Post by GRIFLET ABDON on Nov 13, 2009 20:01:48 GMT 2
Griflet Abdon
••• square one
full name: Griflet Abdon. His parents named him after an obscure knight in the Arthurian legends. He usually shortens it to Grif.
birthdate: 26th July
age: 20
blood: Half blood
school graduated: Hogwarts
house graduated: Hufflepuff
occupation: Barman in The Hog’s Head
children?: None
canon?: Nope
••• soul meets body
eyes: Very dark brown, bordering on black. A heavy brow gives them a serious, almost sinister appearance when he’s not smiling. When he is smiling though, they light up the room.
hair: Longish and medium brown. He doesn’t tend to do much with it until it’s reached his shoulders, when he gets out his wand and cuts it to just below his ears.
height: Six feet and one inch tall.
portrayed by: Ben Barnes
in-depth appearance: Grif doesn’t have much of an opinion on his own appearance. He supposes that his eyes are interesting enough, dark and narrow as they are. A heavy brow gives them a serious, almost sinister appearance when he’s not smiling. When he is smiling though, they light up the room. He believes that having a mane of messy chocolate coloured hair suits him enough to never cut it shorter than to just below his ears. Other than that though, he rarely pays much attention to the way he looks. In recent months, he’s even managed to grow quite an impressive (if slightly fuzzy) beard.
His nose has a slight bulge to the left, where an argument with his father went awry. At one time he was tempted to fix it, but has decided that his nose should remain everso slightly crooked as a reminder to himself.
Build wise, Griflet is average. He’s bordering on skinny, but works out enough to keep himself from tipping over into the realms of needing a sandwich. The clothes he wears are comfortable, not stylish. He goes for muggle jeans and jumpers most of the time, although when he needs a suit he has a few well-tailored ones. He wears heavy boots, and fingerless gloves with everything.
••• dreams are sacred
patronus: Irish Wolf Hound
amortentia: Vanilla, wet dog, fresh laundry and old books.
boggart: Grif is desperately afraid of the regime winning. To have generations of children growing up without knowing history or defence, without being able to read the works of philosophers.
mirror of erised: More than anything, Grif wants this war to be over. For his sister Angharat to live in a fee country, where speaking her mind will never get her arrested and sent to Azkaban. He doesn’t want to start his own family under the reign on the regime, which is why he is still single.
secrets: His favourite books are Nineteen Eighty-Four and Animal Farm by George Orwell, and he has a copy of each, along with a partially completed manuscript for his own social satire novel, stashed under a loose floorboard in his small flat.
likes:
+ Vegetarian food
+ Writing
+ Reading
+ Laughing
+ His 5 year old sister, Angharat (Yay for Arthurian names)
+ Laundry days
+ Muggle second hand book shops
+ Dadaism (an artistic movement as opposed to the school subject)
+ Ice cream
+ His mother
dislikes:
- The Regime
- Being told how to think
- Spiders
- Working at The Hog’s Head
- The day before laundry day, when nothing’s clean
- His Father
- The Potter family (as he's never really met any of them, he's a little biased against them)
- Being cold
- Angry people
- Posturing
in depth personality:Griflet is, was and always will be a Hufflepuff. He is loyal to a fault, especially concerning his family, despite not speaking to them since leaving Hogwarts. He holds the truth to be an absolute - he does not lie unless the situation is a desperate one. This can sometimes get him into hot water - especially if he has stayed after work for one or two firewhiskeys and begins mouthing off about The Regime.
Griflet is a complicated soul, for a former Hufflepuff. His tendency to walk around with his nose in a book often had him mistaken for a Ravenclaw when at school. He could more often be found in the school library than the common room with his housemates.
He was a shy boy at school, never being the first one to put up his hand when asked a question, never the one to ask girls to go to Hogsmede with him. In recent years though, he's come out of his shell a little. Having a cause to fight for has helped him in finding his way in the world, and he has found his cause in The Rebellion.
Why the Rebellion side of the war? Grif believes strongly that the ability to think, and express those thoughts, is one of the most important rights you can possess. He hates having to hide his love of writing.
