MCDONALD, jerome everett

[l1]

jerome everett mcdonald

THE SCARS OF YOUR LOVE

remind me of us - - - - - -[/center]

full name: jerome everett mcdonald
nicknames: jorry
birthday: march twenty-eight
age: nineteen
house/school: ravenclaw
alliance: death eater
blood status: pure
occupation: hit wizard (in training)
face claim: bastien grimal

WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL

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rolling in the deep - - - - - -[/center]

likes:
[+] acting under others' orders
[+] fitting in
[+] making his family proud
[+] going to parties
[+] flirting
[+] flying
[+] sleeping in on weekdays (take that society!)
[+] snow
[+] beauty
[+] anything rare and/or expensive

dislikes:
[x] being in charge
[x] having too much responsibility
[x] having to think for himself
[x] being made fun of
[x] getting in trouble
[x] being dubbed a failure
[x] muggle things (they're confusing)
[x] self pity, on himself or others
[x] messing up
[x] things that try to eat and/or kill him

strengths:
doing what he's told

Jorry is the ultimate sidekick. He does whatever he's told, whenever he's told to do it. And he doesn't half-arse it; he does it well, to the best of his ability. He doesn't ask questions, and has complete faith in his superiors. In fact, he's one of those rare few who likes following orders. He doesn't aspire to take over control of this or that, and in fact, rues the day he has to think of anything for himself. So in short, he's the perfect toy soldier!

intelligent

Despite being (for the most part) a mindless zombie slave, Jorry's actually got quite a good head on his shoulders. He's very good at coming up with quick fixes for any situation, and stores an encyclopaedia of everything from spells to capital cities in his head. He has an insanely good memory for facts and maps, one that can only be christened eidetic, and seems to remember absolutely everything he's ever read. However, people seldom notice this (at least the tactics part) considering he seldom speaks out, and never against his superiors, automatically supposing everything they do is ten times better than anything he could come up with.

potions

Jorry's always been amazing at potions -- mostly because the only thing required for them is a set of instructions, and he's very good at following instructions. He's very precise with his ingredients, using only the best quality that money can buy (because goodness knows his family has money), and due to the arsenal in his head, he can make you practically anything at any time without need for a manual.

weaknesses:
morality

Normally, when one puts 'morality' as a weakness, one would think it would be because someone is lacking it. Not Jorry though. His sense of morality is fully in tact, and it leads him to question his actions and pity his victims. He feels remorse and self-loathing, and there's nothing he can do about it. And that's definitely a weakness for a Death Eater, and even more so for one who's attempting to be a hit wizard. In fact, becoming a Death Eater wasn't even his idea, nor his real ambition in life. He's only doing it because it's what his sisters have done.

taking control

There's nothing that scares Jorry more than being in charge. He's very go-with-the-flow, so making decisions is something he's not used to doing, especially massive ones that affect more lives than just his own. Because of that, Jorry does his best to stay hidden in the shadows when it's time to lead some sort of... anything really. From a protest to a killing or even just the setting up the annual Death Eater picnic. He'd much rather let someone else do it and let them reap the rewards -- or, as he's far more afraid of, the punishments.

easily provoked

Despite being the sort who likes to lay low, it's not at all hard to get Jorry angry. Like it or not, he's not a hundred per cent confident in who he is and what he does, so even a few words taken the wrong way will have him flying off the handle. And, depending on the situation, he'll whip out his wand and defend himself, though he far prefers to play it by fist -- that way he's pretty sure he can't accidentally kill someone.

dementor: Jorry's worst memory is easy to pick out. He was seventeen, and he was in love. Her name was Hannah, and she was beautiful, and sweet, and funny. And, unfortunately for him, muggle born. It didn't bother him any; he could never really see what all the hubbub was about with pure bloods or half bloods or muggle borns. People were people. His parents didn't share the same view. When they found out, they went ballistic, screaming at him and cursing him, telling him how he had brought shame upon their family; his father hit him. For the first time ever, and Jorry wore the poppy bruise over his eye for ages, so he couldn't forget. But he did love her -- ever so much. And yet, he was a dutiful child, and always had been. They commanded him to break it off, and so he did. He told her horrible things, none of which were true. But he remembers how she wept and yelled at him, and even now, after two years, the pain is as fresh as though it had all happened yesterday.

patronus: ELK STAG. These days, Jorry's best memory consists of the same thing as his worst: Hannah. The smell of her hair, her soft fingers, her bright red lips and shimmering hair, as dark and rich as chocolate. He knows he's still in love with her, but he dare not admit it, to himself or anyone else. So, for the moment, she remains his guilty pleasure and his sweetest memory.

sexuality & relationship status: straight; single

I HEARD ONE ON YOU

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ill make your head burn - - -[/center]

father: victor mcdonald, 56, ministry worker
mother: rheanna mcdonald, 49, house wife
siblings: --- --- mcdonald, 23, gryffindor ; --- --- mcdonald, 21, ravenclaw
others: none
overall history:

Jerome's life has been nothing extraordinary or unique. In fact, he finds that it's quite the same as many other purebloods he knows.

He was born in a stately manner in Wiltshire, in a very wealthy wizarding community. He was the last of the Mcdonald brood, and the only boy. His parents were not unkind to them; in fact, Victor and Rheanna rather spoiled their children, buying them the best of everything. He grew up playing with all the right people... or their children anyway, and they always said he had a bright future ahead of him. They said that for all three of the children of course, but it didn't make it any less true.

