Post by Ms. Macnair on Oct 26, 2008 23:50:14 GMT -5
[/b]
((BrookeCardellaMacnair))
""Do you know what I'd like to do to you?"
Full Name»»
Brooke Cardella Macnair
Date Born»» [/b]
October 20, 1997
Age»» [/b]
24 Years Old
Gender»» [/b]
Female
Religion»» [/b]
None.
Former House»» [/b]
Ravenclaw
Class Taught»» [/b]
Assistant Professor
Sexual Orientation»» [/b]
Lesbian
Pet/s/»» [/b]
Two cats, one brindled gray named Anvil and an orange one named Tugger.
Blood Status»» [/b]
Pureblood
Wand»» [/b]
Ebony, nine inches, phoenix feather core. Good with transfiguration in particular.
---------------------------------
(( abetterviewofyourheart ))
personality.
personality.
First Impression»» [/b]
Three words describe Brooke: fiery, reliable, and judgmental.
Fiery: Brooke was born and raised to fight for the things that she wanted. Quick-witted and impulsive, she disregards the rules set by her family and society to pursue paths that satisfy nothing but her own desires. Brooke is brazen and bold, too much so for a woman in her position, yet she is determined to make her own decisions. With a temper that can be easily ignited, Brooke's personality can best be described as combustible.
Reliable: As constant as a northern star, Brooke is known for her dependability. Regardless of the fact that her actions are spontaneous, her strict moral code never wavers, and if she believes that something is wrong, she hates it with all her heart. Despite all of her capricious behavior, Brooke will always be there at the end of the day for the people that need her.
Judgmental: Without really knowing a person, Brooke has a tendency to condemn someone based upon appearance or behavior. She can be extremely intuitive and understanding, but because she trusts her instincts over proper protocol, Brooke will avoid anybody that strikes her as offensive or irritating. She holds everybody up to her own self-standards (which are extremely scrupulous), and she often finds that most people fall short. It is rare that Brooke finds somebody that meets her requirements.
Self Image»» [/b]
In comparison to the arrogance of her siblings, Brooke is practically humble. Unlike the raven haired demi-gods on her father's side of the family, Brooke is short, curvy, and much more Weasley than Macnair. Born with red hair and blue eyes, her paleness is the only thing that she and the rest of the family brood have in common...that and a pair of unusually full lips. Begonia is the only exception. To stand next to her oldest sibling is to give the world a shock, for Brooke is the brighter, crimson version of her poisonously pretty sister.
Positive Traits»» [/b]
- Honesty- Unless a situation expressly calls for it, Brooke will never tell a lie, especially not in casual conversation.
- Athletic- Spending at least two hours a day outside on her broomstick, Brooke has also taken up the muggle pastime of jogging (much to her family’s chagrin).
- Transfiguration- Ever since she was a first year, Brooke had a special talent when it came to this subject. She’s still working on it, but one day Brooke intends to be a fully competent animagus.
- Listening- Brooke is an excellent person to confide in, not only because she is trustworthy, but also because she seems to know the answer to every situation.
- Adventurous- Brooke is willing to try just about anything once, no matter how taboo or shocking.
Negative Traits»» [/b]
- Harsh- Brooke is opinionated and blunt when confronted or provoked. Once you get her fired up, she will go to great lengths to retaliate.
- Trusting- Brooke is too quick to trust. She wants to see the good in people, but while she is hardly naïve, Brooke will give the benefit of the doubt where most people would not.
- Competitive- Especially when it comes to sports or academics, Brooke is quick to arms and will not back down from a challenge, no matter how great.
- Impulsive- Brooke doesn’t think before she acts if she really wants something. She just does it, and deals with the consequences later.
- Fearless- Brooke would jump off a cliff in the hopes of landing on the back of a wild dragon if somebody dared her to do it. She has plenty of common sense, but she often chooses to ignore it.
Likes»» [/b]
- The smell of rain
- Complaining with Helena
- Being the best
- Cuddling with her cats
- Learning calligraphy
- Early morning jogs
- Flying in good conditions
- Kissing somebody for the first time
- Swimming at night
Dislikes»» [/b]
- Being the last person awake
- Having a cold
- Grape flavored anything
- Bulldogs
- Rude people
- The close-minded
- Ignorance
---------------------------------
(( watchedourlivesonascreen ))
appearance.
appearance.
