Antonin Dolohov (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} antibrit) wrote,@ 2008-03-23 11:50:00 |
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| ANTONIN DOLOHOV |
Full Name: Antonin Nicholai Dolohov Nicknames: Seratonin, Nich. Birth Date/Age: December 22nd 1960//17 Birth Place: Kiev, Ukraine Blood Line: Pureblood Place of Education: Durmstrang to Hogwarts. House: Slytherin Year: Seventh Wand: Hemlock wood, eleven and a half inches, narrow, twisted, pleasant looking but hard to work with; Chimaera scale core. Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual Username: antibritPet(s): ...Antonin doesn't like animals; they don't like him. Personality: Antonin's personality is about as upright and social as roadkill. Being socially inept hinders him, making him seem like a closed book that people feel the need to pine at to open. He's reserved to himself but considered friendly at first, but nobody will ever know how he truly is. Antonin is the kind of person who is naturally friendly on first look but a dark side hidden from view. He's not an extremely--a hardly any kind of touchy feely person, anybody who knows him wouldn't be able to tell. Being the talented devious snake he is, hiding behind a mask from society comes natural after a while. Antonin, though much different from the normal, has a synthetic but somehow real love for women--and a tolerance for children. Being an orange among a bunch of apples calls for some kind of liking of some of the others. Not all, and mostly not all. He has no tolerance for stupid people, who get what they deserve, whether or not it's given to them by him. Antonin has a somewhat reserved but yet explosive personality, you can never second guess him, you can never expect the obvious, or expect the non. Antonin is a very bright student, a very experienced thinker. Like said, him being different, he studies the behavior of completely normal people and duplicates, creating his allusion. But perhaps he doesn't fool everyone, it just depends on who he does, and who he doesn't. He's also a leisurely person who likes to have time to do basically nothing whenever he should feel the need to sit like a bump on a log. But rest assured, his mind is always at work. But even so, everybody has their flaws. He has a problem with extreme shows of emotion, such as a woman crying. He's more likely to stare around confused and use the overrated words of "There there" to try and comfort her because he obviously doesn't know what he's doing. We should all pity the poor sap for being so lost. The description of his dark side is indeed rather dark. He's a small one step at a time manipulator, and an almost near horrible person behind his mask. He has a way of changing the minds of people with idle movements, finding ways to get to people for his benefit, and gaining his way any possible route possible. However, he does love to practice his techniques for fun; messing with people's head and watching the end results finds a good hobby for Antonin, and great fun. Naturally it'd be easier with weak people, but the strong willed are the challenge that he likes; a new opposition to bring to it's knees. An overzealous Gryffindor brought down to Hufflepuff bravery in his mind is a job well done and has earned a date with an attractive girl, or perhaps a simple pat on the back. Appearance: Antonin has jet black hair which he does almost nothing with, a quick sweep through the hair with gel is a fine go for him. He has a smile paired with his wide set chin, blue eyes and stubble give him a rugged almost worker desirable look. However his own looks are trivial to him, though if people think he's actually attractive, the closer he gets into people he probably doesn't want to know. Antonin is the type to wear casual suits and dress shoes most of the time. He finds them to be the only attractive attire that he'd wear. He likes to be considered suave, but will retreat to natural 'teen-ish' clothing, should he feel the need for a more casual touch. It is for these reasons he dislikes the Hogwarts uniform. Antonin is about 6'1" and getting taller. He has about the body of a Quidditch player, a bit of muscle on his side; he plays the game in stride during a rare event of emotion, otherwise he's very content with his worn out notebook by his side and a quill. Still, the years at Durmstrang have made him into a sturdy boy, as the school will not tolerate weakness, build included. PB: Tom Welling Interests / Hobbies: Antonin likes to write endlessly about people. He finds them fascinating--animals; but he likes to think about the stupidity that they posses and laugh a bit here and there. Other than that, Dark Magic is a passion that was denied of him thanks to his mother, but still he finds books and reads along, never forgetting. Though he should never tell that mother of his, of a little purple spell he learned... Past Relationships: Antonin's relationship with his so called 'surrogate' mother is one almost comical but at the same time horrible. She is an old fat hag that sits around to pick at his every move, whether right or wrong. His entire life has been a huge bet to his mother, if he can prove her wrong, what he gets and so forth. She seems to be a lot nicer to his 'friends' and other people; her life's mission is to embarrass him and his is to subtly insult her at every waking moment. They seem to be each other's comic relief. Antonin's relationship with people is a bit more happy than with his mother, having had girlfriends before but however always successful to find the crazy ones that try to poison him or chase him down with a knife shouting "You do love me!" but Antonin has found some good ones, found some bad ones. He can be suave when he want to be; he just prefers the quiet. However he does like the company of women, and seems to have pretty good relationships with most of them, though some do go bad. The worst relationship he has is with animals. They hate him. He fails to understand why dogs don't succumb to "Nice doggy, don't be mean doggy!" They growl and snarl at him and some nip at his ankles. Having to run from canines as a youth is hard work. Lastly, Antonin has a good relationship with none other than children. Most children anyway. Some he believes come straight out of the