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 johnson, edmund
Edmund Johnson
Posted: Jan 31 2012, 10:51 AM


Unregistered









[dohtml]<center><div style="width: 420px; background-image:url(http://i298.photobucket.com/albums/mm269/lu_the_chen/wall3.jpg?t=1294172891); padding: 15 15 15 15px; border:3px solid #222222;"><div style="width: 400px; text-align:center; background-color:e1e1e1; padding-top: 1em;padding-bottom: 1em; padding-right: 1em; padding-left: 1em; padding-top:15px; padding-bottom:15px"><div style="font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; font-size: 30px; text-align: center; text-transform: lowercase;"><br>

EDMUND ROY JOHNSON
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HONEST, RECKLESS, PHYSICAL
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background-image:url(http://i44.tinypic.com/oa7hvn.png)

;"></div></center><br><center><table cellspacing=0 style="background-color: #f1f1f1; text-align: center; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px;" "><tr><td style="width:0px; font-family: arial; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;"> </td><td style="width:300px; font-style: italic; font-size: 12px; padding:5px; color: #363636;">

MUDBLOOD- GRYFFINDOR- SEVENTH

</td></tr></table><table cellspacing=5 style="text-align: left; padding: 5px; font-size: 8px; "><tr><td style="width: 150px; vertical-align: top;"><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; padding:2px; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;”">NICKNAMES</div>
<div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px;overflow: auto;">

Johnson, just Johnson.

</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; padding:2px; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;”">AGE</div>
<div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px;overflow: auto;">

Eighteen November Ninth

</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; padding:2px; color: #333333;”">WAND</div>
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Alder wood, Dragon Heartstring, 10 3/4 inches.


</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial;padding:2px; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;”">APPEARANCE</div>
<div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px; height: 80px; overflow: auto;">

There's dirt under everything, his fingernails, in the corner of his eyes, locked away in the crevices of his skin. Sweat, as well. There is a smell that accompanies him, not entirely unpleasant but certainly sweat-drenched. His knuckles are rippling pinned-ribbon, they look like the inside of an orange all squeezed up and bleeding round the center. They are almost always swollen.<br><Br>

He is not short but not tall, either. He has a chunk of his right ear missing, the ear he can't hear out of, his nose never healed from where Theodore Jarvis broke it sixth year and he wears the same clothes when out of uniform. He smells like smoke, taste like smoke and the tips of his fingers are ashy from how much nicotine he inhales.

</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px;padding:2px; color: #333333;”">PLAYBY</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px;">

Ryan Gosling.

</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px;padding:2px; color: #333333;”">REPUTATION</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px; height: 80px; overflow: auto;">

Most know him from the Quidditch team, the keeper. Most know him by the hospital visits or steady flow of alcohol he somehow smuggles into the school. A few know him by the seat of his breath, the feel of his touch. However it is, they know him as a presence more than a voice, hardly intelligent, hardly romantic he's mostly just hard. Hard working, hard to please, hard to pry open.<Br>


</div><br><br><div style="font-family: arial; color: #333333; text-align: center;font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px;padding:2px; font-size: 11px; text-transform: uppercase;">OPTIONAL LISTS</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 10px 8px; width: 150px; overflow: auto; text-align: left; text-transform: none;"><center><form><select style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; font-size: 9px; text-align: center; border: 0px; width: 120px;" ><option selected>

STRENGTHS

</option><option>one
</option><option>two
</option><option>etc.
</option><option>these are completely optional!

</option></select></form><br><br><form><select style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; font-size: 9px; text-align: center; border: 0px; width: 120px;" >
<option selected>

WEAKNESSES

</option><option>one
</option><option>two
</option><option>etc.
</option><option>these are completely optional!

</option></select></form><br><br><form><select style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; font-size: 9px; text-align: center; border: 0px; width: 120px;" ><option selected>

ASPIRATIONS

</option><option>one
</option><option>two
</option><option>etc.
</option><option>these are completely optional!

