BEAUMONT, mathilde

[Mathilde Beaumont]

BEAUMONT, mathilde


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`` the MUGGLE.

name/alias:: Claire
age:: Nineteen
gender:: Female
contact info:: PM me.
years roleplaying:: Seven, give or take.
how did you find us?::
other characters::

notes::

`` the PROFESSOR.

general .
full name:: Professor Mathilde Elise Beaumont
nicknames: Mattie was a childhood nickname of hers.
gender:: Female
age:: Twenty-Four
birth date:: September 14th

wand:: Vine, 10", Demiguise Hair
blood status:: Halfblood
position applying for:: Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor

notes::


appearance .
height/weight:: 5'6", 134 lbs.
body type:: Tall, willowy.
hair color:: Dark Brown
eye color:: Grey-Blue

overall:: There are very few things in such a broken world that one might deem ‘beautiful’. In fact, there seems to exist nothing of the sort amongst the rubble and ruin that lay haphazardly in all directions. Waste – all of it – for miles it lays in all of its deformity, and so if there had been anything sublime to speak of; it was tarnished by the ugliness of the war-torn city. Mathilde, the name that ironically bears the recognition of ‘fair of face’ personifies instead the intense darkness of the home that has since collapsed around her. It was as though she were purposely sculpted to reflect the disaster and bleakness that now wholly consumed a place that had been so full of vivid colour and resilient spirit. One notable difference that separates these similarities however, is the fact that – for all of her gravity, there is no bleakness to speak of. In fact, the most appropriate way to describe her striking countenance would be to say that she bears quite a great deal of volume. A horrific refinement so utterly arresting that simply looking upon her is a beautiful agony.

With a heritage as rich as the Beaumont’s, it came as a surprise – albeit not an unpleasant one – that Mathilde had inherited none of the stereotypical features associated with any aspect of either of her ethnicities. Instead she conveys something of a roman-esque profile, limbs abnormally long and thin; comparable to delicate bone-china liable to shatter into a hundred pieces upon the gentlest of persuasions. Her height, although it adds an air of superiority and regality, has lessened the evidence of feminine curves and steep dips commonly related to young girls her age. Unfortunately this also includes the coveted supple breasts that stand as a prevalent and sought after feature, standing as something of a landmark of womanhood. Despite her boyish figure however, it would be quiet a feat to deny that she has an enviable grace about her. Rhythmical in the way she moves and elegant in every sense of the word, Mathilde carries herself in a fashion reminiscent of a queen amongst her humble subjects. Subtle gestures such as the lift of her chin and the perfected frown upon her lips are expressed artistically to demonstrate as much, expressed almost artistically across the haunted pallor of her sharp, dramatic features.

Perhaps her most startling feature, the colour of Mathilde’s eyes stand as a metallic inky blue-green so dark it appears black at a distance, echoing the hue of the center of brittle sapphires dug from the deepest crevices the moist underground. Fringed in long, almost ornamental lashes which break like a wave across her cheek, and startling against the ashen colour of her skin, they carry the weight of her emotions within their mysterious depths. Many people have remarked that her slender nose and rosebud lips resemble that of a porcelain doll’s, eerily flawless in their placement and never giving anything away; such small details are all excruciatingly symmetrical so that staring at her for too long may cause one to wonder whether she’s alive or simply a life-size statue of alabaster and ivory. Sunken, shadowed contours, exquisite bone structure, high sweeping cheekbones and a pointed jaw do well to reflect the aristocracy coursing through her veins, rarely painted or made up in anything more than lotion and a dab of perfume.

It should also be noted, there is no uncanny resemblance to her parents, much to their dismay, save for the swirl of glossy dark curls which spill unbound over her small, sloping shoulders. It was the same blackness of her mother and grandmother’s hair before her, groomed with great care and left long and always loose, it stands as the only source of femininity about her person, occasionally dressed up in ribbons and ceramic combs.
Lastly, as it isn’t quite so relevant as some might assume it to be; Mathilde’s attire is very simply put, tidy. The cloth is as expensive as one Pureblooded family would dare to invest in and custom-made to suit her awkward figure, or lack of one. Corduroy, suede, silk, stiff jackets and ties compile the extent of her wardrobe, and perhaps is somewhat more masculine than one would expect from a young lady her age. Pearls are her gemstone of choice before diamonds and she adamantly refuses heels save for special occasions.