Height»» [/b]
5’4
Weight»» [/b]
120 Pounds
Eye Color»» [/b]
Dark Blue
Hair Color»» [/b]
Rusty Red
Skin Color»» [/b]
Very White. She simply can not tan.
Body Build»» [/b]
Athletic (but not ripped).
Nationality»» [/b]
Irish/English
Distinctive Features»» [/b]
Brooke’s lips are extremely full and unnaturally red. She consistently looks like she’s just finished eating a cherry popsickle.
Dress Style»» [/b]
At home, Brooke dresses the way pureblood women are expected to: Long heavy robes made from expensive fabrics, impractical gowns dripping to the floor, satin slippers, painful heels, and silky nightgowns scented with rose extract. Away from home, however, finds Brooke in jeans, tanktops, and fashionable blouses that show ample amounts of skin.
---------------------------------
(( nothingtoseeyouthrough ))
school life.
school life.
Social Status»» [/b]
Brooke gets along with other people but doesn't make many real friends, and at school her position as an assistant creates a wall between her and the full-time professors. She’s great when with peers, however, and can be the life of the party if she chooses to be.
Alliance»» [/b]
TOR
Career Goal»» [/b]
Brooke would love to be a famous Quidditch player, but she’s currently amassing hours in the classroom so that she can transfer over to an all girl’s school called the Salem Witch Academy, located in America. There, she plans to teach transfiguration.
Other»» [/b]
Brooke has a small tattoo of a butterfly right above her left hip bone.
---------------------------------
(( iwassodrowsythen ))
history.
history.
Family»» [/b]
Father: Gabriel Macnair
Mother: Avery Weasley-Macnair
Sister: Begonia Macnair
Brother: Cain Macnair
Sister: Belle Macnair
Sister: Bernadette Macnair
Sister: Beatrice Macnair
Past»» [/b]
The day Brooke was born, an unusually strong wind was blowing coldly against a slate gray sky. Avery Macnair was in the master bedroom, swollen with pregnancy, and a ten year old Begonia sat primly beside her. Midwives were in position, house elves teetering between rooms, and Mrs. Macnair's red eyes were set.
"Begonia, where is your sister?"
As if she had been summoned, Belle appeared at the door in a silent rustle of dark purple fabric. Curly black hair was gathered away from her plump girlish face, and she approached, pulling up a chair beside her older sister. Begonia scowled at the seven year old as she sat.
"The baby is almost here. I want you both to see this."
Then Mrs. Macnair shut her eyes, a spasm of pain running through her, and her oldest daughters leaned close. Twin expressions of anxious ambition stared at Mrs. Macnair, and it was clear that each girl was eager to prove her superiority to the other by being the first to comfort their tortured mother.
"It's alright mom," Begonia sang sweetly, pushing Belle out of immediate sight.
"Yes, don't worry," Belle added, avoiding Begonia's sharp elbow.
Mrs. Macnair only groaned louder, wearied by the thought of her impending labor, and she didn't have time to play favorites. A matronly midwife who was looking on immediately swooped over, banishing the girls to seperate corners of the room, and it was then that they began to scheme. The newest Macnair would either be a curse or a weapon, and by the end of it all, one of them would be on the wrong end of that equation. They knew what needed to be done, and as they glared hatefully at each other from across the room, they both thought the same exact thing...
The newest Macnair would be theirs.
However, when Brooke came out writhing and screaming, they realized they had never been more wrong. Rush red hair was as soft as a sigh, precious blue eyes glinted intelligently, and as Brooke bellowed, the sisters stared. This child, with all of her fiery pink skin and feral cries, would not be domesticated, and all of the competitiveness leaked out of the oldest Macnair sisters the second they laid eyes on her.
Brooke was an impossible child. She refused to obey anybody, cried when she felt ignored, and did the opposite of what she was told to do. Mrs. Macnair had no idea how to deal with her, and even Begonia was at a loss. Getting the toddler ready for dinner parties was practically impossible, because as soon as they managed to cram a frilly dress over the fidgeting child's rosy-haired head, Brooke had it off and crumpled on the floor, running away with a scream of impish laughter. Belle struggled fruitlessly to teach her to say "please" and "thank you", and the second youngest daughter, Bernadette, hated the little girl with more venom than Begonia had for Belle. Only two years older than Brooke, Bernadette saw her as the worst threat imaginable.
Then Beatrice was born.
