Gabriel Telarion;; Student Application « Thread Started on Jun 3, 2007, 5:40pm »
[It's in two parts, because it was too long to post in just one post. =/ [Okay, wow...one of the longest profiles I've ever made. I stayed up all night working on this, so if it doesn't get approved...then I might just keel over now. >.> ]]
Out of Character
Name: Christy Age: 13 Role-Playing Experience: Three Years Where did you find Magical Purpose?: Top site thing, I think… Do you have any other accounts here? If so, who? Willow Holdsday, Cadence Adalsteinn
General Information
Name: Gabriel Erin Telarion [Gay-bree-al Air-N Tell-air-e-on] Age: 18 Gender: Male Previous School: Hogwarts House (if applicable): Ravenclaw
Class Information
What do you want your major to be? Entreprenuership Studies What do you want your minor to be? Healing Studies Preferred Classes: Muggle Studies, Herbology, Charms, Transfiguration O.W.L.s: Care of Magical Creatures [A] Charms [O] Transfiguration [E] Herbology [E] Muggle Studies [O] DADA [O] Arithmancy [O] Potions [O] N.E.W.T.s: Muggle Studies [O] Transfiguration [O] DADA [O] Charms [O] Potions [A] Herbology [O]
Extra Character Information
Physical Appearance: Stop looking at him. He swears to god that he’s normal. He has entirely no problem with the way he looks, average and common but decent enough. He doesn’t need the attention from the opposite sex, doesn’t give half the mind to care what they might think of him. He doesn’t want a date. It’s not like he’ll remember it in the morning. He doesn’t want the attention. Miss America isn’t on his list of ‘must do before death.’ Leave him alone.
In spite of what he might think of himself, no one finds his exterior as dull as he managed to persuade himself to deem From his eyes to his legs to the way he dresses, he might be able to get some heads to turn in appeal – that is, if he’d just oblige. Instead, he’s too busy trying to live to worry about it. You’ll see him with his Polaroid and his pocket pull of pictures, hand written messages to himself on his arms among the many notebooks he carries with him in his messenger bag. He’s got, like, seventy different pens. He might snap a picture of you – get use to it. He’s guaranteed to do it more than once a day. Instead of sweats in his bag Gabriel keeps around endless amounts of film.
Up-to-the-minute-cut blonde hair – never died and always it’s natural color – that seems so luscious for independence can only get so far, striking from his head in awkward positions, giving him that impression like he fought a loosing battle with a comb this morning and that the hair spray wasn’t any help in the first place. He doesn’t do hats when it comes to trying to hide the calamity that he calls a head and, finds them to be an excess of clothing. They bother him.
Subtle and gentle features, but clear cut and masculine at the same time, he’s the prefect contradiction of himself. Clear blue eyes, he looks as he should. He’s just the boy next door, which he rather content with. Moreover, his dewy lips, curved into a mild and tranquil smile habitually don’t help at all when it comes to proving his masculinity. He curves: trimmed shoulders, plane stomach and chest, slender in the waist area and rather long, willowy legs. Average frame, average size. Perfect for his age of seventeen and his weight of 127, he stands at exactly six foot two like 45% of the population. Despite his average looks and metal handicap Gabe has found that quite a few girls are attracted to him. Maybe it's the Russian accent that, even though he now lives in England, never faded.
He’s got his life’s routine tattooed on his arms. On his left is what he calls ‘the system’ in which he uses to collect himself whenever his memory blanks and he doesn’t remember where he is or what the hell he’s doing. It contains five steps in black ink. His other arm has his own handwriting all over it – things he writes down when he doesn’t have the time to find paper. He is his own canvas. His canvas is his own mind. Personality: [Common Knowledge] You might know his little issue with his head and how he seriously has problems with remembering anything. No, he’s not absentminded or dreamy – he’s disabled. People tend to screw with his head because of this and if he could remember that he was pissed at you, you can be sure that he would be all over your ass. Too bad he can’t so, lucky for you, he’s not going to. Because of his malfunction, he talks to himself to keep himself in track with his life (whenever he gets distracted from something, he tends to just mentally erase the entire situation) and takes pictures of anything that enters and exits his life. Making a first impression is very important when it comes to meeting him. Frankly, what he first sees you as is what he’s always going to know you as. Live with it. Work with it and most importantly, don’t mess it up.
Most people don’t know much about him because he refuses to tell much about himself. You see him with his Polaroid documenting his life and you see him with his notes writing down his life. It’s pitiful, but he doesn’t care, because it’s him. The stacks of journals he keeps around, the camera that’s always within hand’s reach; it’s how he gets by.
