Post by Horace Slughorn on Aug 21, 2009 21:46:32 GMT -4
Who Are You?
Your name or nickname: Wednesday Rome :3
Age: 18
How you found us: I dunno, magic
[/b]
Who will you be?
Horace Eugene Francis Slughorn
Age: 50-60?
House: Slytherin
RP Sample:
‘It is not,’ Slughorn thought to himself. It was easy to loose time when you were down in the dudgeons, but by the clock on his desk, it claimed it was seven o’clock. Impossible. He had just been upstairs, where it was as bright as a noon day. The weather certainly had been weird lately. First it was blustery, then it was calm, it was too much for a (graceful) old man to take.
He chuckled to himself and dipped his quill into the ink well he had just uncorked, ready to start his lesson plans, when there was a knock on his door.
Slughorn scowled, good naturally he hoped. And just to make sure, he turned and looked into his mirror. Yes, that was indeed a good nature scowl. With the loudest sigh he could muster, the portly man rose from his chair with some difficulty and called sounding weary, “Coming!”
A small grin creeped on his face. He paused before opened to door to regain that scowl, and then opened the door in an overexagerated way, “Can I help you?”
He said to the open hall. No one was there. This time his scowl was genuine this time. Horace looked down both ways, no one was there. He grumbled under his breath as he returned to his office, now home of a very angry weasel like creature, the swore at his in the most brutal way, and called him names like “Fatty, Tubby, and Porky,” when ever he got close to catching it.
Your name or nickname: Wednesday Rome :3
Age: 18
How you found us: I dunno, magic
[/b]
Who will you be?
Horace Eugene Francis Slughorn
Age: 50-60?
House: Slytherin
RP Sample:
‘It is not,’ Slughorn thought to himself. It was easy to loose time when you were down in the dudgeons, but by the clock on his desk, it claimed it was seven o’clock. Impossible. He had just been upstairs, where it was as bright as a noon day. The weather certainly had been weird lately. First it was blustery, then it was calm, it was too much for a (graceful) old man to take.
He chuckled to himself and dipped his quill into the ink well he had just uncorked, ready to start his lesson plans, when there was a knock on his door.
Slughorn scowled, good naturally he hoped. And just to make sure, he turned and looked into his mirror. Yes, that was indeed a good nature scowl. With the loudest sigh he could muster, the portly man rose from his chair with some difficulty and called sounding weary, “Coming!”
A small grin creeped on his face. He paused before opened to door to regain that scowl, and then opened the door in an overexagerated way, “Can I help you?”
He said to the open hall. No one was there. This time his scowl was genuine this time. Horace looked down both ways, no one was there. He grumbled under his breath as he returned to his office, now home of a very angry weasel like creature, the swore at his in the most brutal way, and called him names like “Fatty, Tubby, and Porky,” when ever he got close to catching it.