breakthenoise 
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(12/26/05 2:41 am)
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Chaimblan Rousiette
OOC
Name: Jamie
Contacts:
-- YIM ;; sorcerorslytherin
-- MSN ;; x_breakthenoise@hotmail.com
-- Email ;; x_breakthenoise@hotmail.com
Age: Fifteen
Code: Rita Skeeter Illegal Animagus
IC:
Full Name: Chaimblan [Ephram] Rousiette
Nickname(s): Blaine
DOB: November 18th, 1991
Year: Seventh
Blood: Half-blood
House Preference: Slytherin
Why: The house of the great, late Salazar Slytherin is truly where Blaine needs to be. Anyone who was anyone that knew Chaimblan knew that he was, above all, the most arrogant of people, always thinking of himself before others, even if they were pretty close. His main goal in life is to be known to all as a pretty wealthy Frenchman (or -boy, rather) who always gets what he wants, when he wants it, and at the time he wants to receive it. He doesn’t even mind if no one likes him, come to think of it; he could care less. As long as he had wealth and the world continued to revolve around him, he was fine.
Physical Appearance:
There was no doubt about it that Chaimblan was good-looking. If anyone ever subjected him of looking even less than attractive, they were lying; they’d have to be. Even with his being a former resident of Paris, France, the wizard had to look smashing just about all of the time. He couldn’t ever even attempt to walk out of the house without his clothes freshly ironed and his hair artistically prompt. But that was just who he was, all of the time. Even his own parents never caught him throughout the years without at least a pair of designer framed glasses and a pair of fashionable, expensive footwear. But they did, after all, give him all of these things. Spoiling your only son is definitely worth the while, and the money.
The high-maintenance eighteen-year old has a mouthful of gorgeous physical attributes. A course of bushy, dark brown hair falls heavily over his ears, allowing a trail to form down towards his chin. The scrawny mustache he calls a mostash gently flows into a puddle of creamy, tan goodness; his skin is just adorable. Even though there might be a few markings here and there, his whole luminance progresses from his face – the most important part of his body. For countless hours, Chaimblan would give himself facials, morning- and daily-cream masks, and practically worship the façade that holds a special burden on his life, a burden of egocentricity. But enough about that. We’re here to talk about how he looks, aren’t we? Thought so.
Aside from his hair and remarkable skin complexion, height and bone structure fall nicely into place, and in perspective. He’s thin and miniature built, and he has the curves and muscles needed for professionalized modeling, which is his career option after attending Hogwarts, although when asked about what he wants to do, he always says ‘something constructive’; his friends would think of him as ‘happy’ if he went along and told them. Anyhow, Chaimblan reaches a maximum peak-point of 5’10” in proximity. That’s probably what might give him an unfair advantage over his classmates if they were to pursue careers as fashion models. He’s got the height, bone structure, and ability, but what’s not certain is if he has the appropriate attitude.
Personality:
Tout Que J'Ai Besoin Est Moi-Même Et Une Valise Chère.
Self-centered. No other word in the entire world could describe him better. Blaine, as his associates (notice that it’s not ‘friends’) call him, would never sacrifice himself for another in just about any case. That’d be ridiculous, absurd. He’d much rather live to tell the tale than die off and become the tale; there was just no going around that for him. Even as a child around other children, he’d never share any of his belongings or sometimes even talk to someone he didn’t know just because he was self-centered. Selfish. The arrogance he gave off was probably what made his narcissism and incapability of sharing and thinking of the well-being of others most transparent and, at times, vulnerable to disappear forever. As much as he tried to reason, he’d have to always think of himself first and never anyone else. How he gained diminutive popularity and a few friendships here and there is far beyond the knowledge of the general public.
At any rate, not only is his selfishness important to acknowledge, but also his willpower to go on and his uncanny ability of ‘finding a way out of no way’. For starters, Blaine had no determination whatsoever – not in his schoolwork, not in his friendships, not even with his family. Nothing. The only bit that he showed purpose and fortitude to is his general appearance and physical manifestation. He’s always been very particular about how he looks towards the public, but the wizard never really understood that looks aren’t everything, and they can also be quite deceiving. Because of his addiction to fashion and luxury, he won’t even mind getting Trolls in class and serving multiple detentions on unusual, untrustworthy schedules that he probably, most likely won’t be able to keep up with. He’ll even let the keeping-in-contact of his parents suddenly malfunction and corruptly fall idle (And to think, his parents gave him all of that stuff he has now…). It’s just a shame.
How he comes across towards his peers is quite astounding, really. Most people would admire him for his looks, his emergence, his whole point-of-living – while the rest of them who have common sense believe of him to be a complete adolescent, snotty-nosed rich kid who always gets what he wants and when he wants it. It really doesn’t matter, in Chaimblan’s opinion; friends or not, he’ll still get what he wants from you, or so he believes. Even the way he begins conversation makes you want to teach him some good ol’ fashion home-training. Usually, there’s just about a swearword in every sentence he speaks, and he doesn’t even mind if adults hear him. That was just how he was, and how he was always going to be – such a low down, egocentric, inconsiderate little git. Basically, the world revolves around him, and only him. One of his own, favorite quotes gives you an example of what to expect from him; he doesn’t mind giving you a sneak peak at what you’re about to witness:
All I Need Is Myself And An Expensive Suitcase.
