Post by christinametz on Jan 9, 2009 13:31:14 GMT 10
[/b]`Christopher Isaac Metz !!!
Poised. Playful. Proud.
Name:Christopher Isaac Metz
Nickname(s): Chris- and just Chris. Unless you call him Metz. God help you if Chrissy ever happens to pass your lips.
Major: Visual and fine arts- specifically painting and drawing.
Age: Twenty-one
Grade: Senior
Birthdate:July 10, 1988
Orientation: Straight
Location: Phidefiantlyladelphia, PA[/font][/size]
`Appearance ,,
Body
Standing at an ever so normal height of 5’9”, Chris is neither the tallest in the group, nor the shortest. This, however, he feels is a good thing. A taller person always seems so awkward, towering over the masses would make him feel extremely uncomfortable. Can you imagine? And how /lanky/ he would be. But thankfully he’s not on the shorter size- what kind of girl likes a short guy, anyways?
Chris has always kept an athletic build. He’s not any where close to buff, though he does have a slight muscle definition from his past years of soccer and playing the guitar. He does /not/ have abs- sorry, ladies, but he is toned and that’s all that really matters to him. As long as he’s not immensely over weight, he’s happy. The outside isn’t what matters.
Hair
If you travel back in time to find Chris, about seven years ago, you’d find a fourteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair past his shoulders. It would most defientely be well washed and well kept, with a slight curl to it. Fast forward about a year, a few days after the boys fifteenth birthday and you’d hardly recognize his locks. Or, in this case, lack there of.
Chris started his dreadlocks in ninth grade, the only boy to probably ever pass through his conservative Catholic private school with such things. They were of course quite ugly from the start, fat frizzy rods of hair that went every which way and looked a little greasy due to the amount of wax he used in his first few months of having them. He wasn’t teased, due to his popularity among the students there, but instead cheered on, considered some sort of personality martyr (as the principal /hardly/ liked them and wrote many notes home to his parents about their removal). Today, his locks are one his proudest accomplishments. He feels the body is a canvas and his hair is just another work of art. Beads from friends and fests reside somewhere in the mess along with other sorts of hemp and string decorations. He /dreads/ the day he might have to remove them- no pun intended. (;
Eyes
Chris feels like his eyes are a bit on the small side and way too far apart, but then again, he feels like there are other things to be worried about. He squints when he smiles, and tries his best to make sure they remain the same size when he grins- considering when he does they’re drastically different sizes, only resulting in not /one/ single good grade school photo.
Chris’ eye color is a simple hazel, a bit more green than brown, a bit brighter than dark. He’s got a strange dark blue ring around his iris, just like his father and a few goldish flakes here and there. He has rather large sized pupils only contributing to many drug tests by his parents- which he sometimes coincidentally failed anyway.
Facial Features
Despite his skinny, bony face, he feels as though he’s a handsome young gentlemen. Sure, he may not be the hottest guy on campus, but he knows he’s cute and knows how to work it. He has a flashy grin down to a science, a mock wink his signature move. Underneath his patch of goatee, he has a rather defined chin and a strong jaw, giving his face a quite angular look.
Chris also has a love for facial hair. He usually sports his infamous beard, sometimes grown out like a goatee. He says it makes him feel older- and is a guaranteed way to attract the ladies, but who knows? He never grows out his beard out longer than he can maintain it, as he always finds himself dipping it in acrylic somehow as he leans over a painting. It also gets annoying and itchy and unmaintainable after a long period of time, so you most likely will see him baby-faced every once in a while.
Body
Standing at an ever so normal height of 5’9”, Chris is neither the tallest in the group, nor the shortest. This, however, he feels is a good thing. A taller person always seems so awkward, towering over the masses would make him feel extremely uncomfortable. Can you imagine? And how /lanky/ he would be. But thankfully he’s not on the shorter size- what kind of girl likes a short guy, anyways?
Chris has always kept an athletic build. He’s not any where close to buff, though he does have a slight muscle definition from his past years of soccer and playing the guitar. He does /not/ have abs- sorry, ladies, but he is toned and that’s all that really matters to him. As long as he’s not immensely over weight, he’s happy. The outside isn’t what matters.
Hair
If you travel back in time to find Chris, about seven years ago, you’d find a fourteen year old boy with dirty blonde hair past his shoulders. It would most defientely be well washed and well kept, with a slight curl to it. Fast forward about a year, a few days after the boys fifteenth birthday and you’d hardly recognize his locks. Or, in this case, lack there of.
