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Post by Charlotte Bryson on Sept 27, 2012 23:41:30 GMT -5
Charlotte didn't concern herself with the issues most sixteen year olds did. Her grades were perfect, she never caused trouble, and had managed to stay neutral about the blood status issue. Really, she didn't care what house or status people came from, as long as they were what she personally considered worthy. Most people, however, were not worthy. Charlie was a bit of a user, she befriended people that could give her what she needed. It was what she was good at, taking care of herself. When one thought of it, though, it wasn't a surprise. Her parents relationship was built on a mutual love of money and public image, and Charlotte's father was nothing more than a glorified ATM. It was no wonder the girl had learned to fend for herself- by whatever means possible.
These means, however, did not include boys. From a young age, Charlotte had decided love was for fools, and to leave it to them. She had no interest in loosing her dignity over a stupid boy, anyhow. Love was a four letter word that made normal people act like idiots, as far as Charlie was concerned. Was it a good way to live? Perhaps not, but Charlie thought herself happy enough. Besides, life wasn't about happiness to her. It was and always had been about winning, and Charlie loved to play games.
The only times she ever felt even remotely remorseful about the way she lived was when couples were absolutely everywhere. Around Valentine's day, all the formal dances and of course, the Masquerade Ball. Ah, yes, the Masquerade Ball. It was the once a year, to die for event that everyone went to, even Charlie. In the weeks leading up to the ball, more and more couples had been forming. Nobody wanted to go alone, it seemed. Charlotte was fairly oblivious to the ball until everything was set in stone. The days leading up to dance were stressful for all of the females, especially.
Dresses were sent, hairstyles were tested and the dorms were way more like a big slumber party. The night prior had been especially terrible, practically no one slept. Even Charlotte couldn't ignore all of this. Although, she wasn't as stressed out. She had no boyfriend or date, and no one to impress. Besides, she would be wearing a mask anyways. Her dress was gorgeous, and Charlie was incredibly self assured. She left the dorms later than most, taking her time. There was no rush, nobody was really expecting her there anyways. She fastened her mask and wondered what it would be like to be someone else. If she could hide from everyone she knew, would she? Maybe.
Happy couples everywhere. Oddly enough, though, it didn't bother her. She was Charlotte f'ing Bryson, and everyone knew it. Well, maybe not tonight they didn't, but nonetheless. She looked beautiful, and nothing could touch her. In fact, she didn't feel anything. She hadn't for a while. It was better this way, she told herself. And maybe it was, but it wasn't the night to think about all of that. She needed to be positive. It was her night. She could be anyone she wanted, no one would notice. Well, maybe Charlie was putting too much faith in a mask. Some things you can't hide, no matter what.
She stepped into the ballroom and was dazzled by it. The room was beautifully adorned, and everyone looked amazing. She slid in with the crowd and wondered what it was like to be someone else, all the while keeping her best smile upon her face.
[/CENTER] [will add outfit later] |
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Post by sigurd bastien asgaard on Sept 29, 2012 2:00:23 GMT -5
[classy=writesig]his family has an uncanny way of showing that they care; his stepmother sent him dress robes, while his siblings wrote him notes. until now, he hasn't bothered to open the package after reading the letter. the last time he received a letter, he burned it -- this one, he kept, but he intends to dispose of it at some later point in time.
in the slytherin common room, in an empty dormitory, sigurd stares at the dress robes, before putting them on. he doesn't have a choice, does he? he pulls the last layer, the robes, on and around his shoulders. the rest of the slytherins have already headed out to the great hall; of course, of course. they're excited -- it's an event most of them have been looking forward to.
it's a ball, but sigurd isn't excited like the rest of them. he tosses a crumpled note into the fireplace where a fire is perennially burning. the dungeons are cold and damp, after all. winter looms as fall arrives, and soon, they would be struck by cold -- like always, and it no longer surprises him. (it's colder at home, despite the warm fireplace.) he watches the note burn, and leaves for the great hall.
he regards his friend calmly, a half-smile etched on his face as he meets him outside the hall. he doesn't doubt the fact that who he is is relatively obvious, but as his friend excuses himself to stuff his face, he knows that it's time for him to retreat into the edges of the crowd as well. he doesn't actively seek the limelight, unlike the marauders -- always up to no good, always trying to worm their way into showing off.
swiftly, he takes two glasses of punch off the table while the marauders are still discussing their plans for the evening. despite being hidden behind masks, who they are is still obvious to him -- they certainly look nothing like party socializers. holding the punch, he walks past the entrance to the hall, but pauses as he sees a lone figure.
he no longer has a companion, or a date, and so, he offers the glass of punch to the masked female. punch, before the marauders spike them? his own mask seems to give him a sort of freedom; he finds it in his capacity to smile at charlotte -- or he is perhaps partially influenced by her own smile. they're always up to no good.
he's always held a distaste for them, but he takes only a neutral stance against them. he doesn't want to leave anything behind at hogwarts; he's determined to disappear as cleanly as he came. [/classy] [newclass=writesig]font:12px times; text-align:justify;[/newclass][newclass=writesig b]font-weight:bold; color:#B6EB6B[/newclass][newclass=writesig i]font-style:italic; color:#B6EB6B[/newclass][newclass=writesig u]font-style:underline; color:#B6EB6B[/newclass] |
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Post by Charlotte Bryson on Oct 12, 2012 22:50:09 GMT -5
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Marauder's plotting away, trying to find some way of making the dance less enjoyable for everyone. She mentally rolled her eyes, thinking of all the stupid pranks they loved to cause. It was stupid, really. What were they, ten? They strutted through the halls like Hogwarts was theirs to keep, and they acted as if they were above everyone around them. From what she knew, it had nothing to do with Blood Status, more of a general love for causing mischief.
Regardless of what it was that made them come together, they did and it drove everyone around them insane. Charlotte especially could never understand why they would want to waste such valuable years away causing trouble, but then again, she never understood most kids. From their huddled whispers coming from a partially dim corner, they hadn't done anything stupid. Yet. But it was just a matter of time.
As she was watching them, a masked figure strode up to her bearing glasses of punch. She recognized it to be Sigurd, a friend of hers in the Slytherin house. "Punch, before the marauders spike them?" Sigurd had a smile on his face, something that was uncommon for him. The friendly face caused her smile to grow, and she extended her hand to accept the punch. "they're always up to no good." She nodded. "Thank you."
Ever the polite one, she sipped the punch before continuing. "It's always been that way, ever since first year. I think they like trouble." She said with a shrug at the end. "I guess they just like the attention." Charlotte herself enjoyed attention, but would never seek it by causing trouble. No, she'd rather quietly dominate the school.
It was strange seeing Sigurd at a school dance. She wasn't quite sure why, but he just didn't seem like like the type to attend. Then again, no body thought Charlie would go. Not that she had been asked. Girls parted like the red sea when she walked by. Charlotte was thought to be a bitch, so she acted like one. The exception to this was with Sigurd. Most people thought him aggressive or standoffish. This made them alike, through public points of view. However, Charlotte knew this not to be true. Sigurd was kindhearted, and she got on better with him then almost anyone. She tilted her head sweetly, and spoke in her most pleasant voice, "It's nice to see you, Sigurd. What made you decide to grace us all with your presence tonight?"
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