Post by nico on Jan 31, 2007 1:37:46 GMT -5
(This is buggy, I typed it up in a bit of a hurry because it's late and I'm tired. I may fix it later)
Appearance: Nico is tall, though he looks taller than he is. With long legs, a thin wiry frame, and girlish features he’s not handsome so much as he is pretty. His hair is naturally pale blonde, according to his father because of veela ancestry but there’s no recorded proof of this. He keeps his hair in meticulous spikes nearly an inch high. He has almond shaped eyes that are nothing at all like deepest chocolate or shimmering emeralds, they’re more of a sort of almost bluish grey. His smile is very nice, a little half-smirk with mischief clearly behind it.
There’s an easy way about the way he carries himself, as if the world has nothing better to do than wait for him. Even when he’s running he seems to have hardly a care in the world. He moves gracefully and every smooth motion he makes seems to have a purpose known only to him.
Personality: Nico is a very driven young man when it comes to some things, at others he’s quite entirely hopeless. It’s all a matter of whether he cares about it or not, but his abilities increase exponentially with personal importance. He’s also prone to changing personalities a the drop of a hat, one minute you may be talking to Bookish Nico then suddenly find your facing I’m Too Good For You Nico, but all in all he’s not such a bad guy, just a bit unpredictable. He tends to avoid hanging around one girl too much because he has a bad habit of being meaninglessly sensual which leads to bad situations of pent up sexual frustration all around.
He rather fancies fashion and obsesses over the way he looks though he keeps this very secretive as he does not want to be accused of being anything other that heterosexual, though this is purely out of fear. In reality Nico loves without prejudice, an annoying habit he tries desperately to stamp out. Often he seems haughty or even hateful because he tries to distance himself from people and he likes nothing so much as seeing someone sputter in impotent rage over something he’s said, but really he’s just afraid to love someone, the more you love, the easier it is to hurt you. He’s also worried show anyone the real Nico because they might not like it, and besides, it’s just so much easier and more fun to be sarcastic. The only thing he considers abnormally special about himself is his extraordinary luck in simple things like card games or coin tosses, almost like the powers of chaos bend to his favor if not to his will.
History: When Nico was born he was cursed with a ridiculous name which he could never really rid himself of. Otherwise he lived a happy life for a few years he had a loving mother, an older sister who he thought was the coolest person in the world, and a really great parrot that could say a lot of things. The only real problem, aside from his awful name, he would have pointed out with this early life would be his distant and rarely present father, not that he even noticed of course. He was too busy being coddled by his mother and sister, both of whom delighted in dressing up the doll-like young Nico.
When he was seven everything went horribly wrong. It had started out nice enough, during a summer trip to the family lake house. He had been outside fishing with his sister, it was damp and rainy and the air was thick with insects but they were determined to have a good time. A midge flew into his eye and hurt him, so in a childish rage he stomped his foot and screamed a wish that all of the bugs would die. They obeyed. It was eerie, a thousand tiny bodies suddenly dropped from the sky and everything went very quiet. His sister had stared at him for a moment before running away screaming for her mum. She had drug both of their parents back to the waters edge, where Nico was sobbing quietly, to show them what he had done. She had called it a portent and since her name was Cassandra everyone gave her a reverent look and nodded. His mother and sister were upset that his fledgling magic had appeared so early and in such a foreboding way, but his father was thrilled. The boy, apparently, showed promise and thus had to be molded. Suddenly Nico was whisked away from the world of girls and tea parties and thrown into harsher things.
He spent the next few years of his life working like a dog, working at studies and playing the violin, learning fencing and junior Quidditch. To his father’s dismay he was good at none of these things. His academics were scarcely more than passable, he was exemplary in English and Art, tolerable at History and Science, and abysmal at Maths. His violin sounded like a tortured cat no matter what he did in attempts to achieve the opposite effect. His sports were the worst, while he was fairly gifted as an athlete (not that he was stronger or faster than other boys, he was just very graceful) every fencing match turned into a brawl and every Quidditch game ended with him being either badly wounded or with him badly wounding someone.
