Post by Gabriel Oliver Whittington on Nov 27, 2012 23:32:23 GMT -5
| [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 400px; height: 380px; background-image:URL(http://www.pixeden.com/media/k2/galleries/165/001-subtle-light-pattern-background-texture-vol5.jpg) ; border-left: 10px solid #1C161E; border-right: 10px solid #1C161E;] Gabriel Oliver Whittington  full name: Gabriel Oliver Whittington canon or orginial: Original age: 32, October 20 alumni: Ravenclaw House of Hogwarts job: Hogwarts Librarian blood: Muggle-Born wand: Rosewood, 12", Unicorn hair which the professors of his youth noted had a natural affinity for healing and defensive spells. The wand itself is very springy, but has become worn and aged since he first purchased it at Ollivander's. patronus: Narwhal boggart: Failure in every aspect of his life erised: In the Mirror of Erised, he would see himself in an elegant study room. In his arms he would see himself cradling his son or daughter, his wife standing at his shoulder. In the background would he plaques and awards for his various achievements in the scholarly world. birth place: London ------------------------------------------------- Appearance: There really is not a whole lot to be said about Gabriel’s appearance, for it is neither striking in beauty nor striking in hideousness. If it is striking in anything, it is peculiarities not found in his male peers. These peculiarities have always been just that, however: peculiarities and nothing more. Unlike most boys, who begin to fill out and develop into muscular, semi-Grecian archetypes upon puberty, Gabriel remained slim and slight. He grew little in weight and muscle, and certainly not in height. While not short, he remained of average stature, his shoulders narrow and his chest shallow. He retained the long limbs and lankiness of boyhood, defined especially by his thin frame and long, almost graceful neck. He failed to grow facial hair – although this was probably best in the long run as a clean-shaven Gabriel is a much more attractive Gabriel – and remained in a perpetual state of abnormality with his glasses and too-pale complexion. Among his other physical oddities are the defining aspects of his face. To begin with is his hair, a near-black shade that he sports in a relatively shaggy and socially unfashionable manner, which has an awkward amount of curling and is very thick and unmanageable. His eyebrows are equally thick and distracting, and beneath their hooded precipice are his narrow eyes which are a chilling, translucent shade of blue. This is likely his best feature but is often unnerving as it gives others the impression that he is looking right through them. For this, he greatly appreciates the semi-concealment his glasses provide. Then there are his lips which, by themselves, are quite attractive in their distinct fullness and even womanly quality. But because of his bone structure, particularly his cheekbones, which are incredibly defined and pronounced, his face can appear oddly unbalanced at times. There is little attraction to be held in his style of dress, as well. Despite the fact that he is still young, Gabriel dresses as if he were eighty years old. He keeps to conservative and outdated styles, and generally sticks to neutral color schemes such as brown and grey. As a reflection of his financial situation, his jackets and pants often sag on his slight frame, giving clear indication that he shops second-hand and can't afford to have them properly tailored. Perhaps if he parted his hair in a more flattering fashion, or traded his passé, too-long tweed jackets for those of the more popular styles, his peers might be more likely to consider him a good-looking gentleman. However, he remains dull in his fashion efforts and awkward in his physical attributes. Personality: If there’s anything that should be said about Gabriel, it’s that he’s not just book-smart, he’s smart-smart, and there is a definite distinction. While in school, his classmates would slave over their homework, spending hours memorizing the exact ingredients to a Befuddlement Draught (scurvy grass, lovage, and sneezewort, mind you) or poring over pages and pages of Curses and Counter-Curses, Gabriel found that academics came very naturally to him. In Transfiguration he was usually among the first to successfully turn his animal companion into a water goblet, or a textbook into a mouse. In Potions his concoctions rarely backfired, and even in Divination, the professor was positively certain Gabriel was “attuned to the other side.” It didn’t require hour upon hour of studying to ensure high marks on his exams and his academic success was achieved with what seemed to be apparent ease, to the dismay and jealousy of his fellow Ravenclaws, of course. This isn’t to suggest that Gabriel studied less than his classmates, however. Day after day, Gabriel could be found in the library, hovered over a table in a quiet corner, his face