Brooke learned to loathe her little sister immedtiately. By observing the way Bernadette loathed her, Brooke understood that Beatrice was the worst thing that could have ever happened. Beatrice was as sweet as Brooke was tempermental, as obedient as Brooke was rebellious, and the distinction was obvious. Everybody could see that Beatrice was better.
Childhood was brutal for Brooke. Everywhere she turned, she was met with opposition and irritation. Beatrice followed her everywhere, forced to stay close because their parents imagined them to be the best of friends, and Beatrice was only too happy to annoy her older sibling. "Prissy Trissy", Brooke would say, "what an ugly name." Beatrice would only look at her with solemn eyes, saying nothing. Later though, when Brooke sat glumly before her annoyed father, she would be reprimanded for mocking her younger sister, and always Brooke would wait until night time to sneak into Beatrice's room and pinch her vengefully.
On the other side, Bernadette did whatever she could to make Brooke look incompetent in the eyes of their parents. Not that she needed the help. No matter how much she hated being frowned upon by her parents, Brooke would not conform to the rules of polite society without being forced. She avoided wearing dresses, hated being schooled in table manners, and never volunteered to join her mother at the neighbor's tea parties. Instead, Brooke watched her brother Cain rocket around on his broomstick with envy. He didn't have to compete with four other sisters. He didn't have to learn how to sit in silence while the men did the talking. He didn't have to pretend to be something that he wasn't...and Brooke wanted to fly through life, just like him.
"Cain, will you teach me how to ride a broomstick?"
Brooke was nine and Cain was eighteen. Only a year out of Hogwarts, he left behind him a legacy of being the best chaser that Slytherin had ever seen. With his trademark grin and classic good looks, women everywhere swooned in the face of his freckled nose and curly black hair. He was perfect, and Brooke squinted up at him hopefully.
"I don't know, Brookie. Do you think you can handle a broomstick?"
Brooke gave him a 'don't insult me look', cocking an eyebrow and crossing her arms over her chest. Just because she had never done it before didn't mean that she wouldn't be great at it. Too many times her parents had ripped her away from a possible talent, all because one of her sisters excelled at it faster. Begonia sang arias, Belle danced ballroom, Bernadette played violin, and Beatrice plucked away delicately at the harp. Brooke wanted something that was hers, that none of them could ever have, and she had a feeling that this was it.
"I can do this, Cain."
She was right. After only two weeks of private training, Brooke was in the air and flying fast. Something about her short stature and fluid build allowed her to move with the broom, not on it, and Cain had never seen such a quick learner.
"You're a natural," he called from the ground, "a real talent!"
It was the first time Brooke could ever remember being praised by a member of her family, and she was proud. If she worked hard, Cain promised, she would be as good as him.
After the discovery of her previously unknown skill, Brooke became unexplainably calmer. While she still seethed with ambition, her brother's loving influence saved her from the neverending circle of sibling rivalry that she had been ensnared in. Instead of caring when Bernadette sneered at her for using the wrong fork for her salad, Brooke carefully adjusted her choice in silverware and continued eating, impervious to her sisters' not so secret hopes that she would blunder. When Mrs. Macnair insisted that Brooke wear the itchy blue dress instead of the green one, she rolled her eyes and acquiesced without complaint because she knew that as soon as the dinner party was over, she'd be tearing it off to hop half-naked onto her brother's old Nimbus 2000.
Once Brooke began Hogwarts, however, life dealt her another unfair blow: instead of being sorted into Slytherin with the rest of her family, she found herself sitting, shocked, at the Ravenclaw table. Around her were unfamiliar faces, chattering students whose last names she did not know because they were not purely bred, and she was flabbergasted. She had never thought for an instant that there could ever be such a thing as impure blood, but instead of being horrified or repulsed, she was fascinated. It did not occur to her at the time that she was about to join ranks with a bunch of intolerable "mudbloods".
Perhaps because of her house placement, Brooke's life from that point forward was very different in comparison to her sisters'. She made friends easily, commanding the attention of everybody when she entered a room. Without anyone to compete with, Brooke relaxed considerably, melting into a sort of approachable confidence that suited her perfectly. People were attracted to her. She was a brilliant flame, red against blue, and around her third year of school, something happened that only added fuel to her fire.
Her name was Marie Swift, and she was an excellent kisser.
Brooke didn't know any better, and Marie the fifth year pretended not to the first time they bumped noses behind a statue of Gilligan the Glorious. "I like Quidditch players," Marie had whispered as Brooke inhaled sharply, taken aback by the admission. "I'm not as good as my brother," Brooke groaned. Marie nibbled softly on the redhead's earlobe until she panted, and then the older girl whispered, "Oh, you're so much better..."
