Post by Delilah on Mar 8, 2007 0:00:01 GMT -5
OOC Name: Delilah
Character Name: Viola Kipling
Year: Sophomore
Age: 19
Major: Art
Sample:
((recycled))
A perfect moment; that's what Romilda had, briefly that is -- a perfect moment. It was hard to, in reality, gauge anything of perfection and what one found to be treasure someone else would just as easily classify as trash. Yet, to Romilda this was anything but a crappy moment, it was fantastic and overall quite trivial. Funny how the simplistic things in life really did mean the most, if sleeping really meant the most to Romilda who knew? But there she was, eyes closed in a state of being half awake and half a sleep, a dreamy sort of smile unconsciously rested on her lips as she snuggled even further into her bed, completely devoured by the thick blankets thrown over top of her, head nestled into one of the numerous pillows tossed on her bed. Her brown hair becoming increasingly tousled with every flick, rub and shake of her head. Regardless, she was happy, blissful, exactly how she wanted to spend her weekday afternoon...
...until it was all shot to pieces.
It started as an irritating sound, talking to be exact, and it was somewhat muffled sounding by the time it came from the alley way in through her open window three stories up. Nevertheless it was still audible and with every passing second it became increasingly loud. Until the miniscule shred of peace she had was shattered by the sound of a high pitch laugh and continual laughter after that along with random bangs and cracks of the pavement and stone. The neighborhood children had been let loose from their homes, it was the only explanation and yet Romilda didn't know how anyone would want to get up earlier than ten o'clock if they didn't have to. Still she tried to rid herself of the annoyance by tossing and turning, hiding her head and squeezing her eyes shut and yet it was absolutely no use.
Sighing in a vexed manner, evident but the harsh and exaggerated sound emitted from her throat she shot up in bed and tossed her blankets aside grumbling all the while before stumbled into her bathroom. Steam covered mirrors and a warm vessel, Romilda had thoroughly enjoyed her hour long shower, stepping out of the bathroom she was looking a lot more pleasant and refreshed as she ran a hand through her recently spell dried hair and tossed the towel she’d used haphazardly on a chair in her bedroom, carelessly rumpled on top of a pile of equally rumpled looking clothes. Leaving the room with a tiny smile on her face she immediately wound up in her living area only a ten or fifteen steps away from the cramped little kitchen she called her own.
Yes, this was living minimally. Romilda had inherited the small one bedroom apartment from her grandmother after the eighty year olds passing, quite early for a witch everyone thought, but Romilda had lived there ever since. It was cramped people would say, but ultimately Romilda thought it was cozy, and the rent was cheap. Besides she had spent the past four years decorating it to perfection, it had an old feel to it, classic Victorian, partially because all her grandmother's furniture still occupied the space but also because Romilda had added numerous antique items she'd found in Diagon Alley around the flat, along with adding a new coat of paint, her favourite colors a few paintings here and there and it was perfect. Absolutely perfect and she refused to give it up.
After filling up her tea kettle, Romilda absentmindedly made her way to the door opening it and in a mechanical kind of manner retrieved the copy of the daily prophet she received daily. With minimal interest she scanned the first page, the headline news being something of a Quidditch scandal Romilda could've cared less about. Though she continued to flip half-heartedly through the paper, while nestled comfortably in a rickety wooden chair from the kitchen, until she was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the kettle and went to pour the hot water into a chipped mug before dropping the tea bag in. This was Romilda's morning routine, usually when she worked she would've had to leave before this time and after tea would've gotten some breakfast from the Leaky Cauldron and then would've made her way to St. Mungo's to greet people with a smile and file paperwork.
Today however, Romilda had been blessed with the day off, something that came a lot less frequently than she'd hoped. So she had set her mind to making the most of it. But now that it was nearly noon and she had yet to even eat a proper meal she knew that she was wasting her day away. Downing the rest of her mug, she placed it in the sink, for later washing, and grabbing her purse exited the apartment and headed out to the street. It was only a short walk to Diagon Alley, where Romilda planned to go get some much needed shopping done. Instead of flooing or apparating she decided the air would be nice and it was...until she reached the crowded alley. If there was one thing Romilda didn't like it was crowds, but she dealt with it quite nicely and continued to meander down the street, dawdling around the store displays she seemed to like.
Today was one of the lazier days for Romilda and one would simply be able to tell by her attire that day, dressed in a cream color peasant skirt, reaching just past her knees and a pale white tank top with a shrug that matched the color, minimal make up and absolutely nothing done with her hair, she was looking a little on the plain side but that was fine with her. She kind of wanted to get lost in the crowd, avoid unwanted company and just take time for herself on that day. Unless of course...healer McHottie decided he wanted to make an appearance that day, then that'd be fine. But...what had Romilda come to look for again? Oh yes, that d**ned clock. The old cuckoo clock in her apartment had been charmed by her grandmother was now causing havoc, something over the past week had utterly ruined it and now it chimed and talked and chirped constantly until she managed to dispose of it. Turning down a side street with every intention of going straight to the secluded little antique shop she'd discovered when she was nineteen, Romilda somehow got distracted by the prospect of...ice cream.
Not having had a proper meal and with the biggest sweet tooth ever, the young woman marched right into Florean Fortescue’s, buying one of the more bizarre new flavors she'd never tried, something she liked to do all the time...experiment. She continued on her way, happily paying more attention to the cone than where she was going. That however was a poor decision on her part because in a second she collided quite heavily against something that seemed to be as sturdy as a rock, it had to have been either a man...or a wall, nevertheless, she dropped onto her backside and in the process her ice cream was crushed on the sidewalk. Groaning somewhat she ignored whoever or whatever she'd run into and stood up, brushing the dirt off of her skirt.
