,
far away, into the inky black sky, disappearing forever among the nameless stars.
But he had a duty to the crown, the Torch and, most importantly, the now dead
Princess Leigh. He also owed it to himself to do this one thing: if he hadn’t taken
the torch in the first place, the whole outcome of this terrible battle might have
been different.
Time seemed to slow as he grew closer to the castle. He did not notice the absence
of warmth in the air until it was too late. With a cry of horror, the Torch Bearer
stumbled, trying desperately to keep running along the shuddering ground. He
was rocked from side to side, up and down as the dark magic he had been racing
against finally overtook him, creating an unexpected earthquake.
“Dispara,” he mumbled quickly, and the torch disappeared into thin air.
Then, he looked up, straight into the eyes of the shadow that was the embodiment
of the dark magic - Mervel. The deep, angry orange of molten lava had, long ago,
replaced the bright blue irises of those eyes, and now they bore into his very soul,
reaping the secrets within.
“Well, well, well. Just where do you expect to be going?” asked the man, a hint of
humourless laughter in his voice. The Torch Bearer said nothing, refusing to meet
the gaze of the enemy. Mervel simply smiled, raising his hands to the sky. The
light of the moon formed strange areas of darkness on the ashen face, illuminating
every wrinkle, making the man seem years older. Still, anyone would be able to
sense the evil lurking behind his human shell, and if the Torch Bearer had had any
doubts about whether a compassionate soul still resided somewhere within, the
truth was now made clear: any morality that may have remained was gone.
With a shudder, the Torch Bearer turned away, but Mervel would not have that.
“Look!” he ordered, and the Torch Bearer was forced to follow the command, his
eyes propelled by an undeniable force.
“Watch your palace crumble!” with that, the earthquake that had been roaring
around them increased in magnitude, rattling the Torch Bearer’s very bones.
Before his eyes, the shuddering image of the castle changed, becoming strangely
deformed. The whole structure seemed to be getting shorter, spreading out to the
sides. With a jolt, the Torch Bearer realized that his home of sixteen years was
crumbling beneath the pressure of the shaking land, folding in on itself, killing all
those who had, minutes before, been safely hidden within its walls.
“NO!” he cried, falling to his knees. The constant rattling of his body gave him a
terrible headache, and he wished that he could simply lie down, give up, fade
away, and succumb to death…
With a strength that was not his own, the Torch Bearer forced himself to swallow
his grief. Tears streamed down his face, leaving ugly lines in the dirt that had
collected there. Mervel had turned, looking away from the young man, admiring
his handiwork. With a well-disguised groan, the Torch Bearer stood, running in
earnest now, stumbling along the road toward the city.
“Run, boy!” Mervel’s voice followed him mockingly, “see where your
trustworthy feet take you this time!”
The Torch Bearer knew that he was losing time. His only option now would be to
pass on the Torch to the first person he saw, then turn and face Mervel, once and
for all. His death was right around the corner. He wanted to live – he was aware of
every last heartbeat, the rise and fall of every breath, the tingle of the wind on his
skin. As he sprinted for the city’s lights, he looked around hastily, taking in the
dark shapes of the mountains and the bright spattering of stars above. This would
be his last time seeing these things. With a rush of unexpected calmness, he
realized that, soon, he would be joining his princess…
He stumbled into the outskirts of the town, and was met with a ghastly scene.
Long cracks ran down the streets. The once strong, starkly white houses had
collapsed in on themselves, and weathered roof tiles littered the ground. Pots of
flowers were overturned, their contents strewn in messy piles. He could hear a
woman crying, the noise loud and harsh in the otherwise eerily silent night. Barely
breaking his stride, the Torch Bearer continued along the ruined roads, looking
desperately for someone – anyone – who might be worthy of taking on his curse.
But, all around him, the world remained empty, surrounding him mockingly in a
bubble of the solitude he had grown so accustomed to.
realized how true this was – jogging quickly along the moonlit road, tightly
packed gravel scrunching beneath every step, accompanied only by a small,
unpredictable breeze that threw his unkempt hair in every direction. He could
make out the soft glow of the city, now, though the night was strangely silent, and
no carriages had rumbled by him for the whole duration of his trip. His breathing
came in short, shallow gasps, and his arm ached from holding the wooden object
for which he was known. The Torch burned faintly – a mere shadow of its former
glory – but it burned still, and gained strength with every passing moment,
sensing the closeness of its home.