It was the first time that Brooke had ever kissed a girl, and it was most certainly not the last. Marie opened up a world of emotions and urges that Brooke had never known before, and she suddenly understood what Belle meant when she bragged longingly about the attractive boy who lived two doors down, or the tempting classmate she had almost slept with. Sure, Belle was thinking about a boy, and Brooke was thinking about a girl...but it was basically the same thing, right? Only Brooke didn't almost sleep with that tempting classmate...she did sleep with them.
In her fifth year Brooke finally met Helena Prince, and she was torn between desire and repulsion. The blonde was gorgeous, no doubt about that...but she was wicked. Wickedly cruel, wickedly intelligent, and wickedly wanton. Brooke could barely stand to be in the same room as her, and finally the tension snapped.
"What the hell is your problem?"
It was a Saturday evening in the school library, and Brooke glared at Helena, who had brushed past her table roughly, knocking all of her books to the floor. Helena turned haughtily about to face her, taking in Brooke's blue-striped tie and vividly red hair before she smirked.
"Another Weasley. My my, you do breed rather quickly, don't you?"
Feeling a sheet of burning anger plummet through her, Brooke was standing up in an instant, an inch from Helena's nose before the blonde could blink.
"Do you know what I'd like to do to you, Prince?"
Helena said nothing, clearly surprised that a shorter girl could appear so intimidating, and Brooke's eyes narrowed.
"I'd like to humiliate you publicly. I'd like to make you blush in front of hundreds of people by telling them all about your pathetic mother's attempts and finery, and your deadbeat dad's disgusting habits of pretentious pretending. Everybody knows that your family is nothing but a bunch of puppets, pandering to the whims of worthier purebloods. Who do you think you even are? I'll tell you: an arrogant bitch whose stately stature far exceeds her station."
Brooke paused here to breathe and noticed that Helena's graceful cheekbones were stained with pink, galacial blue eyes icy.
"What's the matter, Helena? Speechless? Maybe next time you should think before you mess with a Macnair."
As soon as she said her name, Helena's eyes widened with disbelief.
"You're a Macnair?"
Helena appriased her critically, examining Brooke's features skeptically. Those blue eyes of Helena's, so much colder and sharper than her own, caused Brooke to feel a pang of unease, and she had the distinct impression that she was being eaten alive. What did that growing glimmer in the blonde's eye mean? Then Helena smirked condescendingly, as though she knew something that Brooke did not, and she let out a breath that chilled Brooke's flushed face.
"You're right," Helena drawled, as though there had ever been a possibility that Brooke had not been right. "You've got the Macnair mouth."
And with that, Helena reached up and tugged on Brooke's bottom lip with the pad of her thumb, smile gone.
"You know, you should learn to be more in control. Macnair mouths have a tendancy to move too quickly, and I would hate to have to silence these pretty lips."
Helena looked suddenly into Brooke's eyes, startling the redhead, and her message was clear: Do not cross me. Brooke glared back in challenge, and she firmly wrapped her grip around Helena's soft wrist.
"Don't stick your hands where they don't belong, Prince...unless you want to loose a finger."
Throughout the rest of her Hogwarts career, Brooke and Helena became better acquianted, although they argued constantly. There was a strange essence to their relationship, a spark perhaps, that allowed it to flourish under the strangest of circumstances. Though they never spoke aloud about it, they established a routine that neither wavered from. Once a week they met in the library, and once a week they learned something new about each other. Brooke listened as Helena craftily shared bits and pieces of herself that nobody else was allowed to see, and Helena in turn attempted to empathize with Brooke. It was something like friendship, something like understanding...something like love.
Something like, however, is not the same as the actual thing.
In public they acted indifferent to one another, even exchanged verbal blows when the situation called for it. Nobody suspected their friendship, and that suited both women fine.
----------------
Now Brooke is an Assistant Professor at Hogwarts with three sisters married off and one waiting on an engagement. She sees her family often enough, but prefers her life at Hogwarts.
---------------------------------
(( solong&goodnight ))
ooc.
ooc.
Your Name»» [/b]
Nessa
Age»» [/b]
16
Other Characters Here»» [/b]
Helena Prince
How You Found the Site»» [/b]
Character's Playby»» [/b]
Diane Neal
Secret Word 1»» [/b]
Death Eaters Own!
[/size][/blockquote]