nose-deep into the pages of some dry textbooks. Gabriel studied just as much if not more than other students; not because he necessarily needed it, but because he actually enjoyed it. For him, reading, and learning, and studying is the most gratifying experience that he can’t find elsewhere. Gabriel, even today, feels transported whenever he reads, be it fiction or for scholarly purposes. Even more so than other wizards, he’s severely technophobic, wary of the muggle-made machinery, in spite of the fact that he was raised with these technological amenities. Gabriel firmly believes that a book can offer so much more than a radio or an automobile, and considers himself lucky that he’s been given such opportunities to pursue an education that others are denied. Consequently, as both a librarian and a wizard, Gabriel has little tolerance for those who squander the opportunity to learn. As a result, many of his peers and students he educates see him as stodgy and straight-laced. This isn’t an impossible stretch of the imagination, however. His natural demeanor is a resigned and a considerably serious one. He treats people with a kind of abstracted professionalism and is embarrassingly behind on subjects such as pop culture and entertainment. As if he needed another excuse to be further off-putting, Gabriel’s lack of modernism and fondness for all things archaic gives him the inclination to pretension. He expects others to be as well-read and knowledgeable as he, and when they fall short, he is quick to make judgments and write them off. Moreover, whenever asked a question, no matter how complex or out of his field of expertise, Gabriel is likely to answer it in his long, drawn-out prose with absolute assurance in himself whether he is right or wrong. Like many lovers for the pursuit of knowledge, Gabriel decidedly prefers the company of dusty old volumes to actual people. From the onset of early adolescence, Gabriel has always been an introvert. Whether this is due to his upbringing in a suffocating household with siblings he could little relate to, or simply a natural product of genetics, Gabriel isn't sure. But throughout his school years at Hogwarts and onward into adulthood, he has successfully made himself a perpetual yet comfortable recluse. His withdrawn nature is so extreme that he frequently finds himself feeling physically and mentally exhausted by the company of others, as if the presence of people literally drains the life out of him. He felt this even at a young age. He would be with his vain sister Maura or his ambitious brother James and feel reduced to shambles. It was only when he dismissed himself from them and receded into the quiet solace of his room that he could, <i>recharge</i>, in a sense. This attribute has severely affected his relationships. He is incredibly slow to make friends, largely due to the fact that meeting people for the first time makes his stomach turn. He intentionally avoids going out or meeting new people because he considers it one of the most nerve-wracking experiences. He constantly feels at a loss for what to say and is under the impression that he is boring them. This was particularly intense when he was a teenager, but he has since then gotten better at taming his nerves. However, it should come as to no surprise that he has few friends whom he considers close, and romantic relationships have always been painstaking for him. He rarely goes on dates – though friends in the past have wrangled him into set-ups on more than one occasion – and has had only two serious girlfriends in his life. Needless to say, his prospects are generally few. One of Gabriel’s best qualities – albeit a testament to his tendency to go unacknowledged– is his observant nature. He is incredibly attentive to other people, though they are generally unaware of him. As a result, he has a thousand insignificant details about others stored in the vast library of his brain, whether he’s been formally introduced to them or not. His constant watchfulness of other people has inevitably made him over the years very perceptive. Although he’s not the first person people go to with their problems, he’s extremely understanding and empathetic. This does not mean he’s a keen listener, however, as he has a penchant to daydream. Gabriel comes from a wealthy but stifling Muggle family. His siblings were, and still are, particularly vile, and his father is much more concerned with the welfare of his financial portfolio than that of his children. This, combined with his love for transporting himself into worlds of fiction, have made Gabriel feel displaced in the world in which he lives. He constantly wonders if he was born in the right time and place, perhaps he might be better off if he’d been born in Impressionist Paris, 18th century New England, or Imperial Russia, et cetera. Inwardly he feels separate from everyone around him, like a manatee in a glass box at the aquarium, watching