••• a tale to remember
family: Mother-Isolde
Father-Don
Sister-Angharat
Aunt-Morgause
Cousin-Gawain
criminal record: Nothing as yet.
in depth history:
Griflet led a happy existance, until the rise of the Phoenix Party. His mother and father doted on him, and as an only child they gave him everything he asked for - though it was never much. Being a quiet sort of boy, Griflet liked to stay indoors and read most of the time. He had his love of quidditch, like every young wizard, but his muggle mother also passed on a love of literature that most of his classmates had never heard of. He spent his days with his nose buried in anything from Pride and Prejudice to Gormenghast, from The Princess Bride to The Lord of the Rings.
He was just beginning the novels of George Orwell when The Regime came to power, and he saw parallels everywhere he looked. The state taking control, the people unable to think for themselves. He began to think of The Regime privately as Big Brother, sending out the thought police. He hid his mother's books, and has managed to keep two copies with him still - Nineteen Eighty-Four (which is his favourite) and Animal Farm.
As he finished his school career, on his final day at Hogwarts in 2035, he took his parents aside and spoke quietly to them. He told them of his desire to join the resistance, such as it was. His hope that his new baby sister, then only two years old, would grow up in a world where it was okay to read Kafka and Barthes.
His father, incensed at the thought of his son fighting the establishment, was silent as they watched the television his mother insisted on having. Silent as they ate a family dinner together. Silent as Isolde took young Angharat - Angie - to bed. When they were alone together, and after a quick muffliato, Don exploded. Rage poured out of him, in the direction of his only son. His main fear? That Griflet would bring suspicion not only upon himself, but on his entire family. That they would be wrenched apart. Grif would not be swayed. Eventually, in his fit of rage, Don curled his hand into a fist and launched it at his son, connecting with his nose.
With blood pouring down his face, Griflet had left that night, to stay with his older cousin Gawain. He heard his mother's tears, his sister's wails, and his father's resumed silence, but he did not look back. After all he had thought, apparating outside Gawain's home. If it's well known that I don't speak to my family, how can The Regime suspect them of being aligned with The Rebellion?
Now, three years later, he lives alone in a small flat near The Hog's Head. He rarely sees anyone when not on Rebellion business or at work, behind the small, grubby bar. He is waiting, in Hogsmede. Waiting for his sister to be eleven, so he can see her again and teach her of the wonderful worlds their mother taught him, so many years ago.
••• famous last words
your name or alias: Em/Awesometacular/Tacular/Tacs
how long have you been role playing: 4ish years, I think.
contacts:
how'd you find us: advert on my Merlin site We Ride To Camelot
other characters: None as yet
keyword:EDITED
sample roleplay: Griflet stared dejectedly at the forest floor, scuffing his boots amongst the fallen leaves. He had pestered Gawain mercilessly about where his older cousin was going, to be rebuffed every time. He knew it couldn't have been a mission from the King or Prince, so why keep this one from him? In the end he had snuck out, taking his horse Sprout from the stable to follow Gawain to this accursed forest.
He had gotten lost. It hadn't been his fault, not really. His lack of experience when it came to travelling at night had very little to do with it, and his tracking skills were top notch in the daylight. He'd just lost sight of Gawain's cloak in the darkness.
He had dismounted a few minutes ago, and tying Sprout loosely to a nearby branch, had searched around for a tall enough tree for him to climb so that he'd be sure of finding his way back to Camelot. He'd just have to pester Gawain some more about it later.
Standing on a branch in the tree he'd found a few hundred yards away from where he'd left Sprout, he stared out across the expanse of trees. He'd chosen well, and could see far enough to realise that he'd been going in completely the wrong direction if he wanted to get home.
He sighed, turning to make the climb back down again in his heavy armour. He tried not to look straight down, as he sometimes got that sickening dizziness that went with being too high up without restraints. As a result, he didn't see the two riders approaching his tree. Nor did he see that he was about to put his foot on a weak branch.
He tumbled to the ground, making a nose halfway between a scream and a weary groan. These things always seemed to happen to him. When he hit the ground, he lay in a crumpled heap for a moment, checking for sore spots. Luckily he hadn't fallen far, and was quite unharmed.
Nothing wounded but his pride, he stood, gingerly, and tossed his long dark hair out of his face. It was then that he noticed Gawain and a Lady on horseback. He turned to face them, mortification freezing him. He was only able to make a stiff, awkward bow to the Lady before completely freezing up.
