Post by maggiesoretto on Jan 9, 2011 8:38:05 GMT -5
MAGGIE|HELENE|SORETTO
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Une photo en souvenir.Une larme, un soupir. De cette nuit qui s'achève.Elle te rejoint dans tes rêves
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[/size]IT’S A LIE SHE’S BEEN CARRING AROUND
IT’S THE LIE THAT WILL BRING HER DOWN
[/font][/size]IT’S THE LIE THAT WILL BRING HER DOWN
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[/size]Name: Margerite Helene Sorreto
Nickname: Maggie
Age/Birthday: September 7th, 1994
Gender: female
Orientation: straight
Blood Status: pure-blooded
Affiliation: neutral
Year/House: 6 / Ravenclaw
Occupation (adults): N\A
Wand: 11”, Holly, Unicorn
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[/size]TAKES PRIDE IN APPEARANCE
AND THE JOB IN HAND
[/size]AND THE JOB IN HAND
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[/size]Eyes: blue.
Hair: brown.
Height: 164 cm.
Weight: 62 kg.
Distinguishing Features(if any): blue monarch on middle-lower back.
Play-by: Emmanuelle Beard
Overall appearance: Margerite ‘Maggie’ Soretto, 16 years old, has angelic Parisian features, which are the proof that she was born in France. The fact that she stands at around 5”4 suggests that she is average-height. Her wavy, blonde hair hangs down her shoulders, stopping a little past her shoulder-blades, front and back. Her eyes, deep blue and topped by long eyelashes, are splendiferous in an ineffable way. Maggie has a slender body, with a petite frame and delicate figure.
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[/size]IT’S THE SIMPLE FLAW
THE MIND FORGETS TO LOOK FOR
[/size]THE MIND FORGETS TO LOOK FOR
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[/size]Erised: Maggie aspires to become a professional Quidditch player; continuing her father’s dream.
Patronus: Maggie’s happiest memory is the first time she rode a broomstick. The indescribable feeling of freedom as she lost the feeling of the earth beneath her feet. The way her fingers stroked the smooth oak wood of the broomstick. How there was nothing that could possibly simulate that exact feeling of happiness. Her patronus takes the form of a blue jay.
Boggart: Maggie’s biggest fear is to drown; to get trapped in the ocean’s seemingly endless dephts.
Dementor: Maggie’s worst memory would be when her younger brother, Armand, was playing hide-and-seek with their mother. Maggie and her dad were coming back home, in the car, and they hadn’t seen Armand hiding. Maggie’s world crashed down; fell apart.
Amortentia: The three best smells in the world according to Maggie are the smell of the air on a cold autumn day, the buttery scent of popcorn, and the odor of fresh baked bread.
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[/size]THE PIECE YOU DIDN’T SEE
AND THE PIECE YOU DIDN’T FIGHT FOR
[/size]AND THE PIECE YOU DIDN’T FIGHT FOR
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[/size]Likes:
- Walking on autumn leaves,
- The sound of a quill moving on parchment,
- The spreading warmth of Butterbeer,
- The thickness of Hogwarts’ blankets,
- Watching raindrops dripping down a window,
- Free Periods,
-The Firebolt.
Dislikes:
- People who point at their wrist while asking for the time,
- Santa Clause,
- Emos,
- A pebble in her shoe,
- Trying to finish lists,
- Waiting in line,
- Words that start with the letter Q.
Strengths:
- Quidditch,
- Boundless energy,
- Courage,
- Open-minded.
Weaknesses:
- Doesn’t know how to deal with stress,
- Blind to her own mistakes, so bound to repeat them,
- Difficulties with being defeated,
- Easily forgotten,
- Doesn’t deal with change very well.
Overall Personality: Magerite Soretto is your typical French young-woman. Fierce and persistent would undoubtedly be the way anybody would describe her, yet the ones close to her knew exactly how much more deeper and much more complicated the girl really is. Between studying for her upcoming N.E.W.Ts, being the center chaser of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, her friends, relatives and other personal problems, the girl really always has a lot on her plate, and stress isn’t unknown to her. She yet doesn’t like to complain, never-mind whine about it. Maggie has a good circle of friends at Hogwarts, mostly including the students whom are part of the Quidditch team. She doesn’t particularly like when people try to defend her, even if they’re merely acting out of friendship. According to Maggie, she can take care of herself and she was perfectly capable of fighting her own battles. To resume: Maggie’s an independent girl, that’s not afraid of being alone, yet that needs to be surrounded with love in order to stay sane.
Maggie absolutely adores treacle tart, and will undoubtedly seek the friendship of a person who offers her some. She is most likely to be found on the Quidditch pitch, practicing for the next game of the season, in the courtyard, sitting near the fire in Ravenclaw’s common room, or in Honeydukes. Maggie, along with some Ravenclaws, holds a hatred towards Slytherins, in general, it constantly getting re-animated by Daco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinsons’ acts of stupidity and foolishness. On one level, Maggie can be a fun, energetic and happy girl, yet hidden deep inside of her, she’s this chaotic mess, yearning to find her balance in life.
