Post by Professor Drifton on Nov 17, 2007 18:47:01 GMT -5
the ROLEPLAYER
Name: Katie
Age: 16
Years Roleplaying: 4-6
Contact Info: PM, IbelonginHARMONY@aol.com –or- putting.love.on_HOLD@hotmail.com
Other Characters: Cieran, Schuyler, Dakota
the WITCH//WIZARD
Full Name: Ian Michael Farrell Drifton
Nicknames: n/a
Gender: Male
Age: 25
Birth Date: July 3, 1982
Former House: Ravenclaw
Blood Status: Mixed … somewhere way back there.
Wand: Malaysian Driftwood ;; 11¼ in. ;; fairy wing ;; “… thin, excellent for quickly-cast charms …”
Position(s) at Hogwarts: Headmaster
Height: 6’1”
Weight: 152lbs
Appearance:
Ian Drifton stands at a full height of 6’1”. His body is slim, his arms and chest muscular from days guarding the hoops in Quidditch, though that was years ago. His complexion is tanned slightly, seeing as his skin barely burns. His jaw is commonly covered with a dark stubble, as well as is above his lip. The beard seems to be more of a constant 5 o’clock shadow than anything else, but goes along with his style perfectly. His jaw is somewhat squared, yet his face is a cross between square- and heart-shaped, due simply to his high cheekbones.
Ian’s hair is dark shade of brown; it’s just the slightest bit wavy—mainly on the ends. The sun tends to bleach whatever part of his locks that it can reach, though, giving the man natural brown highlights in some areas. His hair is cut to reach just above his eyebrows. The cut is jagged and slightly layered, giving him a tousled look while keeping in style in one way or another.
Ian’s eyes are a dark shade of teal, lighter in the center and blending to a far darker shade around the edges. His eyes are often described as ‘thoughtful,’ and the description is nothing but true, especially when the Headmaster is ‘spacing out.’ His eyes seem cloudy when he’s thinking, giving him more of a far-away look than anything else. However, his eye color can seem darker from far away, due to the contrast between the teal and his dark eyebrows.
Likes:
o. order
o. challenges
o. things to run smoothly
o. organization
o. Hogwarts
o. things that actually take thought
o. he has this obsession with lemon drops … no thanks to Dumbledore xP
o. … etc.?
Dislikes:
.o clutter
.o when things go terribly, terribly wrong
.o routines
.o things that take no thought
.o students that disobey orders
.o being caught in a sticky situation
.o again … etc.
Personality:
Ian Drifton has a rather laid-back personality. He’s not one to run up to someone and start going on and on about the last Quidditch match or something of the sort. Likewise, his temper isn’t quick to show itself, unless, of course, one has a reason to see it. Basically, if one’s constantly getting himself into trouble, Ian will most likely cut to the chase rather than simply talking to the student to find out why what was done was done.
Ian is quick when it comes to thinking through things; his mind is exceptionally fast and talented—proof of his past in Ravenclaw. He’s always been talented when it comes to knowing things, though—in his past—Muggle Studies, foreign languages, and Arithmancy seemed to bore him to no end. Like his mind’s quickness, Ian is extremely talented in casting charms. A silent spell can be whipped from his wand to hit the target before one realizes Ian’s even done anything. This could be one of the main reasons he was picked to run the school, but one never really knows.
However, no matter how quickly and suddenly a spell can shoot from Ian Drifton’s wand, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts is most definitely more of a ‘planner’ than a ‘doer.’ He can be talented when it comes to creating strategies and will fight when necessary, but Ian is more likely to be the brains behind an operation.
Family:
Father: Gregory Drifton --» Auror, later Minister of Magic after the Final Battle
Mother: Tabitha (Jones) Drifton (deceased) --» Homemaker, part-time Healer at St. Mungo’s
Siblings: None.