</option></select></form><br><br>
<form><select style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; font-size: 9px; text-align: center; border: 0px; width: 120px;" >
<option selected>

FEARS

</option><option>one
</option><option>two
</option><option>etc.
</option><option>these are completely optional!

</option></select></form><br><br><form><select style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; font-size: 9px; text-align: center; border: 0px; width: 120px;" ><option selected>

HOBBIES

</option><option>one
</option><option>two
</option><option>etc.
</option><option>these are completely optional!

</option></select></form></center></div><br><br></td><td style="width: 300px; padding: 5px; vertical-align: middle;">
<div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px;padding: 2px; color: #333333;”">PERSONALITY</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px; height: 280px; overflow: auto;">


Winter was his favorite time of year if only for the way the branches reached out for the sky. They were barren and needy and this is what he felt like more often than not. His life was a run on stanza of some poem about destruction and idolation and that need, the all encompassing need, to do something about it but that long pause that comes after when you know you never will. <br><Br>

He is one addiction after the other. Fourteen oranges in one day just because he likes the feel of pulp under his fingers, the way the rinds make his hands smell like empty heat; days without sleep for the hazy feeling of everything overlapping. When he was younger he supposed people must have liked him for his predictability, the way he kept his hands soft, his heart palpable and easy to devour. He doesn't know why people like him now. He is knots,that feeling you get right before but not right after an epiphany, the phrase on the tip of your tongue. He is unfulfilled, he is lost, he is letting go of people as they grasp on to him. He feels like a life raft, floating in the mess of a shipwreck, looking for someone who's looking for him but not knowing where or how this all happened.<br><Br>

He used to be so put together, so sewn in tight. He kept his elbows off the tables and his hands to himself. He had his life ordered and set into neat, color coated blocks and now it's all gone. It wasn't some type of preternatural understanding, some epiphany that lead to the exposure of his unhappiness. It came in waves, one after the other over the period of a year until he came to the astute realization that he was doing nothing and he would continue to do so for a very long period of time.<br><br>

He thought he was nice, quiet but he liked things too much for too long and he thought to hard about things that didn't matter instead of things that did. He wasn't smart, all the tests said so, but he didn't feel dumb and he didn't act dumb all of the time and mostly he felt broken up like his collar bone was no longer connected to his shoulder bone and he was just one big jumble of marrow that moved apart and fell apart as they pleased. <br><br>

He likes muggle cigarettes. Not because they're bad for him, or because he likes the smell. Not because of how it looks, certainly, but because the humming empty it fills you up with. The quieting of thoughts, loose muscles. He supposed this was the same reason women liked him. He was bad for them, they knew he'd only last so long and leave them wanting more, but for moments at a time, he could make them feel warm and good, like they actually meant something to someone. <br><br>

He wasn't here to tell them they didn't mean something, he wasn't here to tell them anything. He was just here. And he worked his way through life with his hands. What irked him the most about the Magical world was how unwilling people were to get dirty. Wizarding boys, they were nothing. He likes the feel of someone's cheek splitting open against the side of his hand, likes to hear the bare-bone crack as his momentum slams into them. He likes to see them broken. Call it sadistic, call it what you will, but he really just likes to ruin things. And magic, it just didn't produce the same affect as throwing 'round his weight did<br><br>


</div><br><br><div style="“font-family: arial;padding: 2px; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;”">HISTORY</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px; height: 350px; overflow: auto;">

When you got your letter to Hogwarts your older brother had been surprisingly proud of you. As if being a wizard was something you had secretly studied for your whole life. Your older brother had clapped you on the shoulder, ruffled up your hair and said "Ed, you are going to do great things." James had been four years older than you and up until that moment you'd never seen him cry. So it took you by surprise when the tears rolled down his cheeks and his nose had grown red with feeling.<br><br>

Look, in all honesty, you probably would have loved it, this whole magic thing, the whole "big-castle-in-the-sky" dream-thing this place has going for it. But, and that's the key word here, but. But the war, but your heritage, but your concrete, never ending obtuseness when it comes to women. But your dead brother. But your angry father. But your still living, still very much alive, brother, the one who won't talk to you anymore, now that the other one is dead and it's no longer three, just two. Two really miserable people who don't know how to keep going without the other <br><br>