Overall, roguish, intense, dark and mysterious are all attributes that would fittingly describe this peculiarity of the Beaumont lineage. Yet for all of her outward flaws there is a commanding aura that surrounds her, beckoning for one to venture closer and take a better look. Not all is what it seems after all, and though her features are much too hard and foreboding to be compared to the softness of her siblings’, there is no doubt that she possesses an eloquence left forgotten and underappreciated.


notes:: Wears glasses for near-distance reading.


personality .
likes::
- curling up by a fireplace
- hot chocolate
- sexy lingerie
- compliments
- victory
- her job
- attentive students
- assertive men
- peace and quiet
- her owl, thleonious

dislikes::
- rowdy students
- stupidity
- admitting to being wrong
- a puzzle with no solution
- illogical, difficult people
- heights
- being disturbed
- being behind in her work
- snotty coworkers
- being interrupted

goals::
- teach a child something they will remember for life
- prove her worth to her father
- move to rome and raise a family

fears::
- becoming vulnerable or weak
- failing as a teacher
- her father's temper

overall:: Very few people in the world know exactly what it is they want. Even less are motivated enough that they will stop at nothing until they have achieved whatever it is they so fervently desire. Or perhaps it isn’t simply a matter of motivation; perhaps it’s a psychological mosaic of courage, desperation, self-deception and a materialistic, shallow undertone that no one seems particularly fond of admitting to having stroked. There is an embarrassment that greed often leaves in its wake, troubling even to those of supposedly admirable morals. Seldom does anyone step up and accept their indulgence for what it is. Considered wholly by society as one of many carnal sins, over-eager consumption is looked down upon so severely that there is a fear of social exile. Someone like Mathilde Acacia Beaumont therefore comes as an unpleasant surprise to the rest of these misguided fools, and offers no apologies for whatever painful truth she may bring recognition to.

Reasonably one could label her the perfect exemplification of what it entails to be ‘Slytherin’. Calculating, manipulative, intent on satisfying her needs and her needs alone, it isn’t difficult to see that she fits the bill nicely. What remains, whether purposely or otherwise, ignored however in the case of Mathilde, are the numerous other qualities – maybe not as glamorous as those aforementioned few – but certainly factors that influence her individuality. For that is what she is, an individual. Unique in her own right and quite mindful of it. The traits that personify those sorted into the house of serpents only scratch upon the surface of who she is and even allude to unfair stereotypes and judgments for so long placed upon the shoulders of the students who bear the emerald and silver crest. Evil for example, though the term is applied far too liberally in such an age, is something she is not, and though she acknowledges that her father might be, she has never and will never allow herself to follow in his example. With as good intentions as anyone, it is only a matter of them being used for the right reasons.

Mathilde may not be the kindest, nor most generous person but she is unquestionably loyal to those who have earned her trust. In their company she is as harmless as a newborn kitten and speaks with as much respect as she would a Professor or colleague. Her only confidants in a school of traitors, she is careful to keep them close and would make great sacrifices to ensure their happiness. And like any teenage girl, you can expect her to be much more at ease amongst them than, say, a group of giggling former Gryffindors. Fun-loving and with an insatiable longing to be in the spotlight, Mathilde knows how to have a good time and used to frequent late-night Quidditch parties held in the castle’s north towers, as well as other less-than-legal ‘functions’ at some underground pubs in London during the summer. Because the atmosphere was so somber at home, Mathilde looked to make the most of the many months she spends at school, having wracked up quite a reputation over the course of her years in attendance. Despite her parents’ ineptness when it comes to expressing themselves through anything but frowns and narrowed eyebrows, it seems their only daughter picked up on the art of persuasion and socializing quickly. Able to mingle easily amongst even a large group of people, it isn’t difficult for her to adopt a feigned look of pleasant surprise at a moment’s whim. This has proven very useful, specifically at her mother’s garden parties or her father’s business luncheons when there are valuable impressions to be made and future connections to be gained.

