Post by scorpius on Mar 7, 2010 17:23:15 GMT
SCORPIUSHYPERIONMALFOY
hello? it's me, laurie here, remember? oh, okay. well. i'm sixteen and i've been around this roleplay world for about a few years. i stumbled about here thanks to another site with my friend(s) n/a.
S/HE LIVES IN A FAIRYTALE
[/color] eighteenth of december
full name scorpius hyperion malfoy
nicknames scorpius.
age sixteen
date of birth
year and house of preference sixth, slytherin
bloodline[/color] pureblood.
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IT'S ALL ABOUT THE EXPOSURE THE LENS
[/color] six foot one
height
weight[/color] one hundred and forty pounds
hair colour[/color] light blonde
eye colour[/color] green/blue
skin tone[/color] a little tanned on occasion. mostly pale.
play-by[/color] alex pettyfer <3
Scorpius is almost a clone of his father. He has the same light blonde hair and striking blue eyes, but he is perhaps a little scruffier. His dress sense is often being half dressed, and his hair has probably never seen a comb. He is taller as well, stretching up to a good six foot one or two, although truth be told he was never measured. For a Malfoy, he isn't as thin as the rest of them, not as small set, but compared to the normal world, he could be described as normal, but athletic.
Scorpius has a definite bad boy vibe to him, a 'keep well away' visual. Partly because he'll never be seen without a cigarette (except in front of the professors of course) and his general scruffiness. However, nobody's ever called a Malfoy unattractive, and for good reason.
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SENTENCE ME TO ANOTHER LIFE
[/color] Draco Malfoy
father
mother[/color] Astoria Malfoy
siblings[/color] n/a
spouses[/color] n/a
offspring[/color] n/a
other relations[/color] n/a
Scorpius was born to a fairly well known pureblood family in december in one of the best hospitals in the wizarding world. His mother had complications during birth that caused him to have trouble breathing, and he was on life support for four days after he was born. Eventually, Scorpius was brought home by his parents and had what could only be described as 'everything he had ever wanted'. His father thought that everything he did was nothing less than brilliant, and Astoria never disagreed with Draco. he grew up incredibly spoiled, turning out almost exactly like his father had, years earlier. He would have eventually turned into something resembling a clone of his father if it weren't for an incident that happened when he was eleven years old.
Scorpius was playing around with his father's potion set, as kids do. It wouldn't have done any harm is Draco hadn't imported a very strong, and very dangerous ingredient from South Africa that very morning. Draco suffered multiple burns, and although the ones on his face and chest were healed easily enough, a gash down his back left a horrific scar. Scorpius was never the same. Perhaps it was cliche, but almost losing his life made him re-think it- of course, never trust a Malfoy, even one that's had a seriously life changing event. He was still cutting and sarcastic; and more than hostile on occasion, but something was different. He knew when to stop. He was thoughtful, and had a tendency to be melancholy from time to time. Scorpius to this day is solitary and prefers to be on his own; but sometimes he won't refuse a friend. Don't count on it though.
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IF GOD'S THE GAME THAT YOU'RE PLAYING
[/color] oui :3
is this app done?
A TIGER IS A TIGER NOT A LAMB MEIN HERR[/color]
roleplay sample
A steady bleeping was coming from a source somewhere in the room.
Bill groaned, and rolled over. He wanted to get up and find it and silence it so he could get back to sleep, but the laziness was nearly driving him mad. He just couldn’t be bothered. He let out a small, high pitched squeak of annoyance, feeling his sleepiness melt away like snow to be replaced with a thumping headache. There was no chance he was getting back to sleep now, so with a bear-like growl, Bill lifted himself out of the bed, and nearly fell over again. The dizziness from his headache was throwing off his balance in a very peculiar way, and he felt somehow… lighter. How odd. Making a suspicious noise, Bill stumbled across the dark room, feeling around for the thing that was making the beeping noise. After what seemed like an age, he found an alarm clock wedged down the back of a cupboard, making a strangled attempt to escape, vibrating and bleeping like its life depended on it.
Bill found the window, and put the alarm clock out of it’s misery.
“Jesus Christ…” Bill muttered to himself, collapsing on the bed again. What had happened last night? All he could remember was alcohol…. So much alcohol… and pink? He had a vivid memory of something pink very close to his mouth… The phone on the bedside table rang, and Bill jumped violently, nearly falling off the bed.
“Hello?” He picked it up tentatively.
“BILL!” He had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened. The angry voice of his manager filtered through the tiny speakers, and Bill felt like hitting his head against the wall. Ladies and gentlemen, David Jost, the angriest man he had officially ever met.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! YOU CAN’T JUST GET DRUNK OUT OF YOUR MIND AND THEN VANISH LIKE THAT!!” Bill attempted to jump into the conversation, but to no avail. David Jost was having his say and so help anyone who interrupted him.
“I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK, SICK DO YOU HEAR ME!”
“David… calm down, I’m a responsible adult, remember?! I’m fine, I’m just in my hotel room,” David gave a strange growling noise like an angry animal, and Bill wrinkled his nose.