[Secrets] This is pretty much a no-duh situation: he’s scared. Pathetic, isn’t it? But put yourself in his shoes – you crash into consciousness and suddenly you have no idea where you are, what you were doing and why you’re here. He’s terrified. He’s always going to be. Imagine what you would be like if you had to keep a poster by your bedside that tells you your name, where you are, and what you need to do each day. Constantly getting lost, because you can’t commit the directions to memory. Each day he does enjoyable things, he laughs, loves, talks, and functions like a normal boy. Yet he can never fully enjoy it, because her knows that when night comes he’ll drop off to sleep and awake to find himself lost in a sea of seemingly new things and people.
[Basic] I n a hypothetical situation: say that what you do today, you won’t remember it tomorrow. Pretend like everything that goes on, everything that you say and said to won’t ever cross your mind again. Anything you do – whether significant or trivial – will dissolve. Naturally, you’ll have your witnesses, those who saw you with your misdemeanors, but you and only you will not have any mental imagery of any past events – apart from what you already could recall several years in the past. Established scars will remain and the emotions you felt will still linger in your head the next morning – but other than that, you won’t remember anything.
One question: How would you live – granted you won’t feel regret?
He feels obligated to abuse his disability, where his head can’t recollect short-term memories – he can remember everything that happened before his little accident (he got hit by a car. Go figure, right?) – but not anything after it. He has memory blanks where, once he gets distracted from a topic, he’ll literally never be able to recall it again. It’s not just a little trait where he’s a little bit forgetful; he forgets. Period. You might see him desperately taking pictures with his Polaroid camera, or you might see him writing things down (worthless, useless, random things). Don’t call him pretentious – it’s his life.
Tell him your secrets. Pull him quickly into another conversation.
Secrets? What secrets?
Sometimes, he does things to do things – he knows he can’t remember so he filters his head. What he doesn’t want to remember, he doesn’t write down for himself. What he wants to pretend is true, he can convince himself is true by simply jotting it down. Having no short term memories is advantageous…sometimes.
He has a lot of problems to say the least, thank you very much but, for his sake, don’t tell him anything’s wrong. He doesn’t want to hear it, honest. You might call it stupidity and denial, but he likes to pretend that he’s repugnantly average and as boring as f*ck. But on the contrary, he’s really everything but what he wants to be, even if it doesn’t thrill him – the youth’s not exactly very good at changing. On that matter, he’s so terrible at adjusting to anything because it’s going to mess up his entire life: Constantly counting, constantly writing things down, touching – not you, he won’t touch you – recording events, taking pictures just so he can tell himself that he’s met this person, been to this thing, said this yesterday and did this the day before. Everything with him has to be routine, orderly and absolutely, undoubtedly perfect – or he’ll end up lost and confused. Poor guy, right? He tries to stay out of your way and he’ll do whatever it takes to remember you – even if it’s driving him crazy.
So he’s nice. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Most people might coo over his endearing little brain damage – how morbid – but they hardly ever get to know all of him. Oh no, there’s much more of him than his blunders though, admittedly, it rounds a nuts load of his persona. People look at him and instantly think not person but disabled. Those people, he can say, doesn’t know nuts. Thus, Gabe is proud to say that he has a lot of lenience but even so, a bit short on patience. If you don’t hear what he says the first time he says, don’t expect the boy to repeat it again. Be considerate of the torment he goes though. In any difficult situation, he tends to try to stay as calm as possible but hardly ever succeeds. Not exactly the natural born leader type, he just really wants to be left alone by danger – his life is f*cked up as is. Adventure? Excitement? Spotlight? Um, that’s okay, he’ll just stay here.
Most definitely outspoken, he really doesn’t care too much on what others think of him or what he says. Though he tries to be as kind and considerate as possible, it’s difficult with the classic teenage wit and ferocious you-don’t-understand-me type attitude. Most of the time, he finds it hard to trust people and tends to create more suspicion than really necessary. He’s just not the fan of hurt and humiliation, like any other human being. But still, he wears his freedom of speech like a badge.
For someone that has to follow a routine or else face the wrath of insanity, he’s expected to be the determined type, the one that goes down to the grave fighting – after all, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Gabriel is extremely organized – he has to be – and systematic with a very specific daily routine and getting in the way of that wouldn’t be the wisest choice you could make today. Even if he knows he’s making a ticking time bomb, if he wants to do it, he’ll do it. If he has his mind set, don’t try to change it. He’ll kill you. Okay, no he won’t. He just won’t talk to you for a couple of hours at most. He’s a perfectionist. It’s either that or the complete disorientation for the rest of his life.
The boy’s rather proud to admit that at one point in his life, he was, in fact, headed in the right direction. If it weren’t for his brain damage, you would be able to see that obvious intelligence. Screw the whole “tell me and I know, show me and I understand, involve me and I remember” junk. He just needs it told to him once and, without any troubles, he’ll grasp it. It’s just those darn tests and assignments. Organization, he’s got it. Wits, he’s got it. Memory, not so much. He really can’t remember what he learned in class, let alone the assignments – he’ll write it down but, naturally, even if he writes the essay, does the paper work, he’s still going to forget all of it in a day or two. He had to work darn hard to get where he’s at, at least twice as hard as anyone of his peers. That still makes him a Ravenclaw, right? The potential is there, he just has trouble rubbing it the right way.