What may come as the greatest surprise to most people about Mathilde is the fact that, though she is somewhat promiscuous, she does not make it a habit to sleep with just anyone who offers it freely. In fact she holds herself and her reputation in high-esteem and would never see it tarnished by such a vulgar means. Of course as a fairly attractive girl with subtle curves and a brilliant smile it’s no wonder she’s taught herself to use her body to get places, but only by employing a more tactful, respectable approach than most other girls can claim. The Beaumont women were all born and bred to be proper, Pureblooded ladies and so that same responsibility and expectation has fallen to Mathilde. Being the only girl of three children, it is her duty to ensure their generation carries on the decorous, dignified manner of the ladies of her family name. Still, there are occasions when she allows herself to succumb to the wanton desires of hormonal teenage boys and has even been caught once or twice after curfew, engaged in less than appropriate ‘pastimes’ which has subsequently caused her much grief at home.

Contrary to her picture perfect behaviour in the effort to please her parents, Mathilde can also be as terrible as the words ‘callous bitch’ paints her sort to be. Devious and easily jealous, it wouldn’t be considered a stretch for her to seek revenge on anyone who has crossed her. Wrathful and possessive, this could apply to anything that she believes ‘belongs’ to her in any way. Though she would never go so far as to actually harming anyone – she prefers to allow others to get their hands dirty, so to speak – Mathilde is normally the brains behind these vengeful operations. Something of a perfectionist, she will remain on the sidelines until everything has been carried out in exact detail. One mistake and prepare for a lengthily scolding. One thing Mathilde can’t stand is failure, whether by herself or someone else, being showed up by anyone is one of her largest pet peeves, faithful in her proficiency at seeing things through to the very end with favorable results. It is acknowledged even by herself that she is a sore loser and though she may curse and scream for a good while, Mathilde refuses to pout or sulk about it. Whining raises the hairs on the back of her neck. Such childish behaviour is beyond her and able to cause the girl to snap from the sheer frustration of having to listen to it. It is in this regard she is able to understand where even Muggle parents are coming from when they deny their children a lolly and then smack their bottoms when the little thing begins to cry shrilly its refusal.

And though many of her sort are made out to be pathological liars, Mathilde avoids doing so as often as possible. The more lies that are spun the likelier and likelier you are apt to getting caught up in the tales. Because she is so fearful of being outwitted, she strays from telling too many fibs and instead looks to exaggeration as a more effective tool.
One of Mathilde’s more interesting quirks is the enjoyment and fulfillment she receives from playing ‘cat and mouse’. After discovering someone who can play mind-games as well as she can, it’s only a matter of time before she puts up a challenge. Though this behaviour is mostly reserved for men, it is not out of the ordinary to see her doing the same for other girls – particularly those from her own house house. Because they tend to be very intelligent and quick on their feet, they’re usually a safe bet for a little bit of ‘fun’. That being said, there were many speculations made about Mathilde not having been sorted into the house of serpants. Though she finds delight in learning new things each day, it seems her thirst for power and influence is more a priority than expanding her knowledge. More ‘street smart’ per say than ‘book savvy’ she has enough common sense to see her through and in her opinion, that’s all that matters.

Determined and aggressive, you won’t see her back down very often. Every bit as cold-hearted on the outside, you’ll also find yourself hardpressed to be the audience of her softer, sensitive side unless you’ve been taken into her circle of comrades. Though it isn’t easily noticeable she has a good heart that has just been broken and patched up too many times to function properly. A fallen angel who doesn’t count on her lucky stars anymore, Mathilde Beaumont is sure to leave a lasting impression.


notes::


history .