Chris started his dreadlocks in ninth grade, the only boy to probably ever pass through his conservative Catholic private school with such things. They were of course quite ugly from the start, fat frizzy rods of hair that went every which way and looked a little greasy due to the amount of wax he used in his first few months of having them. He wasn’t teased, due to his popularity among the students there, but instead cheered on, considered some sort of personality martyr (as the principal /hardly/ liked them and wrote many notes home to his parents about their removal). Today, his locks are one his proudest accomplishments. He feels the body is a canvas and his hair is just another work of art. Beads from friends and fests reside somewhere in the mess along with other sorts of hemp and string decorations. He /dreads/ the day he might have to remove them- no pun intended. (;
Eyes
Chris feels like his eyes are a bit on the small side and way too far apart, but then again, he feels like there are other things to be worried about. He squints when he smiles, and tries his best to make sure they remain the same size when he grins- considering when he does they’re drastically different sizes, only resulting in not /one/ single good grade school photo.
Chris’ eye color is a simple hazel, a bit more green than brown, a bit brighter than dark. He’s got a strange dark blue ring around his iris, just like his father and a few goldish flakes here and there. He has rather large sized pupils only contributing to many drug tests by his parents- which he sometimes coincidentally failed anyway.
Facial Features
Despite his skinny, bony face, he feels as though he’s a handsome young gentlemen. Sure, he may not be the hottest guy on campus, but he knows he’s cute and knows how to work it. He has a flashy grin down to a science, a mock wink his signature move. Underneath his patch of goatee, he has a rather defined chin and a strong jaw, giving his face a quite angular look.
Chris also has a love for facial hair. He usually sports his infamous beard, sometimes grown out like a goatee. He says it makes him feel older- and is a guaranteed way to attract the ladies, but who knows? He never grows out his beard out longer than he can maintain it, as he always finds himself dipping it in acrylic somehow as he leans over a painting. It also gets annoying and itchy and unmaintainable after a long period of time, so you most likely will see him baby-faced every once in a while.
Best Feature: “Best feature? My dreads, duh! They’re like my only little portable art works. Plus- the chicks dig ‘em.”
Worst Feature: “My hands. They’re so callused and torn up from guitar, I can hardly blend charcoal evenly. But at least they work.” [/size]
`Personality ,,
Poised
Despite his bohemian style and his joking manner, Christopher Isaac Metz sure knows how to hold himself. Chris knows that first impressions stick and has a good head on his shoulders. He’s an extremely dedicated artist, knowing that is what will bring the bread in and takes his schooling very seriously. He may be known as a class clown or a flirt, but when he needs to turn on his confidence and a composed, dignified manner he can do so in a heart beat.
Proud
Since his younger years, Chris knew he was good at what he did. He may not be the best in the world, but to be able to make it to how far he has gives him quite the confidence boost. Sometimes his pride can be shown off as a bit of arrogance, but he doesn’t mean to act as such. He merely knows what he has and knows how to work it, and in the long run /that/ is what gets you farther.
Playful
Quite the flirt and very outgoing, Chris can have a childish manner. He loves to have fun, laughing being his favorite activity with smile taking a close second. He likes to take on many projects at once, having fun along the way. He’s known to burst out in song during one of his many boring classes and to start drum circles in the front lawn of WuoA.
Sure, some people think it’s a bit annoying, but it’s hard not to like an overly friendly, fun-loving guy.
Poised
Despite his bohemian style and his joking manner, Christopher Isaac Metz sure knows how to hold himself. Chris knows that first impressions stick and has a good head on his shoulders. He’s an extremely dedicated artist, knowing that is what will bring the bread in and takes his schooling very seriously. He may be known as a class clown or a flirt, but when he needs to turn on his confidence and a composed, dignified manner he can do so in a heart beat.
Proud
Since his younger years, Chris knew he was good at what he did. He may not be the best in the world, but to be able to make it to how far he has gives him quite the confidence boost. Sometimes his pride can be shown off as a bit of arrogance, but he doesn’t mean to act as such. He merely knows what he has and knows how to work it, and in the long run /that/ is what gets you farther.
Playful
Quite the flirt and very outgoing, Chris can have a childish manner. He loves to have fun, laughing being his favorite activity with smile taking a close second. He likes to take on many projects at once, having fun along the way. He’s known to burst out in song during one of his many boring classes and to start drum circles in the front lawn of WuoA.
Sure, some people think it’s a bit annoying, but it’s hard not to like an overly friendly, fun-loving guy.