the silhouettes of his faceless spectators. He is made detached, finds himself continually losing the thread of a conversation, a permanent resident in the cloisters of his brain. In addition to his calm demeanor, many find Gabriel to be very awkward, particularly in social circumstances. He never laughs at the right jokes and fails to contribute much to the conversation at hand. Usually when he is forced into social engagements, he sits idly by, twiddling his thumbs while hoping someone will bring up the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct, or The Uprise of Elfric the Eager, or that the conversation will eventually come to an end. In spite of his awkwardness and withdrawn nature, Gabriel possesses a moderate level of wit that is wasted on most people. His manner of humor is usually sarcastic and dry, often going right over people’s heads. On occasions when he does spout a joke, it is generally considered humorless to others because of his tendency to use wordplay or make obscure references to magical history. Background: He was born Gabriel Oliver Whittington, the son of real estate tycoon Gerard Whittington and beautiful socialite Amelia Whittington. Gabriel was the youngest of three: his sister Maura being the middle child, and his brother James the eldest and favorite. The Whittington family possessed a long history of wealth and respect in the social scheme of London. The Whittington family, particularly Whittington Industries, was largely responsible for the urbanization and metropolitan construction that would eventually lead to modern-day London. Upon his graduation from Hogwarts, Gabriel maintained what some would call, an aimless existence. Despite his academic success and obvious intelligence, Gabriel failed to find his niche in the world, wizarding or otherwise. For several months he humbly occupied the dens and couches of his classmates from school while sending out job applications. Eventually The Daily Prophet granted him an unpaid internship, of which he spent most of his time answering owls and writing uncredited responses on Zamira Gulch's behalf, the advice columnist for magical problems. This lasted six months and afterward he performed odd jobs that made very little in the way of galleons. When he was twenty-two, he returned to muggle London, thinking that perhaps he was not meant for the wizarding world. He attempted to plant himself in the publishing industries, having always possessed a love of learning and literature. He sought out tutoring positions, internships at publishing houses, and part-time jobs at mainstream book retailers. But considering he had neither a high school nor university education in the muggle world, he survived there for a very short while. When he returned to the magical world, he was down-trodden and essentially in poverty. But to his great relief he was soon given a part-time position at the bookshop Tomes & Scrolls in Hogsmeade Village. He worked there for several years and fell in love with the process of inventory and alphabetizing, adored poring over ancient texts and volumes, and felt as if he had finally found something that he could excel at. Eventually he left Tomes & Scrolls, but not without the pursuit of his new-found aspirations. For the past five years, Gabriel managed a quaint if somewhat floundering bookshop in Diagon Alley which he called Bewitching Books & Things. In spite of having never had a strong head for business, the shop managed to stay open but failed to be especially profitable. Eventually, the shop failed to match its larger and more successful competitors and inevitably went under. Gabriel has only very recently procured a position as the new Hogwarts librarian. |
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your alias: Allison
a roleplay sample: From a Victorian Era roleplay
“I’m sorry, I must have misheard. You are what?”
From the perspective of the parlor window, Gabriel Whittington could see the vast expanse of the Whittington grounds, and all that sprawled beyond it. At the first gesture of morning, the sun rose from its lonesome bedding of dark clouds. The stars had faded into the pale teal of the sky. A light fog had clung to everything in sight, casting the entirety of the place in an unnatural paleness, as if the world was only half-awake. As the day progressed, the sun had gleamed brighter although the fog still prevailed. Gabriel was fond of days like this; days when a storm stood at the edge of a precipice, and the world was holding its breath in anticipation. Gabriel could have stared on forever had it not been for his friend’s incredulous explanation.
With a frank expression, Gabriel half-turned to face his friend who sat reclined in the red velvet armchair. Deciding the conversation would require more than his half-hearted attention, he moved to sit in the chair opposite his friend, and folded his arms calmly.
“Your hearing is fine, Rupert. I’m engaged.”