History:
Chaimblan Rousiette grew up in Paris, France since birth and lived there until he received his first invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, as his parents preferred this school over the infamous Beauxbatons Academy. Deciding that traveling back and forth each term would be a lot, the Rousiettes moved to the swamps of London, England, where they met new friends, new neighbors, and completely different atmospheres. It was particularly hard for such a four-star teenager to survive in such a deprived, rainy area such as London, so fitting right in wasn’t going to happen for a very, very long time. The years passed, and Chaimblan finally reached eighteen years of age and set off for his seventh, and final, year at the magical school. Without much comfort, Blaine struggled through becoming accepted at Hogwarts, even though with friends, ’till this day, he still pretty much isn’t… not to many, at least.
-- Year One at Hogwarts
Things went pretty dismal, even if it was his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. He barely spoke to anyone at any time of day, just to keep his attention upon the small amounts of schoolwork he received and, of course, himself. He struggled to maintain his broom in Quidditch and Flying Class, although as time went by, he soon begun to get more and more better at this craft, which soon became one of his favorite hobbies by the end of the year.
-- Year Two at Hogwarts
Once again, another year went by and he was still as silent as he could be. For the first time in his life, he began to realize that studying wasn’t everything; his looks were. Changing up his apparel every so often made him seem like one of the most fashionable students at Hogwarts at the time, although only he seemed to think that he could appear to look better.
-- Year Three at Hogwarts
Finally, he began to become recognized by first the Slytherin population, and next the entire school…or so he believed. People complimented him on his ravishing good looks and ways of dressing himself to the point that, at some times (although he wasn’t allowed to), he decided to ditch wearing the robed uniforms, although he knew at some point consequences were going to be given.
-- Year Four at Hogwarts
Quidditch was just out of the question. As he began to build up a reputation for breaking school rules (such as the dress code), he had only a minimum amount of time to perfect his flying techniques. It was just a hectic time for him at fourteen years of age. Classes were beginning to get more complicated, and the girls were just begging to be seduced by his glamour. What for a prince to do?
-- Year Five at Hogwarts
Only one word can come to mind when thinking about his fifth year at the Wizarding school: O.W.L.s. He had only barely gotten through all of them in his next year, probably due to the fact that he hadn’t really paid any attention in classes up to the start of term. His apparel was beginning to drag and, also noticing that the O.W.L. examinations were underway, more of his admirers began lurking elsewhere, particularly to study.
-- Year Six at Hogwarts
His. Worst. Year. Of. All. He’d been completely humiliated during the year’s Apparition lessons; he hadn’t perfected the art of Apparating and Dissapparating yet, even though he tried with all of his heart. He’d been good in every other thing he was interested in – Quidditch (only a bit) and dressing – but definitely not Apparition. The [now] few friends that he had began to turn their backs on him, and he began to lurk for new friends, all while starting to become concerned with the female gender and N.E.W.T.s
RP Sample:
Quote:
(OOC: One of my other characters on a different board. I hope this will be acceptable.)
“Really? I’ve always found it more cold here then back home, but maybe it’s just the fact that we have to live in a draft castle,”
He shrugged, knowing that he really believed of Hogwarts to be both warm and cool at times. But what he had said about Lancashire being such a cold, drifty place was far from the truth. Consequently, Lancashire was always a fairly humid, lukewarm place, and the coldest it had gotten was during an unexpected blizzard in the mid-seventies, which had winds that only reached a low of thirty degrees. Even at that time, a warm brisk always managed to find its way home. Frank sighed, realizing how untruthful he was acting towards his beloved Alice, but he still kept faithful to the hope he had that she wouldn’t suspect him of lying just yet. He’d always had a good way of covering up the few lies that he spoke as though they were simple nothings, probably because he hardly ever lied to anyone, but he never really took into consideration of how the person he was lying to would feel; of course, Alice was different – not because she was his girlfriend, but because of the strong, promising relationship the two both shared. After all, she had always really cared for him, or so it came across. She was always so caring, so endearing. Till this day, Frank has never actually told her that he loved her just as much as she did towards him, probably due to future embarrassments, but he yearns to do just so, he just yearns to let those passionate three words escape his lips. Oh, it would happen. Sometime soon, he felt.