Other: A trouble-making phoenix that resides in his office -- Aiden
History:
It was a nice day for the middle of summer; the air was warm, though not unbearably so. However, the day grew quickly intolerable for Tabitha Drifton as she went into labor near nine that morning. She was just over nine months pregnant, her expectant child a few days late. No matter how quickly Gregory Drifton, her husband, rushed her to the wizard hospital, she was in labor for no shorter than three hours, giving birth to the couple’s first and to be only son just before midday. Ian Michael Farrell Drifton was the name the couple had agreed upon a few weeks before, and it stuck, the name fitting the squirming newborn perfectly.
Ian grew up as normal children do, though his mother was far more loving than his father. Gregory Drifton was much like a muggle ‘military dad;’ his intentions were in the right place but the idea of showing affection to his child seemed to slip his mind. Gregory was constantly pressuring Ian to do his best, to ‘be a man,’ and to make his family proud, thus Ian was actually under a good chunk of stress by the time his Hogwarts letter arrived. “You better not get yourself placed in Slytherin; nothing good comes from that house,” were the words that rang through the eleven-year-old’s head when he shakily took a seat on the stool before his fellow students. Luckily, he was placed in Ravenclaw like his mother, though Gregory would’ve most likely preferred him to be placed in Gryffindor.
Ian’s years at Hogwarts were some of the best of his life. He was two years younger than the famed Harry Potter, and always looked up to the Boy as his hero. Nonetheless, the main reason he loved the school had more to do with the things he was taught. While some of his professors could be cruel at times (Snape and later Umbridge, in particular), Ian excelled greatly in his classes. His best subjects were Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, though other classes weren’t far behind.
In his third year, Ian’s mother was murdered. It was later found that Death Eaters were threatening his father—demanding he recommend Death Eaters for Ministry positions, threatening to hurt his family if he didn’t. Obviously, he refused. Ian was safe from the DE’s, being in Hogwarts most of the year, but the news of his mother’s death was like a stab to the heart. In the following years, the relationship with his father grew even more tense and distant, now that Tabitha wasn’t there to soften Gregory’s heart some. In a way, Ian blamed his father for his mother’s death, though it was unavoidable.
In his fifth year, Ian became a prefect—Head Boy in his sixth. He graduated with no particular desire to become one thing, but went into teaching for the time being. He taught at Durmstrang, though the methods that the school was run by didn’t fit his sense of right and wrong, and he resigned a few years later, instead training at the Ministry to become an Unspeakable or something of the sort. However, when the position of Headmaster opened up at Hogwarts, Ian’s father nominated him in a heartbeat, getting no ‘okay’ from his son.
Months later—at the age of twenty-four—Ian was thrust into the world of Headmaster-ship. While it was something he’d dreamed of doing at one time in his life, he didn’t feel like he was ready at such a young age. However, the influence his Minister-father had over the Ministry and the wizarding world in general got him the job … whether he wanted it or not. Gregory Drifton retired as Minister the year before now, but Ian was kept on as Headmaster—he grew to love his job, though feeling overwhelmed many a time.
other INFORMATION
Read the Rules? Wrote ‘em
Anything Else? Nada
Roleplay Sample: Since I’ve already mentioned my 1000-some word introduction … I thought I’d show it to you guys <33
She watched him silently as he played, her lips tensing slightly as she wondered why he seemed so much more quiet lately. Yes, she could tell; he was her son, she could always tell. She tilted her head to the side slighly and wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that she hadn't seen Kayla around lately. He seemed so zoned out; she held back an admiring parental chuckle, glad she'd been able to tell him she was going out before he'd sat down on the stool. Otherwise, she may just have scared him half to death. She sighed and shook herself from the slight trance, lifting the strap of her purse to her shoulder and opening the door. She left it open, knowing he'd be fine, yet wanting to hear his music as she left. He was such a talented boy, the neighborhood deserved to know that, she reasoned. And with that, she got into her car, checked to make sure she had all of her files, and drove away, her son oblivious to the neighbors who stopped and peered in the house's direction as he played on.
The Waldstein Sonata.