He wants the satisfaction of being able to hold a grudge, but like being tempered, he finds it complicated. Primarily, he’s too busy being disabled to remember and, sadly, he just isn’t the type to start drama. He hates whining, complaining and the brooding that people do for attention. Just suck it up. Perhaps he’s just overly optimistic and always, by some extraterrestrial force, sees a bright side but he’d rather claw out his eyes then have people sit around a nag. It’s disgusting – he’s seen much worse. The usual teenage crap that you have going on? Just know that he doesn’t care, compare yourself to him and even the lowest of the low will see a bright spot in their life.
But he’s got hope for himself: he still believes that if someone tells him something significant enough, something important enough, something worthwhile, he might remember. It hasn’t happened yet. History: The Telarion’s didn’t want to intermingle with the ‘other’ kind of people. Every single one of them were the type to walk with their noses in the air, white gloves and designer clothes, being the witches that they were – allegorical witches, that is, as all of them were as pureblood as a muggle could be. They were high-class even for the standards of royalty though, undoubtedly; the cash involved in such arrogance wasn’t something they obtained. But the ability to twist and bend the truth made anything they wanted possible. While in reality, they were nothing more than average, this wasn’t something they were about to admit; None the less, they were proud to say that no one that was blessed with their surname had anything gawkily meticulous about them, that every arm was where it’s suppose to be, every guise in shipshape. End of story. Society, on their part, accepted them as posh and, thus, like any other jealous playground rivalry, ignored them as if their existence was just something they saw out of the corner of their eye and worth no such time of theirs. But what did the Telarion’s care? They were better than that – just like how they were better than anything else.
Sara Maria Leland, her name an overrating of her arrogance, was the center of the Leland Corporation, daughter of Desoto Leland, the starter of the empire that plastered a plethora of high-class art galleries around the boarder of Sweden. But being the youngest of four other siblings, her promise of inheritance wasn’t too hot – it was barely above cool, for that matter – but, in all honesty, none of her brothers were in line either and nor was her mother. Desoto Leland, buried in the lavishness of achievement wasn’t exactly the sort to go halves – hence the fact the rest of his self-proclaimed-classy kin didn’t get a dime (though none of them cared. As long as their last name was in the contract, they were set). His empire. His business. His children, even his marriage partner of twenty years, were never going to be in the picture as long as he was on the cover of every sports car magazine. Perhaps it was better this way, the fact that she got nothing from her father’s accomplishment. Due to her lack of pre-made opulence from her parents, she learned at a young age to keep herself preoccupied, earned what she couldn’t get through bloodline. But due to her poor grades – something she’d manage to convince everyone has not a mistake of her own – her choices of career that could live up to that of her father wasn’t as wide as she’d managed to believe it.
The Telarion’s, Russian bones and flesh, to contrast, didn’t give a care about what others thought about them. They were completely normal and didn’t bother hiding much of that verity. Undoubtedly, there might have been bits of magic in their blood, though marriages and the random selection of nature – muggleborns – but nothing thespian so that everyone in the wizarding world knew their surname. The entitlement of wands was so minute that no one inside the family even bothered much with it; this was proof of their involuntary unawareness towards each other. Though their incorruptibility as a family was brilliant, they were completely unaware of one another, didn’t have half the mind to care. The expenses they earned as a family depends highly on the branch of the tree you were to talk about. While one side lived in the million-roomed mansion in Paris with a second house in Berlin, the next couldn’t afford much.
The only child of Andrew and Rayne Telarion, Elliot, was overly influenced by the commence of the American rocket, The Challenger’s explosion, convinced that he could create a betters shuttle, and dropped his law degree – two months shy of his college commencement with honors – and pursued at rocket design in the capital of Sweden, Stockholm. His parents, who didn’t believe any human should to travel to space, believing it ruined the mystery of it all, shook their head at the fantasies of their son after trying with every tactic to get him to go back to law school. Their attempts were a failure to launch, while his had no problems what so ever.
She picked bartending, Sara that is. But with below average marks on her high school status, it’s almost anticipated. Her mother, who was, on the contrary, rather altruistic and selfless unlike her husband, could have shot someone when the news of her daughter’s degree in the sport reached her. Regardless, it was faire to say that the girl had a flair in fancy flass, itching nozzle tricks along side the earsplitting imagination for alcoholic beverages. The Kite Club in Stockholm offered her several grand for her post. After a lifetime of being pushed under the table by Desoto, she was more than eager to rub it in the face of his company. Even though her ability to make a mixture of Vodka and a soft drink still barely compared to the empire that was Desoto Leland Art Galleries, her popularity behind the counter pleased her.