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family::
father;; Sebastian Beaumont, 57, Ministry Employee
mother;; Melania Beaumont, 53, Housewife
siblings;; Gregory Beaumont, 22, Ministry Intern
pets;; Grey Owl named Thelonious
other;; No one notable.

former house:: Ravenclaw
hometown:: London, England
financial status:: Above Average

overall:: Love is an unpredictable thing. Intertwined with fate, it seems an almost impossible outcome to predict. Some discover it, some don’t … and whether others prefer to live without it, there’s no escaping it when it so chooses them. For Sebastian Beaumont, it had been a completely uncontrollable aspect in his life. A naturally hard man, there were very few who loved him. Many respected him of course, but it would prove to be a difficult task to honestly say that they loved him. His own mother and father had been strict and oftentimes overbearing. Hard work was what they lived by, Beaumont very little to no time to relax and enjoy one another’s company. Of course Sebastian himself might attest to the fact that even if they did take that time, enjoyment wouldn’t exactly be the result. Living in France, the majority of his childhood, he was attended to by a private tutor and schooled in magic far beyond the average age of those in the United Kingdom.

Eventually, when he turned nineteen years old, Sebastian met a young woman by the name of Anya. She was indescribably beautiful, but not in the way one might assume. Her nose was crooked and she was skeletal, but there was a haunting loveliness in her eyes and smile. She was intelligent and ladylike, so needless to say he found her quite enchanting. Unfortunately what Sebastian didn’t know was that this woman was indeed a Muggle, and having been born into such a prestigious line of Pureblooded aristocrats, he had a reputation to keep up. They tried to keep it a secret, but it wasn’t long before his parents discovered what they were up to. Immediately action was taken, and Anya was forbidden to come within twenty feet of their beloved son, much less speak with him at any time.

Another year passed slowly and Sebastian was officially an adult. No longer was he obligated to abide by his parents’ wishes, but surprisingly, Anya was not on his mind. During that year he’d pushed himself harder than he ever had in an effort to forget about the only woman he’d ever loved. He’d lost himself in the process until all that he could think about was establishing a place for himself away from the security of his father and mother’s influence. He wanted to do it on his own and so ended up immigrating to Britain, taking up permanent residence there and quickly finding work in the Ministry. Because of his reputation and flawless academic history, he was spotted quickly and referred to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement by the man that would soon become his senior. They became close friends from there, and some even venture so far as to say that this friendship was the cause for Sebastian’s turn for the worse.

Melania Peters had always been a sweet young thing. Full of energy and reared by a grandmother who pampered her to her heart’s content; it wasn’t a surprise she grew to expect to always be seated in the lap of luxury. Initially she wasn’t particularly interested in her studies, and had to be quickly broken of this rebellious attitude. However she continued to mature with age and grew to be the lady her demanding mother expected. Because her father owned large corporations overseas, she rarely saw him but it concerned her very little. Over time she was allowed to attend her mother’s social soirees, paraded about much like a prized poodle with ribbons in her hair and a fake smile across her lips. Eventually she was even able to run some of them on her own, and grew to be respected and admired for her beauty and charm by many of high-society’s wealthier ladies. In fact it was at one of these parties Sebastian and Melania first laid eyes upon one another. One of the younger Malfoy cousins had convinced him to go and he had agreed. Sparks flew the moment they were introduced. In his eyes, she was Britain’s princess, all golden hair and long, delicate limbs and he was her French rogue; dark hair, swarthy skin and a thick brogue which was beginning to acclaim some British feel. It didn’t help that they were both young and ambitious with all the time in the world at their disposal. One thing led to another and as most might assume, fate decided to make its arrival. It was just as shocking to note that Sebastian’s parents had approved of the union to begin with, considering Melania was indeed a half-blood. Still, she was respectable and it made him happy .. and that’s all that mattered.

First it was Mathilde, and the proud parents were happy. However with their businesses flourishing and Sebastian’s work more demanding than ever, there was no desire for any more children. These things happen however; passion overcomes sense and one night after a long drawn-out argument, newly wedded Mr. and Mrs. Beaumont conceived what he would at least soon consider a mistake.
It was true, for a long time Mathilde was nothing but a liability to Sebastian. With little respect to spare for women save for the pleasure their bodies elicited, they were nothing. However, astoundingly, it was he she took after and a mutual respect settled between them.

Concerning the relationship she had with the younger brother that eventually made his way into their lives, it was vague and really nothing special. There were always points of tension between the two however. This might have been due to the fact that Mathilde was older and wiser than and not quite as spontaneous as her younger counterpart. Gregory – the young boy – was understandably upset when Mathilde accepted her invitation to Hogwarts. At first it had been Durmstrang he’d been interested in, and his father would have supported it whole-heartedly had he not had his heart set on having his oldest son joining the Ministry upon graduation, and living in Bulgaria would have made that impossible.