Likes:
-Painting
-Drawing
-Girls
-Guitar
-WUoA!!!
-Traveling
-Animals
-Singing
-Congo drum
-Partying
-Art of any kind
-Horoscopes
-A good j or a dose every now and again
-Going to festivals
-Did I mention girls?
-Camping
Dislikes:
-Close minded people
-Racism
-Spiders
-Snow
-Cancelled art classes
-Stupid arguments about nothing
-Girls who are desperate for attention
-Church
-When people judge off looks
-Excessive cold
-Meat
-Clowns
Positive Traits:
Listener
Feeding off others thoughts, Chris is like a sponge. If you sit him down to talk to you, he’ll listen- though, be aware, he’s not a passive listener and can make it more into a conversation, though most of his advice can be good. He likes being a secret keeper and finds himself as such. He’s easy to tell anything to, no matter what it is, and won’t judge you by what you tell him.
Passive
After a small brawl in his sophomore year of high school, Chris realized fighting was not for him. He quickly realized he was a lover, not a fighter, and would remain so for the rest of his years. He feels as thought fighting is a waste of time and to truly impress you need to fight with your words, not your fists. This trait makes it easier for him to not choose sides and usually not get on the bad sides of others.
Kind
Chris is a kind and compassionate person- or at least to his standards. Being a vegetarian since seventh grade and almost ten years taught him to be kind, treating people /and/ animals and other living things with respect. He is rarely ever rude to anyone, though, if the time comes you’ll quickly learn he probably doesn’t like you much.
Negative Traits:
Grudges
Sure, everyone deserves a second chance, but sometimes some things are unforgivable, and that’s how Chris sees things. Despite his respect and love for mankind he feels they can be a bit of a stupid race and finds it hard to figure them for silly things. In example, an intense argument from a eighth grade soccer teammate still bothers him to this day and the two were never able to grow close. He can definitely forgive, but never forgets.
Opinionated
Though he tries his best to keep his strong opinions on certain topics to himself, he is quick to dish when need be. Being a dreadlocked, activist/artist who likes a ‘J’ every now and again sure seems to have a lot on his mind. He feels as though his thoughts swimming around in his head are desperate to get out, and despite his good intentions he can sometimes hurt others with brutal honesty- though, I assure you. It was all intended for the best. He never strikes to harm.
Head-strong
Though he’s quick to dish out advice, he’s not quite as good as receiving it. He’s impatient, unable to wait for anyone’s approval and doing what /he/ thinks is right. Waiting to be told what he needs to do is not an option, as he will take on what ever he feels necessary and will not wait for anyone. It’s /his/ future, anyway.
Greatest Ambition: Chris' number one greatest ambition is to be one hundred percent completely and absolutely happy. And being happy means being involved with some sort of art field. So, ultimately, Chris' great ambition is to be a successful artist, to hopefully travel and learn as much as he can and hopefully land a teaching job to spread his new knowledge.
Greatest Fear:Chris' greatest fear is loneliness and failure. With out love and support you're nothing, and being alone is being with out that. He is very close with his family and his friends are his anything- to loose them is to, quite cornily, loose the world. Failure is a close second, as he strives everyday for the best and nothing but his best will do. And to not succeed is practically to fail. Doing his best and having it not being good enough would be heartbreaking. [/size]
`History ,,
Whoever thought love at first site could never happen while being carried out of a German bar, drunk, after getting into a fight was wrong- as two incredibly different people from incredibly different back grounds proved everyone entirely wrong. US soldier, Anthony Metz, caught the eye of a young German woman rather quickly, as he was escorted out of a local bar she visited frequently. And all the while, being carried out, the boy of twenty-two seemed to only see her. Following the boy as he was thrown out, Meike soon struck up a conversation with the foreign American (or Ami, as the German’s called them) and found herself smitten with his casual talk and charming smile. They exchanged numbers, dated for about a year, and before they knew it, they were engaged.
Staying in Meike’s apartment, they found themselves with child two years later, and Anthony planned on becoming stationed back home as soon as he could. However, several things held the young, married couple up and their child was born on German soil, inheriting his father’s US citizenship.