But he changed fields and headed for flight design. Almost instantly, he landed a job to assist Mr. Patrick Killon, an honored engineer at the time, to work on a new breed of double-decker passenger planes for Holland, The Milo Staefan Project (named after the Dutch commissioner) for Aero Unlimited. The team would welcome t their addition of crew by taking him to the Kite Club where he met Sara.
He fell in love with her.
Thus, after two months of their introduction into the other’s life, he took her home and popped her the question. She, who was expecting him to propose, readily accepted. When she finally walked down the aisle, on May 23, she was already six months pregnant – but after marriage, his daytime work schedule clashed with her night hours.
When two, Lotus I and II, of the three prototype trials they were allowed failed, the outcome of Aero Unlimited’s triumph wasn’t looking very bright. Figuring that they might as well finish what they started, they launched another test plane, Skylark 1. The final attempt for the money paid off when the flight took off and landed without a problem involving the weight, size or balance. Still, the fact that a guaranteed safe landing was only one out of three, airlines and plane production companies denied their request to publish their designs because it was “hazardous” for such a large aircraft – that a 30% chance of a flourishing departure wouldn’t look pretty. The team had no other alternative but to start another flight design without getting a paycheck.
Sara had problems with the fact that Elliot didn’t bring home the cash he’d promised her. She was pregnant and the money she didn’t have became her biggest prerogative to be frustrated. On June 9 she gave birth to a daughter, Rumor Skylark Telarion (Named after the only one out of the two Aero Unlimited planes that didn’t detonate) in the Shefferson Hospital with the nursery back in her city home nowhere near finishing point and without the presence of her husband. Before anyone could catch the wind, unwanted errors started to pick themselves out of the flesh wound.
The personality differences in the two families started to clash. Elliot, to the Leland’s, was considered, as juvenile and harsh as the term might be a freak. While his parents didn’t give their two cents in the marriage, the Leland’s didn’t favor the boy their daughter had picked. They find him to be worth her time. The casual manners he was taught were never chiseled into flawlessness like theirs, a slipup due to the way of his raising. His status as second in command at work wasn’t good enough for their high standards. They asked her to leave him. What little he could earn with the beginning of his new plane project was spent for the constant medication that her lung problems (working in a smoky room always guaranteed it) called for, leaving only decent portions for everything else – including Rumor. Decent, apparently, didn’t suit the girl well. Sara gave Elliot four years pull up the funds but didn’t tell him this, figuring that he, being the father, would simply know that his trade wasn’t getting the checks they needed. The man, who worked late into the early morning, didn’t do a darn thing, oblivious of what his wife sought.
Before anyone could catch the wind, the time she’d wordlessly set for him was up but even with the intensifying of their quandary, she couldn’t leave him. Or rather, wouldn’t leave him. As malicious as it might sound, it wasn’t because of Rumor, now a tot, but because her family sought her to. Clawing for sovereignty of the life-controlling tendency of the Leland’s, she would not give them the satisfaction of “I told you so.” She refused them the pleasure, denied them the benefit of getting their way and all this even if she had to suffer for the rest of her natural life. Thus, she showed them how much she was unwilling to do as told and slept with him again during the minority hours they shared with each other – many, many times.
Disability makes everything difficult, especially in a child. It turns the parents against one another, blaming the other one’s genes as the trigger of the handicap. It shatters happy marriages and demands cash for hospital bills that no normal human being can manage. Lucky for the Leland-Telarion’s, their second child, a son, was nothing of the trouble sort. They were proud to say that Gabriel Erin (January 31) was, in contrast, flawlessly healthy in every sense of the word – no missing legs, no shortage of oxygen and, most definitely, no problems with his juvenile mind. Naturally, with time, that would change.
Re: Gabriel Telarion;; Student Application « Reply #1 on Jun 3, 2007, 5:40pm »
Almost instantly, the Leland family favored Gabe and left Rumor in the dark. The pick was haphazard and didn’t have a liable reason but, regardless; they were anything but shy in expressing their bias. Once he was born, Desoto Leland, Sara’s father, personally laid down the money for a new house, bigger and better. He placed him in all the right schools, provided him with all the needed teachers and bought him whatever he so as glanced at. Desoto, unexpectedly, wanted this grandson, out of the four that he had, to take lead on his gallery empire once he came to age. This was a definite surety for a lifetime of lavishness, an already large pot on the table at any rate. No one outside of this particular branch of family was happy upon hearing the news and proceeded to ignore them, critique them and feed themselves the satisfaction of hatred that they felt they deserved. Sara and Elliot didn’t do anything to try and convince the prominent family to offer both kids the love they needed as juveniles, afraid that it might be taken as a personal attack and then lead to the neglect the couple had faced in the beginning. Instead, they desperately scrambled back and forth – too busy to notice the distance between them – to match for Rumor the treatment Leland received. Naturally, they didn’t manage it financially and Rumor, a bitterly silent, a quietly violent girl, spent her lifetime hating the brother that was constantly under spotlight.