The first time you were hit it felt like your face had been separated from your jaw line, like it was hanging on the hinges of your chin. You were in muggle london, in a back alley somewhere and fairly drunk. The skin heads looked like enigmatic light-bulbs in the dark, the shitty light attached to the side of the wall shining of their head in a cornucopia of broken prisms and you thought you would die here, wand in your back pocket, just hit the fifteen with both your hands pinned to the brick. You could feel the mortar slowly cutting through your skin, the dead cells bunching up around the cuts, it all happened too fast but then too slow with little pauses of clarity in between.<br><br>

It was the face first, two times, right across your lower jaw that sent you stumbling, and then one to the stomach a blow to the knees with a baseball bat that had you kissing the ground like it was your salvation, like it was your God and you thought how fucking poetic because you imagined God, the big man in the sky, to be a filthy type of guy who didn't keep his mustache trimmed and had his head shaved and smoked cigars on the hour every hour, you thought of him in a wife beater shirt, earth a small sweat stain in the underbelly of his armpit. <br><br>

"Gonna cry pussy boy" they jeered and you just lay there for a second, breathing in the dirty smell of piss and rotted garbage and the chilly winter night air before they picked you up by your arms, one by your elbows and one by your arm pit and pinned you against the dingy red brick wall that crumbled and fell apart a bit every time they jammed a fist into your solar plexus, a term you remembered from all of those goddamn charts you had to fill out in the fourth grade when you were learning anatomy.<br><br>

Blood dribbled down your chin, thick like sludge and just as slow, you could feel it fall onto your chest,seep into your shirt and you thought that when you got out of this you would learn magic better if it fucking killed you. The biggest one, the ring leader was wearing a shitty type of smirk and they were all cursing and jeering but you couldn't hear them because they were all on your right and that's where they had boxed you in the ear earlier. You felt sick, your stomach churning in little gasping movements and they hit you and you thought dying might not be too bad if it would just happen quicker<br><br>

And then they were done, stepping away and gasping with laughter pointing at you and you felt broken but your anger was so complete that you felt the tendons mending themselves and you reached for your wand and they reached for their knifes but then there was your older brother, James, shining beacon of light that he was.<br><br>

In a time where everything was so goddamn dirty and broken he was the neat little center of light that the world crowded around. You didn't know what happened, and when the police asked you later all you would do is cry and cry and cry but in that moment your brother looked at you and smiled, looked at you and grabbed the knife out of his back-pocket, twirled it round thrice in his hand. One of the skin heads dropped, clutching his stomach as blood squirted out over his bottom lip and they fell with dazed looks in their eyes. Later, in the hospital room, when they ask you what happened, you won't be able to say, or remember. But now, three years later, the whole event is clearer than a dream. Clearer than anything that has ever happened to you before.<br><br>

You don't see 'em, the boy lurking in the dark, right on the cusp of where the light reaches. James doesn't see him either, but he's there. Waiting. Planning. When Jamie thinks they're all dead, dead and done and dripping little spurts of blood on the ground he turns to you, fixes your collar, ruffles your hair and says "you alright kid?". He's only eighteen but he seems so much more wordly than you and Charlie, the latter who's only one year older, the latter who always pulled your hair and tied your shoes together and was always really jealous of you anyhow. You never liked Charlie much, but you'd never tell anyone, especially not after tonight. <br><Br>

The kid comes out from the shadows fast and neither of you see him jam the knife right underneath Jamie's shoulder blades. Neither of you see it but James' certainly feels it and right there, his hand still hovering over your bloody collar, blood bubbles up and coats his tongue, his eyes look you in the face one more time. He gargles. He spits. He tries to give you a warbly smile. Mouths the word, run. His eyes are pleading with you for help. <br><br>

You ran so fast that your stomach felt like someone had cut it open and it was leaking out the lining and your knees jarred up into your spine every time your feet hit the pavement. You focused, and grabbed a copper who you dragged back to the scene. But it was too late and they were already covering Jamie's body with a white sheet, a nurse woman was closing his eyes with the tip of her index finger.