Christopher Isaac Metz was brought into the world on a mildly warm Sunday afternoon on the tenth of July, 1988. Born a boy to a pair of surprised parents who was sure it was a girl, Meike Mueller and Anthony Shawn Metz, quickly named him appropriately despite such gender confusion. Chris was named after his father’s deceased best friend, Christopher and after his grandfather, Isaac Mueller, two names he is proud to have today. Christopher is a translation from the German ‘Christofer’ and means ‘to bear Christ inside’, which he never truly got (he strayed /far/ from his mother’s catholic intentions) , but his mother explained it was more the meaning of ‘easy to accept things and others’. Isaac means ‘laughter’ and is also appropriate to the boy, considering it’s his favorite thing to do.
Shortly after his birth, Chris and his parents flew to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a land where his mother never traveled and where his father called home. Staying with Anthony’s parents till they received their own house, Chris was doted on, the first of his grandparents’ grandchildren he was automatically dubbed the favorite family member. About three months after arriving to Philadelphia, his father was honorably discharged and his parents finally bought their first house. It was a small, two story row home but he loved it as he grew up in it.
By the time he was two years old, Chris was encouraged to do everything he loved. Quickly interested in arts n’crafts, his mother bought him all sorts of crayons and markers and paints, almost fascinated by her son’s talent at such a young age. By the time he was five he tried to draw the most realistic self portraits he could. Sure, they didn’t hold a candle to some of his work now, but he was the only pre-schooler to draw teeth in a smile, and his teacher made sure his mother and father knew that- only encouraging their son even more. Art soon grew to be the only thing Chris truly loved and respected and despite his parents pleads to take art lessons, Chris refused to. He didn’t see it as a learning opportunity at the time, but instead just another class, claiming ‘I draw what I want to- not what they want to tell me to do’.
Another love that developed at that age was his love for music. He can remember at the early age of three or four, his father picking up a guitar and strumming a tune for his son to sing along to. By the age of six, Chris had his own acoustic guitar, bought by his father on his birthday. His father taught him simple chords and strums, his son quickly picking up how to play. By age twelve he was practically a natural.
Before school, Chris spent a lot of time with his grandparents, as his parents worked day shifts. He was very close to his grandfather until his death when he was in eighth grade- a school day he would never forget. His grandfather always encouraged his grandson’s artistic drive. He took him to museums, theaters, plays and all sorts of activities. He called it, ‘feeding his creative drive’. His grandmother he remembered as a lovely- even for her age, kind woman. Who worried more about getting dinner on the table on time and pleasing everyone she loved then about the latest fashions and other such things. His grandparents together pushed him to strive for the best. They were there for every soccer game, every grade school art show and every birthday.
At the age of six, Chris started first grade. He was always too curious and deemed a trouble maker by his teachers, though he only intended the best. Despite such critique, he was also noted as a creative student. Art and music class always containing his top grades he was admitted into the advanced classes in sixth grade along with other talented students.
In Junior High, Chris kept his trouble maker reputation yet still remained the favorite of many teachers and the school principal. He liked to joke around, always harmless fun, though it did land him in afternoon detention more then he liked. He stayed true to his artistic background, his favorite room the art room, where he found himself in more than any other room. He also joined his first band, a ska/alternative number with a good friend and a boy he hardly knew. He played guitar of course, and sang back up and his popularity through the school grew. He was outgoing, friendly, already known due to his hijinks, and now in a band. Life was good. A few months after ‘Rattail’ (his band named jokingly after the style of his seventh grade math teacher’s hair) was formed, his grandfather gave into the cancer that took over his life and passed away. Chris fell into a sort of depression, as one of the men he looked up to the most was suddenly snatched out of his life. As summer rolled around, his grandfather’s favorite season, he decided to do something drastic, something to start a ‘new’ chapter in his life.
Much to his mother and father’s dismay, Chris and his best friend took a summer day filled with movies and junk food and dreaded his shoulder length hair. It took about fourteen hours, lots of pizza and scalp pulling but his hair knotted up nicely, and the boy for the first time in his life, loved his hair.
High school was the greatest time of his life. As a happy go lucky kid who felt he had nothing to loose, he found himself growing friends with almost anyone and everyone. He didn’t start fights, he didn’t nitpick about who he hung out with, he just was himself- and apparently, that’s all everyone looks for. Chris spent more and more time in the art room, sitting in on every demonstration and lesson, learning as much as he could through out his three years- though his senior year was a lot more independent. He earned good grades despite partying almost every weekend and skipping classes to spend time in the art room (He knew how to milk a teacher) and graduated with honors his senior year- and an acceptance to Washington University of Arts, a school he hoped to attend for most of his life.