Mathilde herself proved herself to be an ideal student, content and kind despite the notoriously bitchy reputation that seemed to trail her everywhere. She’d lost a few friends along the way, but it wasn’t until mid second year when she began to change. Her current companions speculate it was due to the revelation of her father’s long-term affair and the night he – reportedly – man handled Melania. It was Beaumont to everyone who knew about it that she didn’t file for divorce. But how could she? He was everything to her. Besides, she vowed she still loved him even if he no longer reciprocated the same. She believed she could change him and so life went on as normal as possible with both brothers playing stupid. It seemed to affect the Beaumont daughter the most, to see her mother in such a troubled state. It seems now she has taken to distracting herself by doing exactly as her father had done, pushing herself to do better than her best in order to please her mother and bring her some joy, as well as throw herself into the social scene and ensure that people remember her name.

Soon after graduating from Hogwarts with honours, she took a year to travel to the United States where she attended the Salem Witch institute for women. Earning her degree in teaching, she returned to England, offered up the position of DADA by the current Headmaster. Determined to prove herself to her father without needing to rely on his personal connections, she agreed to fill the slot and has been doing it ever since.
Things are fast-paced for Mathilde with very little certainty as to where exactly she’ll end up.
Of course, there never really is a guarantee as to how things will end. She just hopes it was all worth it.


notes::
[/blockquote]

`` the EXCESS.

read the rules?:: admin katie accepted

roleplay sample::

There would have been no justifiable reason for her to forsake the second chance she had been given; the chance at another life. Pain washed over her but as much as she wanted to scream in agony, she could only bring herself to quietly embrace it. Bile rose in her throat and she fought, barely successfully, to swallow it back biting down upon her tongue with enough force to draw instead the taste of blood. It comforted her in a way, if only because it was something familiar. Something she could count on. Her body – slight and slender and much too delicate to have been able to withstand such suffering – quaked and shuddered. Her blatant nakedness was much less of a priority at this point, if only because there would be no one around for miles who might stumble upon such a sorry sight to take enough notice. If there had been, that sort of vulnerability wouldn’t have overcome the shame of not being able to do much of anything besides curl up and wait for the convulsions to subside. Despite the warmth of the morning light that broke across the distant hillsides the woman’s shivering did not discontinue and the chattering of her teeth only grew more pronounced. Eyelids squeezed tightly shut against the sudden and offensive brightness and her fingernails dug viciously into the palms of her hands. Hundreds of visions swam within her troubled mind, not all of them making any sense. Only occasionally would she be able to focus on one for longer than a few moments and even then it was distorted and unrecognizable. Somewhere nearby the leaves on a tree rustled, causing her to break her concentration and realign upon what she needed to do. But the effort was too much, and she only lifted herself up a fraction on her elbows for mere seconds before she was collapsing back upon the ground; one cheek turned into the dirt while the other only remained lightly bruised. Every bone in her body ached in protest, every exposed portion of creamy white skin was tinted a sickly blue and her long dark hair was tangled. There couldn’t have been any creature that looked as pathetic as she did but there had never existed a King that could have rivaled her pride and satisfaction at the way things had turned out; as though she had meant them to be so.