“Oh what is that outside? One of the Groomsmen of the Apocalypse?”
A rare smile – albeit, a wry one – appeared faintly on his lips. “You jest but the fact remains the same. I’ll be wed soon and quietly.”
“My condolences to the bride.”
Gabriel laughed then. He and Lord Rupert Doyle had been close friends since Gabriel had attended university. Unlike most of the Victorian social scheme, Rupert readily welcomed friends, was unconcerned with the reputation of others, and didn’t pass his time debating scientific theories and discussing Her Majesty’s health. And unlike Gabriel, Rupert was adventurous and daring. He was always without fear, wild in a certain sense. The ginger-haired lord was for the most part Gabriel’s only friend other than the odd acquaintance. This was perhaps unusual, but Gabriel decided Rupert was exciting enough for twenty people.
“Who is she? She must be a half-fit or completely desperate to consent to marrying you.”
This brought forth a hesitation on Gabriel’s part. He knew the woman’s name, what she looked like, her family circumstance, but he really knew nothing substantial about her. “Olivia Stephens, a viscount’s step-daughter apparently. I sent a note to the viscount and he accepted my proposal readily. To be honest I was a little taken aback. I would have thought, as a viscount, he might want to weigh his options.”
“Perhaps she’s a dog.”
“Charming, Rupert. No, I’ve seen her in person. I didn’t speak to her, of course. But…”
“Yes?”
“She’s actually quite lovely,” he was silent for a beat and then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Although I suppose she could be a real imbecile. She is, after all, several years past her debut.”
“Men don’t care about intelligence, Gabriel. The only thing we care about is how willing the girl-”
“You can stop right there,” Despite the crudity, Gabriel smiled fondly at his friend, but once more his expression became thoughtful. “I know it’s unorthodox, but I actually care about those things. If I’m going to be tied at the wrist to her for the rest of my life—“
“That a boy!” Rupert cheered.
“—I ‘d like to be able to discuss something other than crinolines and Lady Devonshire’s masquerades.”
Gabriel supposed he’d had, by the standards of the modest time, a good deal of sex for his age. Women, or a certain kind of girl, liked him. He was what middle-class women fancied; a handsome, wealthy man who had his share of troubles and consequently was willing to look past theirs. The scandalous vixens of the aristocracy liked him because he was the sort they could spend a clandestine night with and delight in the adrenaline the day after. They had slept with Gabriel Whittington! They could secretly lay claim to seducing the bastard! He was their concealed accomplishment, the man they coyly smiled about in the dark of the night as they lay in the sanctity of their beds. He of course had money and a family name. He wasn’t ugly and even more important, he had his loneliness, which as every fool knew was a deadly weapon with women.
He did not collect conquests, but by the time he had left University he was a half a dozen girls away from virginity, a respectable feat considering the prudishness of many of the women, and the risk of a love affair on a presumably ‘innocent’ girl’s reputation. Beyond these sexual experiences, however, he had been unsuccessful in formal relationships. This was to be expected, of course. No proper lady of society wanted him. He was wealthy. His grandfather was to this day a revered figure in the social scene despite having long passed. However, he was unclean. His reputation was blackened. His social behavior was questionable at best. To put it frankly, no self-respecting woman would risk courting Gabriel Whittington if they dared care about their social future.
What was worse was that all of the scandal surrounding him was not of his doing. He had to suffer for the consequences of his family. Rather than be given the benefit of the doubt as a victim, he was the one to endure the exchanged glances and quiet laughs. His family, who was to be rightly blamed, had been able to get out easy; his grandfather was long dead and his father was too drunk to care. Meanwhile Gabriel sought the privacy of his estate, too sick to bother with the gossip, and too sick to change anything.
Which was why when he had spied Olivia Stephens, he felt he had found an opportunity at long last. She was perfect. She was older than most unmarried women and therefore, probably didn’t have many suitors drooling after her skirts, thus securing the likelihood of his marriage proposal. More so, she wasn’t awful to look at. Gabriel wagered she looked better than most of the wives of his peers. He wanted someone who would not bother him. He wanted someone who would finally dispel all of those rumors and give him a chance at a normal, quiet life, devoid of gossip and overeager whispers.