In nature, Rumor spent her time in front of him, picking him tenderly to shreds – so instead, he found someone else to listen to whatever fantasies he so happened to endure at the time.
Ingrid was the adopted daughter of the wizarding couple Shane and Erika Ragnerson, who lived in the small homes next to his city apartment, a fence between them, between her suburbia and his urban. She was graceful on contrast to his ability to destroy delicate items; she was poised in contrary to his maladroit walk, his inelegant natures and his gawky pose; she was classically beautiful in compare to his spirited, rebellious wardrobe of skin; she was listening when he was talking; she was laughing when he was crying; she was his paradox and they became proof of the magnetism in opposites. Gabriel barely walked and moved his legs only to run and avoid taxis. Ingrid barely talked and opened her mouth only to breathe and sing. At ten years old a piece, his dreams were undeniable and her talents were unquestionable. At such rate, it took about five years for everything to fall apart.
He fell in love with her in a way where he didn’t want to see her in her natural fabric clothes – he fell in love with her for her voice. Juvenile and in a desperate need for attention, he decided to love Ingrid in which he would pay her his company in exchange for her song. To them, at an age where it didn’t take much to satisfy, this didn’t matter to the least bit. But by the time she was eleven, she had fallen in love with him for his fortitude. But Gabriel, oblivious to what being in love was, did not crave her back.
Close your eyes, he would tell her, and sing to me.
She obliged – so long as he stayed.
And he always did.
But it started with her parents and their awareness to how much Gabriel was worth, his inheritances and the quantitative value behind his surname. During visits where his touch turned things their metallic items to silver, they knew before he of his inheritance of wizarding abilities – he became a goal for their daughter. While they were not the casual type to pursue marital gain, the opportunity opened up for them by complete accident and provided a chance that was difficult not to seize with the circumstances of their current life. Ingrid’s parents encouraged her innocence to mature, pushing her in his direction despite their juvenile age and dolling her up to his unnoticing and naïve eye. Desoto Leland fancied her tiny white and lacy gloves; Gabriel Telarion fancied her tiny white and lacy hands. He was who he was and she was who he could be. He was how it is and she was how it should be.
The academy was prestigious and expensive; she was everything but. In any case, they asked her to attend amongst the wizarding world’s more than endowed musicians. Her voice was royalty, her face was crafted by heaven, and she became their pride and their need. On a full scholarship, she attended, leaving him to be absent of her – everything was quiet and nothing else sounded as pleasant as her voice; the piano in which his sister played sounded bland and hollow in comparison, the sounds of the early morning was empty and of no relevant pitch. Aervinge School of Wizardry for Muggleborn Boys became his distraction.
When Gabriel experienced his burst of magical ability, his family were well aware of his given bloodline. With the Ragnerson’s endeavor to win reliance and camaraderie, offering explanation after explanation, convincing Sara and Elliot of the existence of modern day fairy tale like occurrence – a year and a half of evidence and they were still vague on the phenomenon but didn’t doubt it as fact. When sixteen year old Rumor sourly attended her high school, eleven year old Gabriel reached the eyes of the council at the Aervinge School, a boys’ academy, with students of a strict muggle background. With a love for the social life, he spent most of his time with the other boys of his dorm, happily avoiding studies, telling them his fantasies.
The fallout became the Aervinge School’s inability to challenge students, who worked slowly and at the pace of not their valedictorian but at the steady crawl of their struggling ones. Despite the youth’s lack of interest in the topic, learning came easy for him but learning new material was rare at the state the curriculum was moving. In response, Desoto Leland demanded his transfer to another discipline, a better school, yearning the majority for his heir. After a year of conscientious searching, Hogwarts caught his narrow minded attention during the beginning of Gabriel’s fourth year. The mode of transportation was air. The mode of funds was Leland Galleries. He wasn’t allowed home on holidays because of the costs of fairs. The summers offered clear-cut skies and, most importantly, Ingrid.
In spite of how eager he was to ensure Gabriel’s education, he wasn’t keen of the wizarding world, disapproving of his daughter’s decision to place him there, dropping the funds he placed on the family when his grandson wasn’t present. Financially, this impacted the family. Exactly on queue, Aero Unlimited’s Model 2 signed deals with corporations, launching their first fully successful design within the span of seventeen years of crucial calculations and sleepless dedication. It paid. It paid extremely well. While it compared nothing to Desoto’s corporation, the AU team put up a fair fight, with a sequence of booming planes for the next two years. Rumor, in an act of independence, paid for her education. Sara forgot the fact that she wasn’t in love Elliot.