From the start, his parents knew he was a bright child. He remembered everything. He could recite back what they told him or a page in a book word for word every time, and they had great fun showing it off to their friends when they came over; they had a bad habit of flaunting their children, completely and totally convinced that theirs were the best the world had to offer.

He grew up very close to his sisters, and didn't mind at all when they bossed him around or dressed him up like one of their dolls, smearing lipstick on his cheeks and eyeshadow all over his face. Until he got older of course; then he drew the line at playing dolls. Nevertheless, he still allowed them to lord over him, and he allowed his parents to do the same. He was obedient, and polite, and his parents were very proud of that.

At eleven, he got his letter to Hogwarts, as was expected. Though naturally, he was very excited. He was sorted into Ravenclaw, which made him beam from ear to ear at the thought that he was in the same house as one of his sisters. Frankly, the sorting came as a surprise to no one, except perhaps him. His parents had known for ages that he was destined for Ravenclaw, whether he liked it or not -- though he wound up liking it quite a bit.

The fact that they were all at school didn't stop his sisters from bossing him around, and naturally it didn't stop him from jumping at the chance to obey their each and every whim. He held open doors, carried books and bags, sharpened quills, and made friends with the people they chose for him. He hated everyone they hated, naturally, and dated the girls they approved of. Until he was seventeen, when he fell madly in love with a muggleborn girl.

Unlike the rest of his family, Jerome had never seen the difference between one blood type and another, so the fact that her parents were muggles didn't bother him at all. However, he knew what would happen if his sisters found out, so for months he kept her blood status a secret from them, and at the same time, attempted to keep that a secret from Hannah. Of course, it all blew up in his face. His sisters found out, and they were not happy. They demanded he leave her, and for the first time in his life Jorry denied them. So naturally, they brought it to their higher-ups: Mum and Dad. Who, unsurprisingly, were absolutely furious. Jorry's iron will withered then, and he did precisely as they told him to, breaking it off with Hannah in a way that pained them both, but pleased his parents, though they still seethed about his betrayal to his blood.

The rest of his time at Hogwarts went forth without much trouble. He got straight Os, had friends his parents approved of, and never spoke to Hannah again -- though that didn't mean he couldn't think about her.

He graduated at the top of his class, and instantly got a job with the ministry, both because of his good marks and his father's influence. He quickly became an apprentice Hit Wizard, and now spends his time at work both hating his job and trying to excel in it to make his parents proud. It was around this time that he became a Death Eater, more out of necessity than anything else. He didn't agree with their ideals and their philosophy, but what choice did he have? His sisters were both Death Eaters, and it was clear that he was expected to become one as well. So without a second thought, he allowed them to brand him with the Dark Mark, once again being the obedient son and brother that he always was.

YOUR GOING TO WISH

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you had never met me - - - - - -[/center]

name/alias: lotus
gender: boobies!
age: 17
contact: pm is good; i never log on to my msn!
how you found us: a link from another site, though I can't really remember which one -dies-
other characters: none
experience: two months
role play sample:

Christian sat ontop of his table, a book in his hands. His heavy textbook was cracked open in the middle, and he mouthed the words as he read, attempting to memorize the text that sat before him. But it wasn’t his homework he was doing, though goodness knows it should have been. Instead, he was reading a thin poetry book he had hidden between the pages – just in case his professor should come along. This was class time, technically. Even though all they were doing was library research. But he had a month to do research, and his brain didn’t function all that well right before lunch.
He crunched down on a bright red apple, feeling the juice flood into his mouth, sweet and supple and oh so amazing. Quickly, he glanced over at the clock hanging on the wall behind him – still forty minutes to go before class ended. Bugger.

He turned back to his book, housing a dozen or so poems from one of his favourite muggle writers, Seamus Heaney. Unlike most of his other favourites, Heaney did not normally write of love. But there was beauty and romance in his poems still, and that was what Christian loved about them. That was what Christian loved about everything, in truth.

Christian half shut the book and looked up at the ceiling. “I saw him for the first time in six weeks. Paler now, a poppy bruise on his left temple, he lay in the four foot box as in his cot. No gaudy scars, the bumper knocked him clear. A four foot box, a foot for every year,” he recited in a whisper before glancing down to check his work. He bashed his hand frustrated against the desktop. “Wearing,” he corrected himself. “Wearing a poppy bruise. Why can’t I remember that?”

He shut the book with a snap and glanced back at the clock. Thirty-eight minutes. What was he supposed to do for thirty-eight minutes? He supposed he could do his work, but frankly he couldn’t be bothered. Maybe he’d go to the Shakespeare section and pull something out at random. He could never read any of his plays too often. They never got boring; the words were beautiful, the meanings glorious.

He pushed himself off the table, tucking his textbook under his arm (he still had appearances to keep up after all – his professor was lurking around here somewhere), and made his way towards the extensive muggle section, and once he was there, to his favourite shelf in the library. Once there, he ran his fingers gently over the ancient spines – the collection at Whitehorn was old, almost as old as the bard himself, and which was a thrilling thought.

His fingers stopped at his favourite – Romeo and Juliet, naturally. He had the whole play pretty much memorized, word for word, but all the same – nothing beat the feeling of a book in the hand: the crisp pages, the way it fit so soundly and naturally in his hands, the weight of it and the promise of the magic inside.

He smiled to himself as he pulled the cover open. “Two house holds, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene…” he muttered as he flipped through the editor’s notes.

Dull post is dull!

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[meme2]

accepted,

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please ensure to claim everything <3[/center]