Admittedly, Gabriel had a nose for emotional blackmail. He thought it must be nice to be totally alone in the world, to have no family ties. He liked the idea of a wall of glass between him and the rest of the world. He had a desolate estate by the seaside. He had never been there but had inherited it from his grandfather upon his death. Often he dreamed about leaving this place and going there forever. It was idyllic. He dreamed about standing on a ledge at the sea and the edge of the world. He would watch the stasrk white birds dip and wheel against the grey sky, watch the lightning flash in the distance, listen to the sounds of the waves swelling and swelling against the bay. It was there, he was certain – the life he had always wanted. Yet something unnamable continued to hold him back.
As the afternoon waned, Rupert excused himself as his in-laws were intending to visiting – of which he was dreading – and knew his wife would be sour if he did not at least pretend he cared.
Evening came – sooner than he had anticipated - and Gabriel arrived at the Stephens estate just before the rain began to fall. He was surprised at how nervous he was; he hadn’t expected this, at all. After all, he wasn’t concerned with impressing anyone. The deal was done. The viscount was aware of both his immense wealth and his tasteless reputation. He wasn’t looking for love or the perfect companion. This was tradition. This was what had to be done. He had thought he had convinced himself that he didn’t care what the rest of the aristocracy of London thought about him; but now he realized that it was their acceptance that he wanted more than ever.
[/ quote]
From the perspective of the parlor window, Gabriel Whittington could see the vast expanse of the Whittington grounds, and all that sprawled beyond it. At the first gesture of morning, the sun rose from its lonesome bedding of dark clouds. The stars had faded into the pale teal of the sky. A light fog had clung to everything in sight, casting the entirety of the place in an unnatural paleness, as if the world was only half-awake. As the day progressed, the sun had gleamed brighter although the fog still prevailed. Gabriel was fond of days like this; days when a storm stood at the edge of a precipice, and the world was holding its breath in anticipation. Gabriel could have stared on forever had it not been for his friend’s incredulous explanation.
With a frank expression, Gabriel half-turned to face his friend who sat reclined in the red velvet armchair. Deciding the conversation would require more than his half-hearted attention, he moved to sit in the chair opposite his friend, and folded his arms calmly.
“Your hearing is fine, Rupert. I’m engaged.”
“Oh what is that outside? One of the Groomsmen of the Apocalypse?”
A rare smile – albeit, a wry one – appeared faintly on his lips. “You jest but the fact remains the same. I’ll be wed soon and quietly.”
“My condolences to the bride.”
Gabriel laughed then. He and Lord Rupert Doyle had been close friends since Gabriel had attended university. Unlike most of the Victorian social scheme, Rupert readily welcomed friends, was unconcerned with the reputation of others, and didn’t pass his time debating scientific theories and discussing Her Majesty’s health. And unlike Gabriel, Rupert was adventurous and daring. He was always without fear, wild in a certain sense. The ginger-haired lord was for the most part Gabriel’s only friend other than the odd acquaintance. This was perhaps unusual, but Gabriel decided Rupert was exciting enough for twenty people.
“Who is she? She must be a half-fit or completely desperate to consent to marrying you.”
This brought forth a hesitation on Gabriel’s part. He knew the woman’s name, what she looked like, her family circumstance, but he really knew nothing substantial about her. “Olivia Stephens, a viscount’s step-daughter apparently. I sent a note to the viscount and he accepted my proposal readily. To be honest I was a little taken aback. I would have thought, as a viscount, he might want to weigh his options.”
“Perhaps she’s a dog.”
“Charming, Rupert. No, I’ve seen her in person. I didn’t speak to her, of course. But…”
“Yes?”
“She’s actually quite lovely,” he was silent for a beat and then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Although I suppose she could be a real imbecile. She is, after all, several years past her debut.”