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[/size]IT’S THE CRACKING OF THE GLASS
THE HAUNTING OF YOUR PAST
[/size]THE HAUNTING OF YOUR PAST
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[/size]Family:
Joséphine Béart (her mother, named after Napoleon’s wife),
Geoffroy Soretto (her father, meaning stranger, peace).
Armand Soretto (brother, deceased.)
Pets: Chandler, her toad.
Residence: Rocheville, France | Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England.
History: BACKGROUND INFORMATION:
Margerite Soretto is a seventh grade student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, being born on September seventh of 1992, in Rocheville, a commune located in the north-west of France. Margerite, often referred to as Maggie, is a pure-blooded witch, the only child left of Joséphine Béart (named after Napoleon’s wife) and Geoffroy Soretto (meaning stranger, peace).
Her mother was angelically french, and had studied at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, for seven whole years, where she had met Geoffroy, an American. He was, at the time, seven years older; already a man, and worked as the Quidditch substitute for Beauxbatons, only his first job in the Quidditch department, when the initial Quidditch coach had been severely injured. Geoffroy aspired to become much more than that, and even maybe a professional player, if he got that far It all started with flirting during and in-between classes. The teasing winks he gave her soon caught the other professors’ attentions towards the affection he showed towards Joséphine, and soon put his responsibility skills in question. The three months that followed brought the end of his teaching career, as well as it took away Joséphine’s prefect badge, for the professors didn’t see her as the remarkably responsible and talented woman they once portrayed her as.
With both their career reputations destroyed, it was no surprise that Maggie grew up in a rather under-developed environment.Their financial difficulties had gotten bigger, and so they had no choice but to commute to Mrs. Soretto’s sister’s house, in Cannes, therefore selling their house in Rocheville. They told themselves that they did so in order to offer their daughter the best living circumstances they could hope for, for they couldn’t stand seeing her looking yearningly at the wedding dresses in the showcase of Sylvie Vartan’s bridal boutique, which was cruelly located right at the left of their home. Maggie was captivated by wedding gowns, from a very young age. She couldn’t believe that such a thing could turn a somewhat non-appealing person into literally an angel-like girl. Maggie soon developed the capacity to draw dresses, and she soon sat on the paved roads before the store with a sheet of paper and a stick of coal, too timid to actually go inside,imitating almost perfectly the dresses. Every fold, every imperfection of the fabrics were traced by her little hand, flawlessly.
When Maggie reached the age of 11, she and her cousin Evangeline Béart,got their Beauxbatons letter of acceptance, which was transported by a small, gray owl. They therefore joined the school, since it was close to her Aunt’s house, it being located in Cannes. Maggie’s mother and father, even though they knew she would eventually be accepted, had left Maggie unaware of the Wizarding world, for they thought it best for her to discover it herself. At the sorting ceremony, she was one of the last to come up, for her official last name started with an ‘S’. The girl grumbled impatiently, constantly reminding herself to change her last name to Maggie Béart,for ‘B’s came before ‘S’s. She watched, in a rather impatient way, as her cousin put on the sorting cloak and was sorted into the Rouerie house, with a great wave of applauds. Maggie was soon after sorted into the Jocelin Cossu house, for her imaginative eye and creative thoughts. The house was portrayed with colors of the purest white and blues that were bluer than the sky.
Maggie spent her first three years at Beauxbatons, which she truly found amazing. Her best grades were in Charms, Ancient Runes and Potion, for she had a knack for mixing substances and ingredients together, and it rather helped that the professor was Anka Andanova, who Maggie was undoubtedly a favorite of. She got her first employment at the age of fourteen, working in Rose Formals, a robes shop, where french witches would often pick out their robes. She was paid 17 silver Sickles, which was equivalent to a galleon, and 29 bronze Knuts.
During her fourth year, which was also the year of the Triwizard Tournament, where Fleur Delacour had been picked out of the Fire Cup, Maggie transferred from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts, after her father, Mr. Soretto, got a job at Gringotts. He was to work seven hours a week in company of Goblins, and the thought of it didn’t particularly appeal to him, yet he had accepted, determined to get a good house of his own, and stop abusing of Mrs. Béart, his wife’s sister’s hospitality. They changed residences to a semi-detached, big enough for three, for they figured that Maggie was to come home for the holidays.
At Hogwarts, Maggie was sorted in the Ravenclaw house, and soon joined the Quidditch team, as she had done in her years in Beauxbatons. She became friends with Cho Chang, along with other most Ravenclaws and some Gryffindors, for Maggie was a very approachable, amiable person.
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[/size]YOU TOOK YOUR EYES UP OFF THE GAME
YOU’VE GOT NO ONE LEFT TO BLAME
[/size]YOU’VE GOT NO ONE LEFT TO BLAME
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[/size]Name/Alias: Clo.