And then another sort of pain exploded before her eyes, dazzling her in such a way that she was completely unprepared for it. Fear consumed her, dragging her down into a pit of despair where she recalled she’d once lived. At first the images were strange; shadows and irregular shapes looming out of focus. They were bent over her lifeless form, speaking amongst themselves in hushed whispers. Suddenly a light that was not the sun blinded her and she cried out, moving her arm to shield herself from it but to no avail. The girl on the table did not move; only her eyes. Lashes fluttered open gingerly at first, tears streaming down the sides of her face against the uncalled for flare and sharpness of the sights and sounds all around her. At first she was numb, as though she were observing peacefully from a distance but then the realization that she was strapped to a cold operating table hit her and she reacted. Her back arched and she squeezed her eyes shut, writhing upon the hard dirt, pulled back and forth between the present and those haunting memories of things she couldn’t will herself to remember. Anger and the frustration of being restrained by the leather straps that bound her ankles and wrists overwhelmed her. It wasn’t anything she’d ever experienced before. The emotions were so strong, so beautiful that she found she could not and would not attempt to control them. Instead she acted upon impulse and before the men in crisp white suits could get to the door she was crushing them mercilessly beneath her clawed paws. For no longer was she the innocent young woman she had been, but a monstrous beast; the alter-ego that lay dormant for so many years finally bursting forth in recognition of its calling to redeem itself and seek justice. Her jaws snapped viciously and she lunged for each of them, completely ignoring the other unfortunate souls who had unwillingly found themselves part of the experimentation. Her actions were maintained completely by blood lust but it faded before she could do very much damage; the nausea causing her rear back and then bolt. Mindless, senseless, confused and desperate meanderings were what fueled her to locate the closest possible exit and she was dragging herself as far away as possible. Needless to say it wasn’t long before she was collapsing upon the very spot she now laid in better awareness, just as the first sign of dawn broke across the sky in brilliant scarlets, golds and purples.

She was turned upon her stomach again, arms wrapped tightly about her abdomen as though she were trying to hold herself together. Tatters of the clothing she had been given lay a few feet away from her, unusable now. Her breathing had become shallow and she heaved a few times fruitlessly, as nothing came up. Her system was cleaned out so the gesture only served to worsen her state. For a moment she was able to raise herself to her knees but instantly became disoriented and watery-eyed. Slowly though, the physical pain lessened and she stopped swaying. Everything became eerily still and even the natural chorus of nature and wildlife around her quieted. It was as though she had grown deaf and her slender eyebrows pinched together as she strained to hear something, anything. And then it came, piercing her eardrums so that she was wishing she hadn’t hoped so feverishly in the first place. It was a voice, deep and masculine and undeniably angry … but it didn’t belong to the men from the catacombs. No, this one she knew all too well and she flinched away from it as though it had struck her. His angular, handsome face wavered somewhere in front of her and she scurried backward despite her protesting muscles. Another hallucination. And this too had already taken place. Sometime it seemed, long ago. Her then fiancée had been grasping his hair, tugging on it in his exasperation as she stood facing him with wide, innocent eyes. The smell of freshly-baked pie drifted from a place in the center of the table. It had always been his favourite. She thought he might have appreciated it after his long day at work. Apparently she had thought wrong.

“You’re such a worthless fucking bitch, you know that?” he’d shouted, glaring at her. “I ask you to do one thing, one simple thing and you still manage to screw it up! Didn’t your father teach you anything? Oh … well, I guess not. He was too busy nursing that precious fucking bottle of vodka to take much notice of the stupid, mediocre wretch that his wife left him with. You know, I actually pity the bastard. Maybe what happened was meant to be his reprieve from the shithole he stewed in for all those years? I know I’d take it to this crap any day.” Suddenly he was eyeing the pie she’d made and grinned sardonically at her before sticking one finger past the crust and licking the filling off with cruel triumph.

“Oh, and I always thought these were lousy.”

And with that, he’d slammed the door and gone. He wasn’t drunk, that at least might have excused his behaviour in her mind. And he’d never touched her, but somehow … he hadn’t needed to. Similar rages would occur occasionally throughout their relationship since the psychologists had diagnosed him with Intermittent Explosive Disorder, but she never reacted. Never stepped out of place, if only because she loved him when he wasn’t the spawn of the devil that sometimes possessed his soul. She always forgave him, but that night – when he sauntered through the doors and pulled her persuasively into the bedroom – after he had, had his fill and was asleep she found there could only be one escape without doing him too much harm. Cutting had always seemed so vile to her but it gave her a strange sort of pleasure, knowing that it wouldn’t take long. That it would be too late when he awoke. But it wasn’t the heaven she’d expected.

How long she’d been asleep she did not know. But things had changed beyond any possible means of deciphering it. She had changed. The only question was, for the better?

notes::

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[the sorting hat]

“ Welcome to Hogwarts once again,
Just don't let the students drive you insane ...
accepted

!

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