Post by mishkin georgina rook on Jan 8, 2011 23:39:10 GMT -5
MISHKIN|GEORGINA|ROOK
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"Free speech is the right to yell 'theatre' in a crowded fire." - Abbie Hoffman
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[/size]IT’S A LIE SHE’S BEEN CARRYING AROUND
IT’S THE LIE THAT WILL BRING HER DOWN
[/font][/size]IT’S THE LIE THAT WILL BRING HER DOWN
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Name: Mishkin Georgina Rook
Nickname: None that stick
Age/Birthday: Twenty-three, born April 9
Gender: Female
Orientation: Heterosexual
Blood Status: More or less pure
Affiliation: Death Eater
Year/House: N/A, former Slytherin
Wand: 13 1/3 inches, hawthorn and dragon heartstring
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[/size]TAKES PRIDE IN APPEARANCE
AND THE JOB IN HAND
[/size]AND THE JOB IN HAND
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Eyes: brown
Hair: brown
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 155lbs
Distinguishing Features(if any):[/b] dreadlocks, lip piercing, general irregular sense of fashion. Though she has tattoos they're all able to be hidden beneath her clothing, so they're not really distinguishing features because half the time you can't see them.
Play-by: Ellethia
Overall appearance: Although not exceptionally beautiful, Mishkin is surely attractive, with bright brown eyes, arched brows, full lips, and a well-defined jawline. She has a straight, pointed nose and a solid browline that makes her look like she's determined, concentrating, at all times, even when she's not. This gives her the advantage of looking like she knows what she's doing when she actually has no clue. Her expression is always sort of distant, as if she's imagining being somewhere else and wants to be there.
Mishkin's thick dark hair hangs for the most part in meticulously maintained dreadlocks. If you ask her, she'll say that these and her hands were the best part of her appearance, so she does a lot more than everyone else seems to to keep her hair on display at all times. She hasn't worn a hat in years.
With long legs and arms, almost disproportionate to her body, and very long fingers and feet, Mishkin possesses an almost teenage boyish lankiness, though she moves with the grace and agility that a lot of teenage boys just don't have. Up her back is tattooed a skeletal tree that spreads around to her ribcage and over her shoulders almost to her collarbone. The few that are lucky enough to see the whole thing could swear it moves. She carries herself with a sort of drunken grace, moving as if she isn't controlling her own body but the person who is, is a ballerina. Though she doesn't have much of a figure to speak of, it's evident that Mishkin does a lot to play up what she does have with the clothes she wears, no matter how scruffy they are.
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[/size]IT’S THE SIMPLE FLAW
THE MIND FORGETS TO LOOK FOR
[/size]THE MIND FORGETS TO LOOK FOR
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Erised: Glorious chaos!
Patronus: The memory of a foggy night with her twin brother (the last time she spent with him), represented by a crow
Boggart: infection, and geese.
Dementor: Her mother's Death Eater trial, where her father testified against her and she was sentenced to life in azkaban. And later, after getting sick of her hatred for her father because of this, turning him over to the Ministry for the same offenses as her mother.
Amortentia: The earthy smell of her mother's incense reminds her of sunny afternoons in her childhood, the smell of wool makes her feel warm and connected, and the smell of wet leaves reminds her of her and her brother's treehouse in the woods behind the house.
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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
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Likes: Spirals, coffee, the occasional cigarette, incense, watching people, umbrellas, her house, goats, bears, a pureblood society, chaos, freedom, cooking, music.
Dislikes: Messes, muggles and mudbloods (though that's a given), a lack of confidence, meat, the ministry though she works there, being blinded, doilies, dogs, too much noise.
Strengths: very brave and bold, loyal, excellent at curses, very quick metabolism.
Weaknesses extremely outspoken and truthful, pottymouth, greedy and lustful, and just generally corrupt.
Overall Personality:
One of Mishkin's most dominant personality traits is her willingness to fight. Though she's not at all physically imposing, she'll take on a man twice her size if he looks at her the wrong way in the full knowledge that she'll probably lose. This paired with her calculating intelligence and fierce loyalty makes her a pretty dangerous Death Eater, though she is often consumed by her rage, losing control over her own emotions. She could be compared to an angry attack dog on a frayed rope, though she's capable of making elaborate plans of attack where she would have an obvious upper hand in the action, Mishkin loses herself in the idea of revenge and returns to her pure, primal roots. She even appears and acts like an animal, leaping on her 'victims' like a big cat would, definitely not above biting if that's what the situation calls for.
Mishkin is a very outwardly emotional person, if you could believe it. Though her face isn't so expressive, she's quick to laugh and cry and become angry. This isn't exactly a good quality to have if you have enemies looking for advantages, but Mishkin is stuck with her lack of self-control. She'd been told too many times to control herself, but to no avail. She's extremely truthful about opinions, just about the only thing she tells the truth about, and says exactly what she thinks without anticipating any sort of consequence.