Whoever thought love at first site could never happen while being carried out of a German bar, drunk, after getting into a fight was wrong- as two incredibly different people from incredibly different back grounds proved everyone entirely wrong. US soldier, Anthony Metz, caught the eye of a young German woman rather quickly, as he was escorted out of a local bar she visited frequently. And all the while, being carried out, the boy of twenty-two seemed to only see her. Following the boy as he was thrown out, Meike soon struck up a conversation with the foreign American (or Ami, as the German’s called them) and found herself smitten with his casual talk and charming smile. They exchanged numbers, dated for about a year, and before they knew it, they were engaged.
Staying in Meike’s apartment, they found themselves with child two years later, and Anthony planned on becoming stationed back home as soon as he could. However, several things held the young, married couple up and their child was born on German soil, inheriting his father’s US citizenship.
Christopher Isaac Metz was brought into the world on a mildly warm Sunday afternoon on the tenth of July, 1988. Born a boy to a pair of surprised parents who was sure it was a girl, Meike Mueller and Anthony Shawn Metz, quickly named him appropriately despite such gender confusion. Chris was named after his father’s deceased best friend, Christopher and after his grandfather, Isaac Mueller, two names he is proud to have today. Christopher is a translation from the German ‘Christofer’ and means ‘to bear Christ inside’, which he never truly got (he strayed /far/ from his mother’s catholic intentions) , but his mother explained it was more the meaning of ‘easy to accept things and others’. Isaac means ‘laughter’ and is also appropriate to the boy, considering it’s his favorite thing to do.
Shortly after his birth, Chris and his parents flew to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, a land where his mother never traveled and where his father called home. Staying with Anthony’s parents till they received their own house, Chris was doted on, the first of his grandparents’ grandchildren he was automatically dubbed the favorite family member. About three months after arriving to Philadelphia, his father was honorably discharged and his parents finally bought their first house. It was a small, two story row home but he loved it as he grew up in it.
By the time he was two years old, Chris was encouraged to do everything he loved. Quickly interested in arts n’crafts, his mother bought him all sorts of crayons and markers and paints, almost fascinated by her son’s talent at such a young age. By the time he was five he tried to draw the most realistic self portraits he could. Sure, they didn’t hold a candle to some of his work now, but he was the only pre-schooler to draw teeth in a smile, and his teacher made sure his mother and father knew that- only encouraging their son even more. Art soon grew to be the only thing Chris truly loved and respected and despite his parents pleads to take art lessons, Chris refused to. He didn’t see it as a learning opportunity at the time, but instead just another class, claiming ‘I draw what I want to- not what they want to tell me to do’.
Another love that developed at that age was his love for music. He can remember at the early age of three or four, his father picking up a guitar and strumming a tune for his son to sing along to. By the age of six, Chris had his own acoustic guitar, bought by his father on his birthday. His father taught him simple chords and strums, his son quickly picking up how to play. By age twelve he was practically a natural.
Before school, Chris spent a lot of time with his grandparents, as his parents worked day shifts. He was very close to his grandfather until his death when he was in eighth grade- a school day he would never forget. His grandfather always encouraged his grandson’s artistic drive. He took him to museums, theaters, plays and all sorts of activities. He called it, ‘feeding his creative drive’. His grandmother he remembered as a lovely- even for her age, kind woman. Who worried more about getting dinner on the table on time and pleasing everyone she loved then about the latest fashions and other such things. His grandparents together pushed him to strive for the best. They were there for every soccer game, every grade school art show and every birthday.
At the age of six, Chris started first grade. He was always too curious and deemed a trouble maker by his teachers, though he only intended the best. Despite such critique, he was also noted as a creative student. Art and music class always containing his top grades he was admitted into the advanced classes in sixth grade along with other talented students.
In Junior High, Chris kept his trouble maker reputation yet still remained the favorite of many teachers and the school principal. He liked to joke around, always harmless fun, though it did land him in afternoon detention more then he liked. He stayed true to his artistic background, his favorite room the art room, where he found himself in more than any other room. He also joined his first band, a ska/alternative number with a good friend and a boy he hardly knew. He played guitar of course, and sang back up and his popularity through the school grew. He was outgoing, friendly, already known due to his hijinks, and now in a band. Life was good. A few months after ‘Rattail’ (his band named jokingly after the style of his seventh grade math teacher’s hair) was formed, his grandfather gave into the cancer that took over his life and passed away. Chris fell into a sort of depression, as one of the men he looked up to the most was suddenly snatched out of his life. As summer rolled around, his grandfather’s favorite season, he decided to do something drastic, something to start a ‘new’ chapter in his life.