The classical music seemed to rush through his veins; through his very soul. That’s exactly how Jason Michael Davis felt when he sat at his large, black, grand piano and let his feelings out through his fingers. Nothing else registered in his mind but the sound of the instrument, combined with the music he could picture in his mind. He’d played the sonata so many times that it was engraved in his memory forever. So much must I stress this, that there were times when he would softly shut his eyes, feeling his way across the keys rather than telling them what to do with his vision alone. He hadn’t been in a good mood that entire day. He’d spent the entire morning locked in his room, though actually perched on the roof outside his window, notebook and pen in his hands, yet no words written on the page.
He’d spent the time thinking, rather than writing as he’d hoped. Thinking … and … remembering. He’d become disgusted with himself after the first four hours, and had made his way downstairs to shove a crudely made turkey sandwich in his mouth. It wasn’t his fault his hands were still shaking; it wasn’t his fault the simple wisp of a dream had turned so quickly into a nightmare. He’d been making his way to his beloved piano in somewhat of a stony silence when his mother had interrupted him, informing him that she was going out to work on another case. He nodded, hearing her, but not remembering after he’d played the first few notes. He’d started out with the classical piece, being it was the first thing that came to his mind. It was a passionate song, however, and it seemed to make the worries and troubles gathered in his mind fall away.
It was a simple dream at first; nothing more than a childhood memory. He’d been sitting, looking at a much younger version of Kayla; himself also being a younger, second grade version of himself. “Kayla … we’ll … we’ll always be friends, right?” he’d asked, fidgeting slightly, ashamed at feeling he had to ask the question. But what were you to expect? The boy never seemed to have any friends before he met the girl; he’d never been open enough to even attempt to make one. And for those who’d tried to befriend him? He just wouldn’t talk back enough for them, I guess. Kayla had spoken enough for the two of them. Maybe that’s why he got along with her so well. The nodding younger version of his best friend slowly morphed into her current age. Jason stayed as small and vulnerable as he felt, and watched on as Caleb strode out of thin air, and the two walked away together, like when they’d first moved here. He’d woken with a start, wondering how in the world he could think up something that selfish. Kayla was his friend. She was still his friend, and she always would be his friend. She’d even been so kind as to introduce him to his second buddy; Caleb himself.
His body swayed slightly, forcing more drama and soul into the music, his eyes flickering shut once more to drown out the memory of the dream. A slight breeze blew through the open door, tossing about his loose, wavy, brown hair—unknown to him. He hadn’t put a hat on that morning; didn’t see a need to. He wasn’t about ready to leave the house, anyway, so why bother with hiding himself when he was already perfectly well-hidden. A pair of light-wash jeans and brown vans graced his lower half, while his chest was layered in a long-sleeve//short-sleeve combination of shirts. An orange t- with some brownish logo or other covered the long-sleeve cream shirt. The fact that he was wearing long sleeves on a tropical island didn’t pass the boy’s mind for more than a second. The air conditioner in the house had been cold enough to make him wonder ‘why not’ and throw the thing on. But of course, his mother had turned the air down before she left, and the open door didn’t do much to keep the increasing heat out. The needless, cream sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as a result.
He was almost done; the song nearly over. He finished the sonata as dramatically as it was written to be finished, hanging his head slightly as reality crushed in on him again, the heat being the most of it. He paused and pushed his sleeves up further, ran a hand through his hair and reached to shuffle through the folders of music situated onto the piano; his back still facing the open door The thought didn’t even cross his mind as to why it had become so hot in the house; he just expected that his mother had turned the thermostat down when she left, as usual. Even the next breeze of air that made its way through the opening to ruffle his hair didn’t register in the boy’s mind. He was too interested in finding another piece of music to clear his mind with, like the drug it seemed to be for him. Too interested, even to notice the figure who seemed to be hovering near the doorway. Nonetheless, he pulled a sheet of music from the folder, spreading it across the stand and prepared his fingers to take him away into his carefree world once again.
The sheet of music? Oh, it read ‘“Appasionata” Piano Sonata No. 23: Movement 1’ . Just so you know, and all.
- - -
The Waldstein Sonata.