Though she likes to play up the 'tough, heartless Death Eater' in her, Mishkin definitely cares for the people she likes, doing her best to protect them from any kind of harm. Mishkin believes firmly in first impressions, so you only have one chance to impress her before she makes her decision. In this way, there aren't many people she has to protect from any kind of harm. Even if she does like you, it's important to know that she doesn't trust anyone, having been screwed over in the past by all the people she was supposed to share her trust with. The proper conclusion to come to after that kind of treatment is that no one tells the truth, no one gives something and expects nothing in return, nobody is good on the inside. Rather like Mishkin herself.
She doesn't lie about it, doesn't try to hide it, but Mishkin only does anything for personal gain, to further herself. It may sound selfish, and it is, but she just hasn't seen anything in anyone else that warrants selflessness from her. She sees everyone else as just like her, only doing a better job of covering it up with the illusion that they're doing it 'for the best'. Mishkin doesn't just hate muggles and mudbloods, just about everyone falls under her umbrella of disrespect, even the Dark Lord she serves, her own parents for abandoning her- even if at the time everyone disappeared she was more than old enough to take care of herself.
Mishkin is rather rough around the edges, acting like a drunken punk rocker rather than the highborn pureblood she is. Seen more often donning a leather jacket than her Death Eater robes, a cigarette between her fingers, one might wonder just how much she's trying to separate herself from the Muggle culture, as it looks like she's trying to be one.
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[/size]IT’S THE CRACKING OF THE GLASS
THE HAUNTING OF YOUR PAST
[/size]THE HAUNTING OF YOUR PAST
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Family:
Father: Piers Rook, 61, in Azkaban
Mother: Idrina Rook, 63, in Azkaban
Twin brother: Dmitri Rook, 23, On the Run
Pets: Pepper the post owl
Residence: Born in Somerset, living in London
History:
Mishkin and her brother Dmitri were born in a foggy April evening in Somerset to a Hungarian mother married to a British man. Though her bloodline wasn't exactly pure all the way back (times having gotten tough and all) Mishkin was definitely pure enough to be proud of it, and her parents surely were. They lived in an out-of-the-way house in the woods, modest though their family was definitely moneyed. They had no visitors except for the occasional Census man, maybe a Death Eater friend or two. Unlike other prominent and rich wizarding families, the Rook household was more modest, definitely not as standoffish as the others. They didn't have a house-elf to do the cooking and cleaning, didn't live in a huge manor, and Mishkin was definitely not used to getting all she wanted, her mother a very traditional 'angry Eastern European' type. Lots of foreign-language yelling happened inside the walls of the Rook household. Mishkin always had a respect for her mother's spirit and chose the favourite parent, making a conscious decision to be more like her.
It was no secret that her parents were Death Eaters, who made an effort to integrate their children into their culture. They were reasonably close to the Dark Lord-- Mishkin had memories of meeting him in person at one point during her young childhood, but they were excellent at escaping the Ministry, and weren't tried until Mishkin and her brother were in their late teens. Her parents were careful about explaining the politics to Mishkin and her brother, even telling them both sides of the story. They took a lot more time explaining exactly why mudbloods and muggles were to be avoided though. Mishkin learned that the muggleborns had stolen their ability from innocent squibs, and that if muggles found out about the wizarding world, they'd capture wizards and kill them, take them apart in laboratories and murder witches and wizards because they were afraid. None of this seemed good, so from an early age, Mishkin was a firm supporter of Death Eater ideals.
Like most little British witches and wizards, Mishkin and Dmitri were sent their Hogwarts letters at the age of eleven, got their wands and school supplies in Diagon Alley, where other adults gave her parents wary, even fearful passing glances. Unsurprisingly, she and her brother were sorted into Slytherin for their mutual ambition and desire for power and recognition. In the Slytherin house she found allies, people from families who thought the same way hers did. In other houses, even, in some cases, Slytherin, she found evidence of what her parents talked about- muggleborns all over. Mishkin could only imagine the squibs who were denied the opportunity of being at Hogwarts and their suffering as their brothers and sisters attended such a wonderful school they could never learn from.
At school, Mishkin didn't make any meaningful friendships-- they were all more like truces. Even at her young age she was a little brawler, physically assaulting just about anybody who didn't agree with her. When she tried out for the Slytherin quidditch team, though, she was not given the position of beater as expected, rather made quite a proficient chaser. She was never really loved by other students or teachers, but got by acceptably in all her courses, except for charms, where she scored top marks, and socialized herself enough not to worry her parents. When she was eighteen Mishkin was awarded the Dark Mark and let into Voldemort's inner circle with her parents and brother. She assumed it was just to keep the line of Rooks going in the Death Eaters, since Mishkin was far from extraordinary. In fact, she might have been a bit of an unstable member, quite likely to divulge information if pressed, rather uncontrollable even to the people she was working for.