Much to his mother and father’s dismay, Chris and his best friend took a summer day filled with movies and junk food and dreaded his shoulder length hair. It took about fourteen hours, lots of pizza and scalp pulling but his hair knotted up nicely, and the boy for the first time in his life, loved his hair.
High school was the greatest time of his life. As a happy go lucky kid who felt he had nothing to loose, he found himself growing friends with almost anyone and everyone. He didn’t start fights, he didn’t nitpick about who he hung out with, he just was himself- and apparently, that’s all everyone looks for. Chris spent more and more time in the art room, sitting in on every demonstration and lesson, learning as much as he could through out his three years- though his senior year was a lot more independent. He earned good grades despite partying almost every weekend and skipping classes to spend time in the art room (He knew how to milk a teacher) and graduated with honors his senior year- and an acceptance to Washington University of Arts, a school he hoped to attend for most of his life.
Best Memory: Chris’ favorite memory would have to be his first remembered time visiting the Philadelphia Zoo. As a young child his mother and father always kept a membership and he found himself there almost /every/ weekend, practically memorizing every inch of the park and never getting sick of it. His favorite part of this memory was when he was brought into the Laurokeet house, a small wire encaged area were small versions of parrots fly around and you can feed them nectar. He remembers one specific bird who would not leave him alone- constantly landing on his shoulder and fighting away the other birds. He was scared shitless of the little Laurokeet, but at the same time he loved it and enjoyed the fact that he was it’s favorite visitor. To be accepted by a (mostly) wild animal was like nothing in the world.
Worst Memory: Chris’ worst memory is the call he got from his mother at school on a cold, February afternoon. This phone call was one he’d never forget. He couldn’t cry as his mother told him his grandfather died only an hour ago and she was coming to pick him up. He didn’t cry at all until the day of the funeral as he, along with his younger cousins threw dirt onto his coffin as a sign of good-bye. He never wants to loose anyone close to him every again. [/size]
`Writing Skill ,,
It was too late for this. It was too late to be up. It was positively too late to be laying in bed with his hazel eyes wide open, staring at the enchanted ceiling above his four poster bed. But the stars seemed so enchanting. The made-up milky way like galaxy moving across his ceiling gracefully, hypnotizing Mr. Potter against most of his wishes.
James Potter sighed, rolling over onto his stomach, his scarlet sheets twisting around his thin body as he did so. The soft snoring and breathing emitting from his roommates was anything but a lullaby- way too rhythmic. It was, however, relaxing, and despite his eyes inability to close as he lay on his stomach, he was comfortable.
He groaned softly, wrapping his arms around his matching pillowcase, and went face down into the down feather. He felt for the first time in his whole year of having this pillow the stems of the tiny feathers that filled the case, poking him here and there.
How did he sleep on this again?
He sighed softly, careful not to wake Sirius or Remus, but mostly Peter (he was a very light sleeper, quite skittish), lifting his head back up, gazing out at the starry night that awaited him outside his window, over looking the quidditch pitch. He sat up on his knees, looking out towards the pitch, grinning as he envisioned himself on his cleansweep, scoring another set of points against Slytherin as he did only hours earlier this Saturday morning. They one that match, and not only were they ahead one hundred and thirty points but his seeker also found the snitch, earning their victory.
His thoughts were interrupted as Peter sat up quickly in his bed with a sharp gasp, “The /cheese/, mate!” Peter practically shrieked, looking over at James, a horrified expression plain across his face. “They got it. What am I s’pose to do?”
James snickered at Peter’s night mare, brow raised at such a topic and shrugged, “’Dunno, Wormy.” He added, shushing him as Peter opened his mouth to speak again, “Jus’ go back to bed. Got a long day ahead of you.”
Peter’s mouth remained open as his eyes scanned James, his facial expression utterly confused as though he couldn’t comprehend. “Erm, I guess your right.” The mousy like boy muttered, nodding to himself and muttering something or the other. He laid back on his side away from James, falling back asleep almost immediately.
James rolled his eyes, scanning the rest of the room. Sirius was sprawled across his bed in barely anything but his pants, snoring, and blankets askew. Remus, however, was neatly tucked in his own four-poster, as though he was trying with all his might not to wrinkle his comforter. Studying the dormitory again it was quite obivious which parts of the room belonged to which boy. Sirius’ side was a disorganized mess, clothes thrown this way and that, scrolls shoved in his open trunk. Remus’ side was clean and proper. Everything was put away where it belonged, an antique globe and his straight as an arrow wand sitting on his bedside table. Peter’s was average, not too messy, not too clean- but an assortment of candy wrappers littered his bed and around his floor. Looks like he was in Remus’ chocolate stash again- probably also the cause of his nightmares. He warned Wormtail about that- one should never eat chocolate before bedtime.