The classical music seemed to rush through his veins; through his very soul. That’s exactly how Jason Michael Davis felt when he sat at his large, black, grand piano and let his feelings out through his fingers. Nothing else registered in his mind but the sound of the instrument, combined with the music he could picture in his mind. He’d played the sonata so many times that it was engraved in his memory forever. So much must I stress this, that there were times when he would softly shut his eyes, feeling his way across the keys rather than telling them what to do with his vision alone. He hadn’t been in a good mood that entire day. He’d spent the entire morning locked in his room, though actually perched on the roof outside his window, notebook and pen in his hands, yet no words written on the page.
He’d spent the time thinking, rather than writing as he’d hoped. Thinking … and … remembering. He’d become disgusted with himself after the first four hours, and had made his way downstairs to shove a crudely made turkey sandwich in his mouth. It wasn’t his fault his hands were still shaking; it wasn’t his fault the simple wisp of a dream had turned so quickly into a nightmare. He’d been making his way to his beloved piano in somewhat of a stony silence when his mother had interrupted him, informing him that she was going out to work on another case. He nodded, hearing her, but not remembering after he’d played the first few notes. He’d started out with the classical piece, being it was the first thing that came to his mind. It was a passionate song, however, and it seemed to make the worries and troubles gathered in his mind fall away.
It was a simple dream at first; nothing more than a childhood memory. He’d been sitting, looking at a much younger version of Kayla; himself also being a younger, second grade version of himself. “Kayla … we’ll … we’ll always be friends, right?” he’d asked, fidgeting slightly, ashamed at feeling he had to ask the question. But what were you to expect? The boy never seemed to have any friends before he met the girl; he’d never been open enough to even attempt to make one. And for those who’d tried to befriend him? He just wouldn’t talk back enough for them, I guess. Kayla had spoken enough for the two of them. Maybe that’s why he got along with her so well. The nodding younger version of his best friend slowly morphed into her current age. Jason stayed as small and vulnerable as he felt, and watched on as Caleb strode out of thin air, and the two walked away together, like when they’d first moved here. He’d woken with a start, wondering how in the world he could think up something that selfish. Kayla was his friend. She was still his friend, and she always would be his friend. She’d even been so kind as to introduce him to his second buddy; Caleb himself.
His body swayed slightly, forcing more drama and soul into the music, his eyes flickering shut once more to drown out the memory of the dream. A slight breeze blew through the open door, tossing about his loose, wavy, brown hair—unknown to him. He hadn’t put a hat on that morning; didn’t see a need to. He wasn’t about ready to leave the house, anyway, so why bother with hiding himself when he was already perfectly well-hidden. A pair of light-wash jeans and brown vans graced his lower half, while his chest was layered in a long-sleeve//short-sleeve combination of shirts. An orange t- with some brownish logo or other covered the long-sleeve cream shirt. The fact that he was wearing long sleeves on a tropical island didn’t pass the boy’s mind for more than a second. The air conditioner in the house had been cold enough to make him wonder ‘why not’ and throw the thing on. But of course, his mother had turned the air down before she left, and the open door didn’t do much to keep the increasing heat out. The needless, cream sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as a result.
He was almost done; the song nearly over. He finished the sonata as dramatically as it was written to be finished, hanging his head slightly as reality crushed in on him again, the heat being the most of it. He paused and pushed his sleeves up further, ran a hand through his hair and reached to shuffle through the folders of music situated onto the piano; his back still facing the open door The thought didn’t even cross his mind as to why it had become so hot in the house; he just expected that his mother had turned the thermostat down when she left, as usual. Even the next breeze of air that made its way through the opening to ruffle his hair didn’t register in the boy’s mind. He was too interested in finding another piece of music to clear his mind with, like the drug it seemed to be for him. Too interested, even to notice the figure who seemed to be hovering near the doorway. Nonetheless, he pulled a sheet of music from the folder, spreading it across the stand and prepared his fingers to take him away into his carefree world once again.
The sheet of music? Oh, it read ‘“Appasionata” Piano Sonata No. 23: Movement 1’ . Just so you know, and all.
exact word count --» 1,133
go me ^.^
… but it might never happen again xP