Her mother was the first to go in her family, convicted and tried at the Ministry. In order to save his own skin, her father testified against Idrina, which didn't work. A year or so later he was tried and convicted as well. Mishkin was a lot less unhappy to see her father go, seeing as how he'd betrayed her family. Dmitri assumed that the Ministry would be after him next, and fled. At least with Dmitri she had some sort of goodbye, whereas her parents were just carted off to prison. The last night they spent together was as thrilling as all the time she spent with her brother was. It was a misty evening in August and they were behaving like the rowdy teenagers they were, leaving at close to midnight and coming back at dawn, roaming the empty streets, getting into fights, breaking into houses to steal snacks from the refrigerators of sleeping muggles. Dmitri refused to tell Mishkin where the hell he was going, just in case she was tortured or some such nonsense.
Completely without any family, Mishkin was heartbroken to say the least. She moved to London, got an uninteresting desk job in the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, continued to attend what she needed to attend. She distanced herself from everybody she knew, became just another blank face in the world. It is mostly because of this that the ministry didn't find her earlier, the fact that she had been forgotten.
It went without saying that Mishkin was over the moon when The Dark Lord returned. Present at his resurrection, present at all the meetings and gatherings, Mishkin scrabbled to reestablish her family name in the Dark Lord's favor since her father's betrayal and her brother's running away. She began to admire Voldemort to the point of fanaticism, 'kissing ass' so to speak. Though she was pretty much the only Rook left, she strove to be an important one, a key player under the Dark Lord's eyes. Completely unlike her family, even though inside she was just as unstable as any one of them.
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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
m a k e y o u r m o v e[/center]
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[/size]Name/Alias: Quills
Age: four hundred thousand
Roleplay Experience: six years or so
How you heard about us: I don't remember :D
Code Phrase: ADMIN EDIT
Roleplay Sample:
During the period after she graduated from Hammel and before she began working there, Eowyn had begun to smoke like a chimney. By now she'd limited herself to four cigarettes a week, no more- when Eowyn didn't restrict herself things got out of hand. It had happened with World of Warcraft, it had happened with her stupid illusions, and it had happened with cigarettes, and she wasn't going to make it happen again.
It was cold outside, with dry biting wind she hadn't dressed warm enough for, so she sat on top of a table pushed against the wall, at face level with the window, which was open a few inches so she could blow her smoke outside. People could complain, but there was nobody else here. Eowyn sat cross-legged, black skirt carefully placed to avoid anyone seeing anything they didn't want to see, a cup of steaming black coffee in front of her ankles. Aside from her red heels which were on the floor, Eowyn could pass for a funeral director, dressed in shades of black and grey, grim-faced and solemn.
Eowyn tried to relax, but all that did was cause her to project more images; some thin black snakes, a mouse moving across her leg that she couldn't feel. It seemed she couldn't have one without the other. She could let her guard down and bombard other people with strange images, or she could look normal and be killing herself inside with every breath. All her training ever did for Eowyn was show her how to use her power, not to keep it in check. Pursing her lips she tapped her ash out on the windowsill, took another drag on the half-finished smoke and sighed. She wasn't going to get rid of them, it was too much bloody effort and she was tired.
She let the room fill up with her subconscious, there was nobody else there after all. Trees, shadowy duplicates of herself and people she'd seen, all moving but non-material, definitely not alive.
As soon as her cigarette was finished, the butt flicked out onto the ground, Eowyn decided on another. To hell with four a week, she was having a bad day. She was aware that the whole room smelled like tobacco and patchouli because of her, as well as being full of flickering images projected from her mind. But nobody else was here. She plucked at one of numerous runs in her black stockings, lit herself another Parliament and braced against the chill of the breeze coming through the window, feeling lucky that she wasn't out there.
It was cold outside, with dry biting wind she hadn't dressed warm enough for, so she sat on top of a table pushed against the wall, at face level with the window, which was open a few inches so she could blow her smoke outside. People could complain, but there was nobody else here. Eowyn sat cross-legged, black skirt carefully placed to avoid anyone seeing anything they didn't want to see, a cup of steaming black coffee in front of her ankles. Aside from her red heels which were on the floor, Eowyn could pass for a funeral director, dressed in shades of black and grey, grim-faced and solemn.
Eowyn tried to relax, but all that did was cause her to project more images; some thin black snakes, a mouse moving across her leg that she couldn't feel. It seemed she couldn't have one without the other. She could let her guard down and bombard other people with strange images, or she could look normal and be killing herself inside with every breath. All her training ever did for Eowyn was show her how to use her power, not to keep it in check. Pursing her lips she tapped her ash out on the windowsill, took another drag on the half-finished smoke and sighed. She wasn't going to get rid of them, it was too much bloody effort and she was tired.
She let the room fill up with her subconscious, there was nobody else there after all. Trees, shadowy duplicates of herself and people she'd seen, all moving but non-material, definitely not alive.
As soon as her cigarette was finished, the butt flicked out onto the ground, Eowyn decided on another. To hell with four a week, she was having a bad day. She was aware that the whole room smelled like tobacco and patchouli because of her, as well as being full of flickering images projected from her mind. But nobody else was here. She plucked at one of numerous runs in her black stockings, lit herself another Parliament and braced against the chill of the breeze coming through the window, feeling lucky that she wasn't out there.
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
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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.