He listened to his friends for a moment, Peter emitting a droning mutter every now again, Sirius softly snoring, loud enough to hear but soft enough to not be a bother while Remus’ heavy breathing continued it’s rhythm.
It was late. He told himself again. Almost time to get to bed- but then a thought popped into his head. He glanced back to Remus, who was tucked so neatly into his bed. He was a prefect, and every night he and Lily switched back and forth to who had to do the night rounds.
He grinned, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and making his way to Remus’ trunk. It wasn’t locked, he knew that, but he knew Remus wouldn’t like him looking around in it with out him knowing. But it /was/ where the four boys kept the map and he knew that he should be allowed to go snooping for that maps sake. He opened it lightly, pushing open the top and pulling out a piece of blank parchment that thankfully sat on top (now he wouldn’t have to dig around for it).
“Thanks, mate.” He muttered, topping off a non-existent hat to his sleeping friend as he made he was back to his bed. He grabbed his wand sitting on his bedside table and crawled under his sheets.
“Lumos,” He muttered, the tip of his wand lighting up, and he pointed at the blank parchment, “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”
Almost immediately the parchment’s surface began to transform. The usual heading greeted him and he unfolded the sides, scanning the Gryffindor tower. He couldn’t help but smiley as his gaze fell on one particular dot- Lily Evans. The dot was heading towards the Ravenclaw tower with another dot labeled some girl she never heard of. The dot soon disappeared, and he assumed she was a Ravenclaw prefect Lily was walking with.
His noticed his breathing grew heavy as he watched Lily’s dot walk through the halls alone. It twirled about the hall, going this way and that, and he smiled to himself. Was she dancing? Oh, how he wished he could be there to see that. He couldn’t help but imagine the pretty redhead twirling, laughing, and just having a grand ole’time by herself. Maybe he should grab his cloak? No, it was too late. Besides, it was also a bit creepy.
He watched the dot for another fifteen minutes until she reached the last step case to Gryffindor tower. Sure, he knew she was a skilled witch and shouldn’t be worried about her like he did, but he just wanted to make sure she had no trouble along her way. He smiled, closing the map as gently as he could.
“Mischief managed.” He whispered, end of the wand pointing to the now blank parchment. He pulled the covers down from over his head, taking in a deep, cold breath, unaware of how hot it was getting under there. Blimey- he was sweating!
He couldn’t help but snicker as he reached over to his bedside table, opened the drawer and dropped the map and his wand inside. It would be safe there for now. Removing his glasses, and now practically blind, the raven haired boy laid down on his back, safely assuming Lily was now warm in her bed.
“Night Evans,” He thought out loud to himself, setting his spectacles on the bedside table, settling comfortably back into his four poster as he closed his hazel eyes and drifted off to sleep.
[/size][/center]It was too late for this. It was too late to be up. It was positively too late to be laying in bed with his hazel eyes wide open, staring at the enchanted ceiling above his four poster bed. But the stars seemed so enchanting. The made-up milky way like galaxy moving across his ceiling gracefully, hypnotizing Mr. Potter against most of his wishes.
James Potter sighed, rolling over onto his stomach, his scarlet sheets twisting around his thin body as he did so. The soft snoring and breathing emitting from his roommates was anything but a lullaby- way too rhythmic. It was, however, relaxing, and despite his eyes inability to close as he lay on his stomach, he was comfortable.
He groaned softly, wrapping his arms around his matching pillowcase, and went face down into the down feather. He felt for the first time in his whole year of having this pillow the stems of the tiny feathers that filled the case, poking him here and there.
How did he sleep on this again?
He sighed softly, careful not to wake Sirius or Remus, but mostly Peter (he was a very light sleeper, quite skittish), lifting his head back up, gazing out at the starry night that awaited him outside his window, over looking the quidditch pitch. He sat up on his knees, looking out towards the pitch, grinning as he envisioned himself on his cleansweep, scoring another set of points against Slytherin as he did only hours earlier this Saturday morning. They one that match, and not only were they ahead one hundred and thirty points but his seeker also found the snitch, earning their victory.