Character Name: Viola Kipling
Year: Sophomore
Age: 19
Major: Art
Sample:
((recycled))
A perfect moment; that's what Romilda had, briefly that is -- a perfect moment. It was hard to, in reality, gauge anything of perfection and what one found to be treasure someone else would just as easily classify as trash. Yet, to Romilda this was anything but a crappy moment, it was fantastic and overall quite trivial. Funny how the simplistic things in life really did mean the most, if sleeping really meant the most to Romilda who knew? But there she was, eyes closed in a state of being half awake and half a sleep, a dreamy sort of smile unconsciously rested on her lips as she snuggled even further into her bed, completely devoured by the thick blankets thrown over top of her, head nestled into one of the numerous pillows tossed on her bed. Her brown hair becoming increasingly tousled with every flick, rub and shake of her head. Regardless, she was happy, blissful, exactly how she wanted to spend her weekday afternoon...
...until it was all shot to pieces.
It started as an irritating sound, talking to be exact, and it was somewhat muffled sounding by the time it came from the alley way in through her open window three stories up. Nevertheless it was still audible and with every passing second it became increasingly loud. Until the miniscule shred of peace she had was shattered by the sound of a high pitch laugh and continual laughter after that along with random bangs and cracks of the pavement and stone. The neighborhood children had been let loose from their homes, it was the only explanation and yet Romilda didn't know how anyone would want to get up earlier than ten o'clock if they didn't have to. Still she tried to rid herself of the annoyance by tossing and turning, hiding her head and squeezing her eyes shut and yet it was absolutely no use.
Sighing in a vexed manner, evident but the harsh and exaggerated sound emitted from her throat she shot up in bed and tossed her blankets aside grumbling all the while before stumbled into her bathroom. Steam covered mirrors and a warm vessel, Romilda had thoroughly enjoyed her hour long shower, stepping out of the bathroom she was looking a lot more pleasant and refreshed as she ran a hand through her recently spell dried hair and tossed the towel she’d used haphazardly on a chair in her bedroom, carelessly rumpled on top of a pile of equally rumpled looking clothes. Leaving the room with a tiny smile on her face she immediately wound up in her living area only a ten or fifteen steps away from the cramped little kitchen she called her own.
Yes, this was living minimally. Romilda had inherited the small one bedroom apartment from her grandmother after the eighty year olds passing, quite early for a witch everyone thought, but Romilda had lived there ever since. It was cramped people would say, but ultimately Romilda thought it was cozy, and the rent was cheap. Besides she had spent the past four years decorating it to perfection, it had an old feel to it, classic Victorian, partially because all her grandmother's furniture still occupied the space but also because Romilda had added numerous antique items she'd found in Diagon Alley around the flat, along with adding a new coat of paint, her favourite colors a few paintings here and there and it was perfect. Absolutely perfect and she refused to give it up.
After filling up her tea kettle, Romilda absentmindedly made her way to the door opening it and in a mechanical kind of manner retrieved the copy of the daily prophet she received daily. With minimal interest she scanned the first page, the headline news being something of a Quidditch scandal Romilda could've cared less about. Though she continued to flip half-heartedly through the paper, while nestled comfortably in a rickety wooden chair from the kitchen, until she was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of the kettle and went to pour the hot water into a chipped mug before dropping the tea bag in. This was Romilda's morning routine, usually when she worked she would've had to leave before this time and after tea would've gotten some breakfast from the Leaky Cauldron and then would've made her way to St. Mungo's to greet people with a smile and file paperwork.
Today however, Romilda had been blessed with the day off, something that came a lot less frequently than she'd hoped. So she had set her mind to making the most of it. But now that it was nearly noon and she had yet to even eat a proper meal she knew that she was wasting her day away. Downing the rest of her mug, she placed it in the sink, for later washing, and grabbing her purse exited the apartment and headed out to the street. It was only a short walk to Diagon Alley, where Romilda planned to go get some much needed shopping done. Instead of flooing or apparating she decided the air would be nice and it was...until she reached the crowded alley. If there was one thing Romilda didn't like it was crowds, but she dealt with it quite nicely and continued to meander down the street, dawdling around the store displays she seemed to like.
Today was one of the lazier days for Romilda and one would simply be able to tell by her attire that day, dressed in a cream color peasant skirt, reaching just past her knees and a pale white tank top with a shrug that matched the color, minimal make up and absolutely nothing done with her hair, she was looking a little on the plain side but that was fine with her. She kind of wanted to get lost in the crowd, avoid unwanted company and just take time for herself on that day. Unless of course...healer McHottie decided he wanted to make an appearance that day, then that'd be fine. But...what had Romilda come to look for again? Oh yes, that d**ned clock. The old cuckoo clock in her apartment had been charmed by her grandmother was now causing havoc, something over the past week had utterly ruined it and now it chimed and talked and chirped constantly until she managed to dispose of it. Turning down a side street with every intention of going straight to the secluded little antique shop she'd discovered when she was nineteen, Romilda somehow got distracted by the prospect of...ice cream.
Not having had a proper meal and with the biggest sweet tooth ever, the young woman marched right into Florean Fortescue’s, buying one of the more bizarre new flavors she'd never tried, something she liked to do all the time...experiment. She continued on her way, happily paying more attention to the cone than where she was going. That however was a poor decision on her part because in a second she collided quite heavily against something that seemed to be as sturdy as a rock, it had to have been either a man...or a wall, nevertheless, she dropped onto her backside and in the process her ice cream was crushed on the sidewalk. Groaning somewhat she ignored whoever or whatever she'd run into and stood up, brushing the dirt off of her skirt.