“Men don’t care about intelligence, Gabriel. The only thing we care about is how willing the girl-”
“You can stop right there,” Despite the crudity, Gabriel smiled fondly at his friend, but once more his expression became thoughtful. “I know it’s unorthodox, but I actually care about those things. If I’m going to be tied at the wrist to her for the rest of my life—“
“That a boy!” Rupert cheered.
“—I ‘d like to be able to discuss something other than crinolines and Lady Devonshire’s masquerades.”
Gabriel supposed he’d had, by the standards of the modest time, a good deal of sex for his age. Women, or a certain kind of girl, liked him. He was what middle-class women fancied; a handsome, wealthy man who had his share of troubles and consequently was willing to look past theirs. The scandalous vixens of the aristocracy liked him because he was the sort they could spend a clandestine night with and delight in the adrenaline the day after. They had slept with Gabriel Whittington! They could secretly lay claim to seducing the bastard! He was their concealed accomplishment, the man they coyly smiled about in the dark of the night as they lay in the sanctity of their beds. He of course had money and a family name. He wasn’t ugly and even more important, he had his loneliness, which as every fool knew was a deadly weapon with women.
He did not collect conquests, but by the time he had left University he was a half a dozen girls away from virginity, a respectable feat considering the prudishness of many of the women, and the risk of a love affair on a presumably ‘innocent’ girl’s reputation. Beyond these sexual experiences, however, he had been unsuccessful in formal relationships. This was to be expected, of course. No proper lady of society wanted him. He was wealthy. His grandfather was to this day a revered figure in the social scene despite having long passed. However, he was unclean. His reputation was blackened. His social behavior was questionable at best. To put it frankly, no self-respecting woman would risk courting Gabriel Whittington if they dared care about their social future.
What was worse was that all of the scandal surrounding him was not of his doing. He had to suffer for the consequences of his family. Rather than be given the benefit of the doubt as a victim, he was the one to endure the exchanged glances and quiet laughs. His family, who was to be rightly blamed, had been able to get out easy; his grandfather was long dead and his father was too drunk to care. Meanwhile Gabriel sought the privacy of his estate, too sick to bother with the gossip, and too sick to change anything.
Which was why when he had spied Olivia Stephens, he felt he had found an opportunity at long last. She was perfect. She was older than most unmarried women and therefore, probably didn’t have many suitors drooling after her skirts, thus securing the likelihood of his marriage proposal. More so, she wasn’t awful to look at. Gabriel wagered she looked better than most of the wives of his peers. He wanted someone who would not bother him. He wanted someone who would finally dispel all of those rumors and give him a chance at a normal, quiet life, devoid of gossip and overeager whispers.
Admittedly, Gabriel had a nose for emotional blackmail. He thought it must be nice to be totally alone in the world, to have no family ties. He liked the idea of a wall of glass between him and the rest of the world. He had a desolate estate by the seaside. He had never been there but had inherited it from his grandfather upon his death. Often he dreamed about leaving this place and going there forever. It was idyllic. He dreamed about standing on a ledge at the sea and the edge of the world. He would watch the stasrk white birds dip and wheel against the grey sky, watch the lightning flash in the distance, listen to the sounds of the waves swelling and swelling against the bay. It was there, he was certain – the life he had always wanted. Yet something unnamable continued to hold him back.
As the afternoon waned, Rupert excused himself as his in-laws were intending to visiting – of which he was dreading – and knew his wife would be sour if he did not at least pretend he cared.
Evening came – sooner than he had anticipated - and Gabriel arrived at the Stephens estate just before the rain began to fall. He was surprised at how nervous he was; he hadn’t expected this, at all. After all, he wasn’t concerned with impressing anyone. The deal was done. The viscount was aware of both his immense wealth and his tasteless reputation. He wasn’t looking for love or the perfect companion. This was tradition. This was what had to be done. He had thought he had convinced himself that he didn’t care what the rest of the aristocracy of London thought about him; but now he realized that it was their acceptance that he wanted more than ever.
[/ quote]
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