His thoughts were interrupted as Peter sat up quickly in his bed with a sharp gasp, “The /cheese/, mate!” Peter practically shrieked, looking over at James, a horrified expression plain across his face. “They got it. What am I s’pose to do?”
James snickered at Peter’s night mare, brow raised at such a topic and shrugged, “’Dunno, Wormy.” He added, shushing him as Peter opened his mouth to speak again, “Jus’ go back to bed. Got a long day ahead of you.”
Peter’s mouth remained open as his eyes scanned James, his facial expression utterly confused as though he couldn’t comprehend. “Erm, I guess your right.” The mousy like boy muttered, nodding to himself and muttering something or the other. He laid back on his side away from James, falling back asleep almost immediately.
James rolled his eyes, scanning the rest of the room. Sirius was sprawled across his bed in barely anything but his pants, snoring, and blankets askew. Remus, however, was neatly tucked in his own four-poster, as though he was trying with all his might not to wrinkle his comforter. Studying the dormitory again it was quite obivious which parts of the room belonged to which boy. Sirius’ side was a disorganized mess, clothes thrown this way and that, scrolls shoved in his open trunk. Remus’ side was clean and proper. Everything was put away where it belonged, an antique globe and his straight as an arrow wand sitting on his bedside table. Peter’s was average, not too messy, not too clean- but an assortment of candy wrappers littered his bed and around his floor. Looks like he was in Remus’ chocolate stash again- probably also the cause of his nightmares. He warned Wormtail about that- one should never eat chocolate before bedtime.
He listened to his friends for a moment, Peter emitting a droning mutter every now again, Sirius softly snoring, loud enough to hear but soft enough to not be a bother while Remus’ heavy breathing continued it’s rhythm.
It was late. He told himself again. Almost time to get to bed- but then a thought popped into his head. He glanced back to Remus, who was tucked so neatly into his bed. He was a prefect, and every night he and Lily switched back and forth to who had to do the night rounds.
He grinned, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and making his way to Remus’ trunk. It wasn’t locked, he knew that, but he knew Remus wouldn’t like him looking around in it with out him knowing. But it /was/ where the four boys kept the map and he knew that he should be allowed to go snooping for that maps sake. He opened it lightly, pushing open the top and pulling out a piece of blank parchment that thankfully sat on top (now he wouldn’t have to dig around for it).
“Thanks, mate.” He muttered, topping off a non-existent hat to his sleeping friend as he made he was back to his bed. He grabbed his wand sitting on his bedside table and crawled under his sheets.
“Lumos,” He muttered, the tip of his wand lighting up, and he pointed at the blank parchment, “I solemnly swear I’m up to no good.”
Almost immediately the parchment’s surface began to transform. The usual heading greeted him and he unfolded the sides, scanning the Gryffindor tower. He couldn’t help but smiley as his gaze fell on one particular dot- Lily Evans. The dot was heading towards the Ravenclaw tower with another dot labeled some girl she never heard of. The dot soon disappeared, and he assumed she was a Ravenclaw prefect Lily was walking with.
His noticed his breathing grew heavy as he watched Lily’s dot walk through the halls alone. It twirled about the hall, going this way and that, and he smiled to himself. Was she dancing? Oh, how he wished he could be there to see that. He couldn’t help but imagine the pretty redhead twirling, laughing, and just having a grand ole’time by herself. Maybe he should grab his cloak? No, it was too late. Besides, it was also a bit creepy.
He watched the dot for another fifteen minutes until she reached the last step case to Gryffindor tower. Sure, he knew she was a skilled witch and shouldn’t be worried about her like he did, but he just wanted to make sure she had no trouble along her way. He smiled, closing the map as gently as he could.
“Mischief managed.” He whispered, end of the wand pointing to the now blank parchment. He pulled the covers down from over his head, taking in a deep, cold breath, unaware of how hot it was getting under there. Blimey- he was sweating!
He couldn’t help but snicker as he reached over to his bedside table, opened the drawer and dropped the map and his wand inside. It would be safe there for now. Removing his glasses, and now practically blind, the raven haired boy laid down on his back, safely assuming Lily was now warm in her bed.
“Night Evans,” He thought out loud to himself, setting his spectacles on the bedside table, settling comfortably back into his four poster as he closed his hazel eyes and drifted off to sleep.
`Behind The Character ,,
Name:Christina!
Age: 17 years young.
Role-playing experience:About five or six years
How you found us: Through neo, surfing forum boards. (:
[/size][/blockquote]