Ingrid was silent one day and salvation dried. The summer after their fourth year, the girl rarely smiled, her face a moderate irritation, quietly withering away as she avoided him. He questioned her, asking her to sing to him, pulling on her hand in anxiety. She had started to cry, silently of course, refusing to make noises even in angst to satisfy his need for her voice. He had watched her frantically usher at her throat, quietly failing to commune with him. When he kissed her softly on her neck, believing it was what she had wanted, she shoved him off of her and leaving him where he stood, confused on where to go. Like she was battling a war against the entire world, nothing seemed to satisfy her, everything became difficult and she was easily frustrated. Her elegant atmosphere became polluted and hard to breathe under – all he wanted was to hear her sing, again.
He never would.
This would be the first in a sequence of catastrophic events, a meaningless life with a movie script ending.
There was a story. There was a side of the events that Gabriel didn’t have the privilege to hear. As if she was suddenly poisonous and hazardous to his delicate health, his parents urgently and in the gentlest way, beginning pulling him away from her, pushing her away from him. Desoto, who enjoyed her quirky beauty, openly expressed his new found distaste in her structure, critiquing her poise beauty. Rumor was thrilled, guiltily pleasured by despondent adversity. The Ragnersons, to contrast his pleading set, frantically demanded for him, finding that the only period of time she was calm was under his limelight. Without her voice, the music academy expelled her; without her voice, she became nothing but a pretty face. To continue her studies, she obtained enrollment with him at Hogwarts where she was as hushed. For the first time ever, he watched her destroy fragile and hand-crafted objects.
A year of silence for Ingrid, he was still robbed of an explanation to why. The amount he missed his voice, he placed into impressing her, making her laugh, taking her out of her mysterious anguish, away from her throat, her voice box, the sound of herself singing. Summer brought the usual city. The usual city would bring another tragedy – but that was just the way things were.
On the Southside of 23rd Boulevard, intercepted by 12th Avenue and outside a city park, Ingrid walked down the sidewalk with Gabriel imitating her steps – it was a game that didn’t require communication. Ingrid ran across the street. Gabriel, in response, followed her. She turned around and stopped in her tracks. He, in the middle of the street, did too. He saw her face change to blunt panic, he hear tires crying from sudden breaking, he felt the car caressing him, he tasted blood and smelt the cement.
The term ‘memory’ refers to the storage, retention and recall of information including past experiences, knowledge and thoughts. Memory for specific information can vary greatly according to the individual and the individual's state of mind. It can also vary according to the content of the information itself; thus information which is novel or exciting tends to be better remembered than information which is uninteresting or ordinary. Failure of memory can normally result from failure to adequately store the memory in the first place, failure to retain the information (forgetting), and failure to retrieve the information later.
Memory is often divided into several subsections: Sensory memory refers to the fact that, after experiencing a stimulus, information about that stimulus is briefly held in memory in the exact form it was received, until it can be further processed. Long-term memory is memory that lasts for years or longer. Intermediate-term or working memory is sometimes considered a synonym for short-term memory. Short-term memory refers to memories which last for a few hours, days or, on occasions, weeks but no more.
In the case of his mind, he was dead. The doctors could tell the moment they looked at him. The chemicals in his brains suddenly slopping together, fracturing major nerve cells. Everyone would watch him and he would stare back, blankly. On contact with the street, Leland had damaged his hippocampus, which is brain structure that lies under the medial temporal lobe, one on each side of the brain. Hippocampal damage can result in anterograde amnesia: loss of ability to form new memories, although older memories may be safe. Thus, someone who sustains an injury to the hippocampus may have good memory of his childhood and the years before the injury, but relatively little memory for anything that happened since
His head couldn’t retain new information but what he could remember remained – he couldn’t recall anything that he didn’t remember before, he couldn’t maintain anything he would learn, anything he would achieve. He lost, without much fight, his short-term memory and would live, quite literally, in the present but thought in the past. Forget his future, forget all his potential, his head refused to cope with him. Desoto Leland dropped Gabriel’s name from his will. Slap him, today, and he’ll forget by tomorrow; kill him right now and he won’t hate you. He’ll remember your name but not what you did with him yesterday. It was to suddenly land into consciousness in an anonymous chair, an anonymous room, with anonymous people unsure of how he’d landed there, unsure of how he’d managed to get there and unsure of how he’d get home. He cried at night – but forgot that he did so by morning. He’d feel sad accordingly but was unsure of why; he was locked inside. He can fall in love over and over again; he can meet you over and over again. His head would tell him that he is fifteen; his body would scream seventeen and the rest of him wouldn’t understand either side of the argument.