During this time he was often at odds with his father, their screaming matches challenging the very limits good soundproofing charms. Their arguments frequently ended with him fleeing the house and being locked outside for a night, once in the snow. Others would end in more violent ways. He always ended up apologizing, pledging to work harder, to make the family proud. This made his sister extremely angry with him, she called him a lapdog with no brains of his own, she said it was shameful to kowtow to a bully’s wishes. Still she brought him comic books and candy when he was supposed to be studying and always wrote him when she was away at school. She was his hero. His mother seemed to have forgotten him, the shameless socialite and bordering alcoholic that she was it was a wonder she had ever noticed she had a son.
When Nico was nine he discovered a new joy, girls. He spent time watching them, just watching them do ordinary things like talk or read and he loved it. They were beautiful and he wanted to make them more so. He started drawing, first it was just sketches of the girls in their uniforms or casual wear but then he started drawing them clothes. He drew them all in gorgeous outfits no matter if it was formal, casual, or club wear he was drawing for them. Naturally he was horribly ashamed of this and showed the drawings to no one.
His sister ran away from home at the age of sixteen, he was ten. He was devastated, absolutely crushed by the loss of his sister. She had apparently gotten sick of the cycle of exploitation and abuse and just left to find a better life elsewhere. She’d left a note but it hadn’t been much. He had gone back to school lackluster and miserable, every time one of his friends got near him he would push them away. Then one day things went very badly. He had been walking across campus with his sketchbook in hand when a group of boys he had offended at some point decided to have a look at it. They managed to rip it from his grasp and have a look at the contents. That was all it took to get them laughing at cheering, they saw his notes on materials and styles and recited them in high pitched voices. There was, of course, a fight. Three on one was hardly fair, but the boys had brought it upon themselves. Nico had walked away from the fight with three broken ribs, two black eyes, a split lip, a torn ear, and countless bruises, but he had managed to walk away which was more than could be said for two of the other combatants. Naturally he was kicked out, but that was the least of his worries.
His father was pure hatred, not because of the brawl but because of the sketches. Apparently wanting to design clothes was in a category of evil all by itself. That fight he hadn’t walked away from. He’d also learned a new word, far worse than any four letter word carved in a bathroom stall: Crucio. Still, he’d survived but only because his mother was beyond childbearing age.
His Hogwarts letter had been like salvation. It was a place, far away, where he could turn a corner without being accused of being gay. Where he could do whatever he wanted to do with no one to stand in his way, well, sort of. At least no one would hurt him that he couldn’t hurt back in equal measure.
Appearance: Nico is tall, though he looks taller than he is. With long legs, a thin wiry frame, and girlish features he’s not handsome so much as he is pretty. His hair is naturally pale blonde, according to his father because of veela ancestry but there’s no recorded proof of this. He keeps his hair in meticulous spikes nearly an inch high. He has almond shaped eyes that are nothing at all like deepest chocolate or shimmering emeralds, they’re more of a sort of almost bluish grey. His smile is very nice, a little half-smirk with mischief clearly behind it.
There’s an easy way about the way he carries himself, as if the world has nothing better to do than wait for him. Even when he’s running he seems to have hardly a care in the world. He moves gracefully and every smooth motion he makes seems to have a purpose known only to him.
Personality: Nico is a very driven young man when it comes to some things, at others he’s quite entirely hopeless. It’s all a matter of whether he cares about it or not, but his abilities increase exponentially with personal importance. He’s also prone to changing personalities a the drop of a hat, one minute you may be talking to Bookish Nico then suddenly find your facing I’m Too Good For You Nico, but all in all he’s not such a bad guy, just a bit unpredictable. He tends to avoid hanging around one girl too much because he has a bad habit of being meaninglessly sensual which leads to bad situations of pent up sexual frustration all around.
He rather fancies fashion and obsesses over the way he looks though he keeps this very secretive as he does not want to be accused of being anything other that heterosexual, though this is purely out of fear. In reality Nico loves without prejudice, an annoying habit he tries desperately to stamp out. Often he seems haughty or even hateful because he tries to distance himself from people and he likes nothing so much as seeing someone sputter in impotent rage over something he’s said, but really he’s just afraid to love someone, the more you love, the easier it is to hurt you. He’s also worried show anyone the real Nico because they might not like it, and besides, it’s just so much easier and more fun to be sarcastic. The only thing he considers abnormally special about himself is his extraordinary luck in simple things like card games or coin tosses, almost like the powers of chaos bend to his favor if not to his will.