Two hours later and you were at the hospital and where they told you your knees were fractured, your Cochlea shattered and you would be able to hear again if you would just sit still. And then you were sick on the tiles and woke up with white sheets tucked around your chest. Your brother and your father standing with their arms crossed in the corner and you could tell they disapproved, could tell they'd never forgive you. Your mother kissed your cheek, her makeup was runny. She said, "Shh, Eddy baby, everything's going to be just fine." <br><br>

You didn't have the heart to tell her otherwise.
</div><br></td></tr></table><table cellspacing=0 style="background-color: #f1f1f1; text-align: center; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px;" "><tr><div style="“font-family: arial; text-align:center; font-weight: bold; letter-spacing: 2px; font-size: 11px; color: #333333;”">THE PLAYER</div><div style="background-color: #f1f1f1; color: #363636; -moz-border-radius: 10px; -webkit-border-radius: 10px; padding: 8px;">

NAME/ALIAS:Molly
<BR>AGE:17
<BR>GENDER: Mermaid
<br>OOC House: Ravenclaw / Hufflepuff
<BR>LIMITS: Ugh, no limits, trying to slowly worm my way back into rping.
<BR>HOW DID YOU FIND US: hay bby, long tyme no c.

</div></tr></table><br></div>
<div style="font-family: courier new; text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 8px; letter-spacing: 1px; line-height: 85%; color: #D4BA6C;"><br>TEMPLATE BY FEDORA @ <a href=http://z10.invisionfree.com/CAUTIONTOTHEWIND/index.php?showuser=22484>CAUTION 2.0</a> AND <a href=http://z10.invisionfree.com/A_THOUSAND_FIREFLIES/index.php?showuser=2821>A THOUSAND FIREFLIES</a></div></div>[/dohtml]


QUOTE

At the announcement of Camping, Edmund's heart had soared. The mere idea of such a comforting and inherently muggle task had lifted his spirits to unreachable heights. He had just gone camping this summer with his brother and father and he had done rather marvelously at it, and he didn't mind if everyone knew it. Having gone camping every summer since the ripe age of five Edmund Johnson was no stranger to the wilderness. He knew how to whittle most anything from tree branches, start fires, catch fish, which berries you could and couldn't eat etc etc. He was a plethora of knowledge, for once, and not even the fact that the head girl and boy would be there could deter his happiness, not that he didn't like Prewett, simply the concept of authoritarian figures made him nervous. The sight of Pratt's head poking out of their tent only served to making him even more elated than he previously had been, something he didn't think was possible.

It wasn't just that he was good at it, camping, it was that it held a rather special place in his heart and it really meant something to him that his two worlds were finally intermingling. More often than not he felt like there were two of him, the muggle him and the wizarding him. Lately the latter had been growing more prominent and the former was fading away, something that was not entirely okay with the seventeen year old muggleborn.

So when he stepped through the tent's flap, brother's army bag thrown over his shoulder it was understandable why his heart dropped. Why his throat clogged up with emotion. Why, in fact, his stomach seemed to knot up into unclenchable fists. He thought he was going to be sick, no, he was going to be sick. He took a staggering step back and tightened his jaw. The room in front of him looked exactly like his home back in the boroughs. He took a step forward, then another, turning around to evaluate the surroundings. There was the television, almost identical to the one in his own home, the sofa, the kitchen. He dropped his bag to the floor and it settled there heavily. "What the fuck is this, then?" he asked, angrily.

[CODE]
^
Colonel Mustard
Posted: Feb 1 2012, 01:52 PM


lacy


Group: Admin
Posts: 988
Member No.: 3
Joined: 16-November 10



heyyyy molly! welcome back!

we actually have your old edmund johnson account saved, because you accumulated more than 100 posts on it. if you'd like, i could just reactivate that one for you! or if you'd like a new fresh account, that's all good too. just wanted to double-check to see which you preferred.
^
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