“Are you alright, do you want my scarf or gloves? I really don’t want you getting sick during second term,”
For a slight second, Frank stared at her with pitiful ex-pressions, thinking about what she had just said. “Are you kidding? I’m completely fine, Ally. What do you think I am, cold or something? Pfft,” a comical smirk followed by a hesitant chuckle escaped his lips. He sat back in triumph, realizing now that his whole mood had changed and possibly Alice’s too, for she had to be pretty amused by his whole act of acting so invulnerable to anything; it just wasn’t Ordinary Frank. Furthermore, what he had just said was not like anything he has said before or anything he would ever say; it all seemed so Slytherin-ish even in his own ears. He took a small slurp of his milk mead, swallowing the contents down in one large, oxygen-free gulp.
Damn it. A cough broke away from the whole in his face, and he began to burp up a few samples of the tasty beverage. He was choking. The seventh-year Gryffindor ignored it for a partial amount of time before Alice Logan began to speak again, only to distract him from doing the unthinkable and calling for medical assistance, which he now actually needed. That’s what I get for lying. Karma’s always such a b****.
“It’s tiring, and having to deal with Lucius all the time is horrible. He thinks that one of the Slytherin girls should have gotten Head Girl instead of me. Sometimes I wish I could hex him, but then, that wouldn’t be doing my job, right?” … “Evans will be a great candidate next year, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gets it,”
Just hearing Alice Logan say that was a pleasure. Every time she gets fed up with the Slytherins and contemplates whether or not afflicting pain would be a reasonable judgment, a grin has to escape somehow through those clear, cleansed buckteeth of the Longbottom. Every time she had a problem with someone or a certain clique of students, she’d run off to Frank just to explain it all (and more importantly, to someone who would listen), just like the typical seventeen-year old girl would. It always amused Frank just to know that he had had the sincere opportunity of listening to all of Alice’s de*****ive tales about how someone had gotten off with her or how they had just urged her to serve them detention, for he was a prefect as well; he had to go with the same exact routines that she had to go through, there was no difference really. But she was a girl, and girls were known to take things more seriously and keep those same situations going for Merlin knows how long, so instead of resisting the urge to just say things such as ‘Yeah, I know’ or ‘Believe me, I understand’, he always sat back and nodded, only keeping a hold on the temptation to just burst out laughing stuck beneath his skin.
“Yeah, Lily Evans would make a pretty decent candidate. And no, that definitely wouldn’t be doing your job. I think everyone realizes by now that you, as a prefect, would certainly be crushed if you receive a letter from Professor McGonagall claiming that you were sacked from position. And then, Malfoy would find out and treat you even worse. Best keep these sorts of threats under wraps, don’t you think? A certain Lestrange might get suspicious and also join in with the downing of your prefect ability…” Once again, he chuckled, but he suddenly realized something quite a few seconds later: he wasn’t defending Alice. His protection over her was slowly fading away, or maybe he was just always slightly afraid of ever approaching Lucius Malfoy alone; if one thought about it, he was always such a highly-popular, sophisticated, arrogant being, and standing up to him and confronting him of treating Alice’s new promotion like dirt would be like talking to a serial murderer. But he wasn’t going to let Alice suffer over this rubbish… but Frank was scared… he had to… there’s no hope of winning a fight against him… All of these things ran through his befuddled mind like old ‘50s Muggle movie flicks. What to do? “…Although, I did feel like someone was following me here, you know. Think Rodolphus might be on the loose, on his way here?” Only time would tell.
“Anyways, god, sometimes I wish I could kill Slughorn,” … “He’s always fawning over his Slug club members, sometimes I wish I had been chosen as one of the members, even if they are all stuck up pricks.”
The topic of Horace Slughorn had arisen so quickly that Frank was momentarily queried. His impression of the Slytherin Head of House had always been far more suspicious than everyone else’s. To Frank, Slughorn had to be one of the most secretive, unconvincing persons he’d ever met. How someone could stomach the food and beverages served at his idiotic Slug Club was beyond Frank’s own consideration. He’d never really ever been convinced that Slughorn was such the cool, determined teacher that everyone made him out to be. Even that baffling sixth year Severus Snape had no competition with the eeriness of this one; Snape was far out of Slughorn’s league, opinionated by Frank. There was just this certain odd feeling of trusting someone so friend-filled and mysterious that Frank had never really let go. Even whilst attending Potions lessons throughout the years, he’d never really trusted Slughorn for practically anything, ever, and to think that someone so intellectual and jolly had been sorted into Slytherin in his youth was well beyond suspicious; but of course, being such the tolerant, permissive person that he was, Frank was still open to be persuaded someway or another.
Frank yawned, stretched his arms out to release unreal tension, and leaned in closer on Alice Logan. What an obvious move. He closed his eyes and hoped that she wouldn’t realize how gauche he was acting, for he felt that she would’ve let him put his arms around her calmly and without an excuse any other time, and not replying to what she had just mentioned about her dreamy affiliation with the Slug Club made the silence that followed even more awkward than intended. What could ever ruin such a memory-filled situation like this? Hopefully not Lucius, or Lestrange.
Celebrity Avatar: Gael Garcia Bernal
Other: I’m particularly new to ezBoard; I usually join only Invisionfree sites, but this RPG is an exception. <3
Edited.
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