The habitual routine and intuition of being human, however, was in a completely different part of the brain. Learning something is hot or cold through personal experience and instinct became the only new information he could grasp and hold. His days became an exact science.
Leland was pulled from Hogwarts before his sixth year and worked himself. It was like teaching someone that something burned to the touch through experience. It’s called insight and was almost a sixth sense. He bought a Polaroid camera and, through routine and notes to himself, relearned the process of living.
He created a system.
1. Question the time and date: Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Find how where you are in your life and calculate your age. The time should give you hints to what you should be doing and what you shouldn’t. Be suspicious of whom you ask and make sure the answer is reasonable. 2. Verbally establish your location: Say it out loud – it doesn’t matter who is listening (don’t be bothered if they find you retarded – this is your disability. There are bigger things than what people thing about you now.) Where are you? Can you tell why you’re there? 3. What are you doing?: Find out what activity you’re in the middle of before moving. Be cautious, always. Never make sudden movements. Also, establish and conclude to your body. What do you feel? 4. Refer to notes and photographs: Don’t get into conversation with anyone you don’t have a photograph of. Only trust notes in your own handwriting. Read them as often as possible. 5. Take notes and photographs: Your camera is your eye. Your notes are your mind.
The youth placed himself inside simulated situations and buildings – a post office, the street, his home, a restaurant – where he filmed himself. When Gabriel would blank, lost and convulsive with panic, he would turn violent, bitterly demanding an explanation to where he was, why he was there and how he was to get home. He threatened to put a bullet through his head. When he didn’t abide by the list of things he was to do, he punished himself through starvation. His body became a form of reminder, where he tattooed himself notes he knew he’d need to remember until he died. He’d blank again. It took a year for him to turn the system to habit, routine and instinct.
He didn’t see Ingrid for a year – he didn’t remember how much he missed her. When she told him that she loved him, he would forget.
It was almost an act of desperation, a sudden rash decision that was made without proper consideration of the facts. Elliot loved Sara but Sara only loved Elliot when life was easy with him, staying with him only to prove her family wrong. She slept with him at the hospital when Gabriel had first been diagnosed. Nine months later, during which their son became obsessed with routines and systematic living, she gave birth to second daughter whom they named Persephone Lyn. Gabriel would never remember her and have to be introduced to her every time they met. Sara had grasp hope that he’d remember something as important as such but once he proved he couldn’t, she was distraught. She divorced Elliot, silently and left, leaving him with her kids.
Hogwarts understood – the faculty knew his education was still important. He could still make something of his life as long as he stood to his routine. They allowed him to complete his school year and were pleasantly surprised by how well he did on his tests. The few people he knew grew older and now, regardless of any friendships and strong hold of love and respect, he barely recognizes them and has to meet them every time he goes through a memory wipe. Ignore him if he has to take pictures of you every day; don’t take the fact that he has to refer to notes just to remember your name personally. Forget him because he’ll surely forget you.
Every morning the young boy wakes up at three A.M. in order to have enough time to look threw his Polaroid’s and read through his notes. It’s a restless life, but it’s him.
He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Role-Play
Fierce wind bit at Cadence’s freezing face as she made her way down to the lake. The clouds above threatened to spill rain any second, but that didn’t detour her. At the moment even if there were a tornado making it’s way across the grounds she probably wouldn’t notice. Her mind was a thousand miles away, Cady had already unconsciously walked through the castle and now her body was making it’s way to the lake; one of her favorite places to go when she felt like wallowing. Though today it was more then self-pity, today she had a darned good reason to be upset. Ever since Shawn destroyed her self-confidence her smiles never seemed to touch her face anymore. Her laughter always seemed hollow and empty. When she laughed at all, that is. Some said she had lost the bounce in her step, the switch in her hips. The smirk that she was so famously known for didn’t seem as effective; didn’t seem as real. It was a major shock for the people who loved to gossip and trash talk about her to find that the girl that they so loved to hate was gone. Who knew the day would come when Cadence Adalsteinn could actually be described as… soft? Fragile. It seemed the porcelain doll had finally broken, and after the way she had been mishandled it wasn’t really that much of a surprise.
Some of the help back home had said that the very thing that made Cady Cadence Adalsteinn was . . . dead.
She had once heard a quote; Pride Goes Before Fall or something cryptic like that. No, the actual quote was Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall. Yes. How true. And how strange that this biblical quote should come to Cadence right when she hit rock bottom. Oh it was a long fall and a long time coming. Even the wickedest of men will call on God when in their darkest hour. And for the lovely daughter Adalsteinn, it couldn’t get any darker. Some who remembered how horrible she was as a child would have laughed at the fallen girl; others who knew her in her later years would have pitied her. She, with a sad smirk, would have told them all that they could go f**k off, but now she didn’t have the courage to say the actual words. Yes, it was cold and lonely at the bottom, and dark, but she was still THE daughter Adalsteinn and didn’t want nor need anyone’s pity. At the bottom of the world she looked up and remembered the few times she actually paid attention during mass. And suddenly she was doubting all her views, why was she Agnostic Atheist again?