History: When Nico was born he was cursed with a ridiculous name which he could never really rid himself of. Otherwise he lived a happy life for a few years he had a loving mother, an older sister who he thought was the coolest person in the world, and a really great parrot that could say a lot of things. The only real problem, aside from his awful name, he would have pointed out with this early life would be his distant and rarely present father, not that he even noticed of course. He was too busy being coddled by his mother and sister, both of whom delighted in dressing up the doll-like young Nico.
When he was seven everything went horribly wrong. It had started out nice enough, during a summer trip to the family lake house. He had been outside fishing with his sister, it was damp and rainy and the air was thick with insects but they were determined to have a good time. A midge flew into his eye and hurt him, so in a childish rage he stomped his foot and screamed a wish that all of the bugs would die. They obeyed. It was eerie, a thousand tiny bodies suddenly dropped from the sky and everything went very quiet. His sister had stared at him for a moment before running away screaming for her mum. She had drug both of their parents back to the waters edge, where Nico was sobbing quietly, to show them what he had done. She had called it a portent and since her name was Cassandra everyone gave her a reverent look and nodded. His mother and sister were upset that his fledgling magic had appeared so early and in such a foreboding way, but his father was thrilled. The boy, apparently, showed promise and thus had to be molded. Suddenly Nico was whisked away from the world of girls and tea parties and thrown into harsher things.
He spent the next few years of his life working like a dog, working at studies and playing the violin, learning fencing and junior Quidditch. To his father’s dismay he was good at none of these things. His academics were scarcely more than passable, he was exemplary in English and Art, tolerable at History and Science, and abysmal at Maths. His violin sounded like a tortured cat no matter what he did in attempts to achieve the opposite effect. His sports were the worst, while he was fairly gifted as an athlete (not that he was stronger or faster than other boys, he was just very graceful) every fencing match turned into a brawl and every Quidditch game ended with him being either badly wounded or with him badly wounding someone.
During this time he was often at odds with his father, their screaming matches challenging the very limits good soundproofing charms. Their arguments frequently ended with him fleeing the house and being locked outside for a night, once in the snow. Others would end in more violent ways. He always ended up apologizing, pledging to work harder, to make the family proud. This made his sister extremely angry with him, she called him a lapdog with no brains of his own, she said it was shameful to kowtow to a bully’s wishes. Still she brought him comic books and candy when he was supposed to be studying and always wrote him when she was away at school. She was his hero. His mother seemed to have forgotten him, the shameless socialite and bordering alcoholic that she was it was a wonder she had ever noticed she had a son.
When Nico was nine he discovered a new joy, girls. He spent time watching them, just watching them do ordinary things like talk or read and he loved it. They were beautiful and he wanted to make them more so. He started drawing, first it was just sketches of the girls in their uniforms or casual wear but then he started drawing them clothes. He drew them all in gorgeous outfits no matter if it was formal, casual, or club wear he was drawing for them. Naturally he was horribly ashamed of this and showed the drawings to no one.
His sister ran away from home at the age of sixteen, he was ten. He was devastated, absolutely crushed by the loss of his sister. She had apparently gotten sick of the cycle of exploitation and abuse and just left to find a better life elsewhere. She’d left a note but it hadn’t been much. He had gone back to school lackluster and miserable, every time one of his friends got near him he would push them away. Then one day things went very badly. He had been walking across campus with his sketchbook in hand when a group of boys he had offended at some point decided to have a look at it. They managed to rip it from his grasp and have a look at the contents. That was all it took to get them laughing at cheering, they saw his notes on materials and styles and recited them in high pitched voices. There was, of course, a fight. Three on one was hardly fair, but the boys had brought it upon themselves. Nico had walked away from the fight with three broken ribs, two black eyes, a split lip, a torn ear, and countless bruises, but he had managed to walk away which was more than could be said for two of the other combatants. Naturally he was kicked out, but that was the least of his worries.
His father was pure hatred, not because of the brawl but because of the sketches. Apparently wanting to design clothes was in a category of evil all by itself. That fight he hadn’t walked away from. He’d also learned a new word, far worse than any four letter word carved in a bathroom stall: Crucio. Still, he’d survived but only because his mother was beyond childbearing age.
His Hogwarts letter had been like salvation. It was a place, far away, where he could turn a corner without being accused of being gay. Where he could do whatever he wanted to do with no one to stand in his way, well, sort of. At least no one would hurt him that he couldn’t hurt back in equal measure.