Rounding a bend in the road, the Torch Bearer could just make out the silhouette
of the royal castle ahead. It had been years since he had seen it, but it was still just
as tall and looming as the day he had left. Jagged towers of varying heights
imprinted black solidity onto the deep blue of the night sky, and the flapping of
the royal family’s flags could almost be heard from beneath the thick cloak of
silence surrounding the sparse countryside.
The Torch Bearer wanted nothing more than to turn and run the other way - far,
far away, into the inky black sky, disappearing forever among the nameless stars.
But he had a duty to the crown, the Torch and, most importantly, the now dead
Princess Leigh. He also owed it to himself to do this one thing: if he hadn’t taken
the torch in the first place, the whole outcome of this terrible battle might have
been different.
Time seemed to slow as he grew closer to the castle. He did not notice the absence
of warmth in the air until it was too late. With a cry of horror, the Torch Bearer
stumbled, trying desperately to keep running along the shuddering ground. He
was rocked from side to side, up and down as the dark magic he had been racing
against finally overtook him, creating an unexpected earthquake.
“Dispara,” he mumbled quickly, and the torch disappeared into thin air.
Then, he looked up, straight into the eyes of the shadow that was the embodiment
of the dark magic - Mervel. The deep, angry orange of molten lava had, long ago,
replaced the bright blue irises of those eyes, and now they bore into his very soul,
reaping the secrets within.
“Well, well, well. Just where do you expect to be going?” asked the man, a hint of
humourless laughter in his voice. The Torch Bearer said nothing, refusing to meet
the gaze of the enemy. Mervel simply smiled, raising his hands to the sky. The
light of the moon formed strange areas of darkness on the ashen face, illuminating
every wrinkle, making the man seem years older. Still, anyone would be able to
sense the evil lurking behind his human shell, and if the Torch Bearer had had any
doubts about whether a compassionate soul still resided somewhere within, the
truth was now made clear: any morality that may have remained was gone.
With a shudder, the Torch Bearer turned away, but Mervel would not have that.
“Look!” he ordered, and the Torch Bearer was forced to follow the command, his
eyes propelled by an undeniable force.
“Watch your palace crumble!” with that, the earthquake that had been roaring
around them increased in magnitude, rattling the Torch Bearer’s very bones.
Before his eyes, the shuddering image of the castle changed, becoming strangely
deformed. The whole structure seemed to be getting shorter, spreading out to the
sides. With a jolt, the Torch Bearer realized that his home of sixteen years was
crumbling beneath the pressure of the shaking land, folding in on itself, killing all
those who had, minutes before, been safely hidden within its walls.
“NO!” he cried, falling to his knees. The constant rattling of his body gave him a
terrible headache, and he wished that he could simply lie down, give up, fade
away, and succumb to death…
With a strength that was not his own, the Torch Bearer forced himself to swallow
his grief. Tears streamed down his face, leaving ugly lines in the dirt that had
collected there. Mervel had turned, looking away from the young man, admiring
his handiwork. With a well-disguised groan, the Torch Bearer stood, running in
earnest now, stumbling along the road toward the city.
“Run, boy!” Mervel’s voice followed him mockingly, “see where your
trustworthy feet take you this time!”
The Torch Bearer knew that he was losing time. His only option now would be to
pass on the Torch to the first person he saw, then turn and face Mervel, once and
for all. His death was right around the corner. He wanted to live – he was aware of
every last heartbeat, the rise and fall of every breath, the tingle of the wind on his
skin. As he sprinted for the city’s lights, he looked around hastily, taking in the
dark shapes of the mountains and the bright spattering of stars above. This would
be his last time seeing these things. With a rush of unexpected calmness, he
realized that, soon, he would be joining his princess…
He stumbled into the outskirts of the town, and was met with a ghastly scene.
Long cracks ran down the streets. The once strong, starkly white houses had
collapsed in on themselves, and weathered roof tiles littered the ground. Pots of
flowers were overturned, their contents strewn in messy piles. He could hear a
woman crying, the noise loud and harsh in the otherwise eerily silent night. Barely
breaking his stride, the Torch Bearer continued along the ruined roads, looking
desperately for someone – anyone – who might be worthy of taking on his curse.
But, all around him, the world remained empty, surrounding him mockingly in a
bubble of the solitude he had grown so accustomed to.
it's so close, i can almost taste it
the credits
made by rae aka
cupcake of rpgd and
vanilla_pop of caution 2.0
lyrics from angela via
"catch me if you can"
no stealing or else the pretty
fishies in my aquarium will
eat you<3
the credits
made by rae aka
cupcake of rpgd and
vanilla_pop of caution 2.0
lyrics from angela via
"catch me if you can"
no stealing or else the pretty
fishies in my aquarium will
eat you<3
x
x