“Chillax David, I’ve got it covered,” David snorted.
“Yes, and my name is Tinky Winky the purple teletubby… anyway, why were you hanging out with that muse thief…? I’ve told you so many times to avoid them…” Bill’s mouth dropped open, and David carried on talking, oblivious. A muse thief? He couldn’t remember one! He shuddered when he thought about the peculiar species that seemed to be ever present in the music industry. They were like creative vampires, sucking out every last drop of creativity from whoever’s muse they could nab. As a successful singer/songwriter, a muse thief was a huge no-go for Bill. A nagging feeling kept poking at Bill’s subconscious, and while he had previously blamed it on a hangover from hell, a more unsettling thought had occurred to him.
“Was she… um… one of yours?” David had numerous muse thieves at his beck and call- amateur ones, not the major league muse thieves, although they paid their victims. David liked to have a fresh supply of muse on hand in case he ever lost his touch; but sadly, Bill wasn’t allowed any. It was management muse, and god help him if he ever became more than an emo-esque songwriter, because he would be in over his head. He, like most humans, couldn’t stand them. Muse Thieves, that was. They were huge, females reaching six one at a minimum and the males… god only knows how tall they could get- they had fluorescent hair of varying colors according to their prowess and how many people’s muse they had sucked. Amateurs were mousy haired- experts were bubblegum pink. It creeped the hell out of him out to say the least; there was something about them that made them physically imposing in a way that only Muse Thieves could be.
Bill groaned, and rolled over. He wanted to get up and find it and silence it so he could get back to sleep, but the laziness was nearly driving him mad. He just couldn’t be bothered. He let out a small, high pitched squeak of annoyance, feeling his sleepiness melt away like snow to be replaced with a thumping headache. There was no chance he was getting back to sleep now, so with a bear-like growl, Bill lifted himself out of the bed, and nearly fell over again. The dizziness from his headache was throwing off his balance in a very peculiar way, and he felt somehow… lighter. How odd. Making a suspicious noise, Bill stumbled across the dark room, feeling around for the thing that was making the beeping noise. After what seemed like an age, he found an alarm clock wedged down the back of a cupboard, making a strangled attempt to escape, vibrating and bleeping like its life depended on it.
Bill found the window, and put the alarm clock out of it’s misery.
“Jesus Christ…” Bill muttered to himself, collapsing on the bed again. What had happened last night? All he could remember was alcohol…. So much alcohol… and pink? He had a vivid memory of something pink very close to his mouth… The phone on the bedside table rang, and Bill jumped violently, nearly falling off the bed.
“Hello?” He picked it up tentatively.
“BILL!” He had to hold the phone away from his ear to avoid being deafened. The angry voice of his manager filtered through the tiny speakers, and Bill felt like hitting his head against the wall. Ladies and gentlemen, David Jost, the angriest man he had officially ever met.
“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! YOU CAN’T JUST GET DRUNK OUT OF YOUR MIND AND THEN VANISH LIKE THAT!!” Bill attempted to jump into the conversation, but to no avail. David Jost was having his say and so help anyone who interrupted him.
“I’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK, SICK DO YOU HEAR ME!”
“David… calm down, I’m a responsible adult, remember?! I’m fine, I’m just in my hotel room,” David gave a strange growling noise like an angry animal, and Bill wrinkled his nose.
“Chillax David, I’ve got it covered,” David snorted.
“Yes, and my name is Tinky Winky the purple teletubby… anyway, why were you hanging out with that muse thief…? I’ve told you so many times to avoid them…” Bill’s mouth dropped open, and David carried on talking, oblivious. A muse thief? He couldn’t remember one! He shuddered when he thought about the peculiar species that seemed to be ever present in the music industry. They were like creative vampires, sucking out every last drop of creativity from whoever’s muse they could nab. As a successful singer/songwriter, a muse thief was a huge no-go for Bill. A nagging feeling kept poking at Bill’s subconscious, and while he had previously blamed it on a hangover from hell, a more unsettling thought had occurred to him.
“Was she… um… one of yours?” David had numerous muse thieves at his beck and call- amateur ones, not the major league muse thieves, although they paid their victims. David liked to have a fresh supply of muse on hand in case he ever lost his touch; but sadly, Bill wasn’t allowed any. It was management muse, and god help him if he ever became more than an emo-esque songwriter, because he would be in over his head. He, like most humans, couldn’t stand them. Muse Thieves, that was. They were huge, females reaching six one at a minimum and the males… god only knows how tall they could get- they had fluorescent hair of varying colors according to their prowess and how many people’s muse they had sucked. Amateurs were mousy haired- experts were bubblegum pink. It creeped the hell out of him out to say the least; there was something about them that made them physically imposing in a way that only Muse Thieves could be.
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turn it off in all my spite
credit to NERDS CAN ROCK for this app :] her
hard work went into it when she should have
been studying! shoosh! xP lyrics to paramore's
new album; brand new eyes![/font]