Cadence was exhausted in every possible way. Her body was sore and tired, her mind was running on low batteries and her heart, her poor heart was duct taped together, and poorly done so. No one would have recognized her for the lovely vivacious daughter Adalsteinn as she slid down the back of a old oak tree trunk, collapsing in a heap in the dirt. Her hair, which hadn’t been washed or combed in days, stuck up miserably all over her head even though it was in a ponytail. Her gorgeous chocolate brown eyes were red and bloodshot and her lovely milky complexion looked dull and lifeless, not to mention ashy. Only her ruby red lips were the same even though they were almost permanently pouty and sad. She had several scabs and scars that obviously had come from a razor blade; her weapon of choice when it came to cutting. Cady had never been such a mess before.
There was no one else on the grounds period let alone by the lake where every few minutes a gust of wind would splash her with freezing cold water. Thunder crackled in the distance; the rain was getting closer and the clouds above her looked bleaker every second. Cady would give anything to be crying right then, she wanted to, it was her most desire, but she couldn’t. The tears wouldn’t fall. Angrily, she turned and punched the tree she had been leaning against with all her might. It did no good, the only thing that had given her was three bloody knuckles. No satisfaction came from getting pent up frustration out, and she was too numb to feel the pain.
One of the few things that Anna Adalsteinn had taught her daughter that was actually a lesson worth learning was that in the end people always lie. It was a cynical lesson that had been one of Anna’s numerous attempts to get Cady to somewhat separate herself from her father; it hadn’t worked. In fact until the Shawn episode Cadence hadn’t given that conversation a second thought. Now it was only fitting that it had become her motto.
Numbly Cadence reached into the pocket of her black zip up hoodie that she had on over her uniform shirt. The paper was wrinkled and hadn’t put up very well in her pocket, but as she unfolded it she treated it as if it were made of gold and silver. A drop of water hit her nose as her eyes focused in on the writing, but she paid it no mind. She had already read the contents so many times that she nearly had it memorized, but instead of repeating it from memory she let herself read off the paper. At her present state it was probably not very smart to let her brain do more then the bare minimum required.
The Eldest Daughter Adalsteinn,
As your mother it is my duty to inform you that your father has taken ill. If his condition worsens it may very well be that we will never lay eyes on each other again. In the instance that your father passes on then you will not be returning home in the summer, instead you will stay at your Aunt Jane’s house. You are not to come back to the house for any of your things. Your clothing will be fitted to fit your younger sisters, your books will be added to the library, and your more personal items: under garments, etc. will be shipped to Jane’s apartment in Liverpool.
Garret used to say that you took the best things from both of us; his gorgeous hair and milky complexion and my eyes. Yes, you’ve always had my eyes haven’t you? The one thing about me I was told made me unique. I had hoped that this semblance would bring us closer, but it seems to have distanced us even further. Your beauty has always been an issue. The way he looked at you, even when you were a baby, it was like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He used to look at me that way. Before you I was his doll. It was his love that doomed us Cadence. If he had not loved you so much then maybe I could have loved you a little.
The Lady of the House of Adalsteinn
Tears streamed down her face, but she didn’t care. In the morning she would blame it on the wind, but now that didn’t matter. Now she cried for her father. She cried for her own woes. She cried for her mother, but most of all – Cadence let the tears that had been burning inside her fall to simply let everything out.
Personnel Checklist (LEAVE BLANK)
This section is for the head teacher to fill out. Do not try to fill any of this out.
Application: o.O Woooww....and I thought I was bad. Accepted/Denied: Was that really a question? Classes: ... I will figure this out later. But you can guarentee that you will have the studies for your major and minor, then Charms and something else or something...
I saw your application and was talking to the main admin:
amor y suerte says (7:43 PM): OMG SHOOT ME! amor y suerte says (7:43 PM): this application is two f*cking posts! ... Marc says (7:44 PM): WTF? ... amor y suerte says (7:44 PM): http://4magicalpurpose.proboards92.com/i....80910414&page=1 Marc says (7:44 PM): wow they must be really wanting to get accepted then amor y suerte says (7:44 PM): I thought that i was bad about needing two posts on proboards! That is just pitiful. amor y suerte says (7:44 PM): Shoot me, please. lmao Marc says (7:45 PM): omg Marc says (7:45 PM): someone has no life amor y suerte says (7:45 PM): And we thought that >> I << had no life. Marc says (7:45 PM): his application is very thourough though Marc says (7:45 PM): lol no you have a life amor y suerte says (7:46 PM): I do now, love. I didn't before
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