Age: 14.
Roleplay Experience: 3 years.
How you heard about us: Alex, Savi, and Mel, who also joined the site.
VoldyMoldy wants:--Admin Edit--
Roleplay Sample:
The Fat Lady let out a scream.
Samantha Black’s attention shifted from her Arithmancy books to the distressingly panic-stricken painting, her light green eyes enlarging in suspicion. The everlasting dancing flames of the fire lighted in the Common Room seemed to faint, and Samantha clutched on tightly to her hard-covered book. The idea that she was a witch, and that she could do essentially anything with a wand hadn’t seemed to be fully processed in her brain. The girl intensely kept staring at the portrait which was currently ripped, a hole right where the Fat Lady’s head would have been, if she had been alive. It was at around suppertime, and the whole Gryffindor house had strolled down to the Great Hall, their stomachs famishing-ly rumbling. Samantha had chosen to skip supper in order to catch up on the month-load of assignments she had forgotten about.
A somewhat familiar figure emerged from behind the painting and Samantha sighed of relief, glad she wasn’t going to be alone in the presently dim-lighted Common Room. The girl got off the couch and walked towards the one standing in diagonal from her.
‘Did you see what happened?’ Samantha asked, her rather thing eyebrows frowning in confusion. She licked her lips, completely oblivious to what was going to happen next.
With a flick of the newcomer’s wand, Samantha felt her knees weaken and dropped on the wool-carpet. She looked up, impotently, her eyes pleading.
‘What are you doing?’ She asked, her voice almost nothing but a whisper. The wand-owner snickered, upper lip curling upwards, and said something Sam could not decipher, in a kind of incomprehensible hiss.
Then, Samantha Black’s world exploded in torment.
Red as roses. Painful as fire. It had begun in her head. The rumbling, agonizing storm like raging flames burning her insides, consuming her step-by-step. Razor blades sliding down her body, digging deep into her skin, tearing her flesh as they continued their way downwards. She was being crushed bone-by-bone. The pain was worst than anything Samantha had or would ever encounter in a lifetime. It was worst than anything she had been able to imagine. The sensation of the paroxysm her attacker had chosen was like falling off a broomstick, five hundred feet in the air, all your vital organs left behind. Only, the pain multiplied by a hundred. It was unbearable. It yet ended as abruptly as it had started. Samantha had, for the first time, been the object of a Cruciatus Curse.
Samantha Black’s attention shifted from her Arithmancy books to the distressingly panic-stricken painting, her light green eyes enlarging in suspicion. The everlasting dancing flames of the fire lighted in the Common Room seemed to faint, and Samantha clutched on tightly to her hard-covered book. The idea that she was a witch, and that she could do essentially anything with a wand hadn’t seemed to be fully processed in her brain. The girl intensely kept staring at the portrait which was currently ripped, a hole right where the Fat Lady’s head would have been, if she had been alive. It was at around suppertime, and the whole Gryffindor house had strolled down to the Great Hall, their stomachs famishing-ly rumbling. Samantha had chosen to skip supper in order to catch up on the month-load of assignments she had forgotten about.
A somewhat familiar figure emerged from behind the painting and Samantha sighed of relief, glad she wasn’t going to be alone in the presently dim-lighted Common Room. The girl got off the couch and walked towards the one standing in diagonal from her.
‘Did you see what happened?’ Samantha asked, her rather thing eyebrows frowning in confusion. She licked her lips, completely oblivious to what was going to happen next.
With a flick of the newcomer’s wand, Samantha felt her knees weaken and dropped on the wool-carpet. She looked up, impotently, her eyes pleading.
‘What are you doing?’ She asked, her voice almost nothing but a whisper. The wand-owner snickered, upper lip curling upwards, and said something Sam could not decipher, in a kind of incomprehensible hiss.
Then, Samantha Black’s world exploded in torment.
Red as roses. Painful as fire. It had begun in her head. The rumbling, agonizing storm like raging flames burning her insides, consuming her step-by-step. Razor blades sliding down her body, digging deep into her skin, tearing her flesh as they continued their way downwards. She was being crushed bone-by-bone. The pain was worst than anything Samantha had or would ever encounter in a lifetime. It was worst than anything she had been able to imagine. The sensation of the paroxysm her attacker had chosen was like falling off a broomstick, five hundred feet in the air, all your vital organs left behind. Only, the pain multiplied by a hundred. It was unbearable. It yet ended as abruptly as it had started. Samantha had, for the first time, been the object of a Cruciatus Curse.
this template is credit to xmrsmalfoyx at CAUTION 2.0.
Feel free to add and change as necessary, but please do leave my credit here.
I worked very hard on this, and I’d rather not
have to send my horde of zombie soldiers after you.
[/size][/center]Feel free to add and change as necessary, but please do leave my credit here.
I worked very hard on this, and I’d rather not
have to send my horde of zombie soldiers after you.
Sorry 'bout that. 