vat of hell, and others are much nicer to him. Perhaps his direct compare to children is what draws them to him? Him being quiet and almost timid to some is perhaps what would provoke a child to come on over and ask him to play exploding snap. Antonin actually has a small strip of kindness reserved for children, he likes them because a lot are much smarter than the average person would think; much more observant. Relationships in Game: YOU: History: Antonin Nicholai Dolohov was born to a mother he never knew and taken by a woman who was jealous of her. Born in Kiev, Ukraine, he was raised by a woman he believed to be his mother sent from Hell. She resented him even though it was her choice to bring him upon herself and treated him badly, resulting in his horrible mental scarring leaving him what he is today. Even so, he presses on to prove his mother wrong and have her turning in her grave; his dream. He was raised as exactly what he was: a bastard child. He was treated like a servant, bullied harsher than the worst of schoolchildren, and beaten until the point of mind brink, creating what he is today. When he was younger his mother forced him into grade school for little wizards, and school under Slavic Europe's Orthodox Christianity, and he was surrounded by other little brutish boys that did nothing but made his childhood worse, and he was forced to learn to get along by himself without any extra help from the kinds of people that ruined his life at such an early age. He outshined the other boys and soon got his letter at first to go to Durmstrang. He attended the school and made along well enough, but his 'mother' seeing his successes pulled him out of the school and dragged him to the godforsaken place of Kent, Britain. Here, he was forced to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. By this time nothing effected him, he considered life just a simple game he had to play, feeling it was good the way it was. All the same, he disliked Hogwarts and wanted to return to his home land, and continue taking classes at Durmstrang. What's the use of being taught to defend magic that's probably going to get through all of your feeble and unneeded blocking? Antonin was yet again forced to adapt and did well enough to get along fairly; his excuse? The girls looked much less brutish then they did at Durmstrang. But he missed the availability of Dark Arts, the vast grounds and never being bored. Now that he was moved to Britain, he could actually admit that he missed his old school. Durmstrang was his home, and Hogwarts couldn't fill the hole. After the obvious dislike of his mother, he has no other relationships except with some of the girls he refuses to give attention to in his neighborhood of Hell; he doesn't associate much with people but does talk to some during spare time. After all, what else is he going to do when he's not writing or thinking about writing? He has no other option, animals hate him, he dislikes stuffed animals, and he's mildly intimidating. Or perhaps not, he's had quite a few brave souls dare to ask him why he's so quiet. He's treated them well enough, because if they have the gall to come over and start a conversation, they can't be all stupid, just a little. Political alliance, and reason for this choice: Future Death Eater; as much as he dislikes normal people, Muggles are on the top of the list of kinds. He finds them even stupider than the average wizard, being too narrow minded to believe in things such as magic. Not to mention the parents of the girls in his little cul-de-sac dislike him and look at him like some kind of scavenger, making his appreciation for the world's Muggles even lower. Hatred is not the word to use for his relationship with Muggles, but still, he dislikes them. Strengths and weaknesses: Antonin is mentally and physically strong; but however rarely uses brawn to get his point across. Being too quiet and too zoned out makes him an easy target, along with an accent, but he makes up for it in manipulation. He would rather not deal with people for the most part except for in these cases. However, even though he has these things he definitely falls to absent mindedness in situations, slowed reaction, emotions and his own thoughts, some of the time. Not to mention impaired judgment, if he has to do something that in some way he doesn't feel does the best for him, he won't do it, making him an unreliable candidate. For some random reason, Antonin has a sensitivity to loud noises. The noises jiggle his eardrum and cause extreme irritability depending on situation. He prefers not to be in crowds of overzealous people just to keep away from the noise. It's considered the switch to set him off, his buttons are sometimes easily pushed. What would his / her boggart be? Antonin's boggart would eventually turn into himself, a crying innocent child. Even though he's slightly ashamed of what he is, the image of what he was intimidates and scares him, and children are enough to unnerve him, but himself as a child shakes him to the core for some reason... Anything else we should know about the character? Lexicon considers him one of the most dangerous Death Eaters. Isn't he awesome? Yes, I think so. 1st person journal entry (200+ words) I cannot sleep. I sleep like a baby no matter what I do and then for all of a sudden I can no longer sleep. I sit awake at night as if I know that if I sleep the worst will happen; the British say these Knights of Walpurgis are behind it. Smart British people who decide to impair Antonin's sleep? I should join them as soon as they stop further ruining my pattern of dream. The people in this stupid town hide their children from me seeing my eyes bloodshot and red from lack of sleep, and that's fine, I don't like their stupid filthy disease spreading sacks of goat shit they call children, dripping from the nose and eating from them, they can keep those. Sad to say, British peons, I do not want to be that acquainted to most of your children. I am not Handy Babysitter Antonin, I am not I-Will-Watch-Your-Children-While-You-Go-T I wonder why my mother--I mean the fat hag that lives with me calls me inhumane when she is about as thoughtful as a pile of bricks. I believe some humans can go on living and others must be sacrificed for the greater good, or my greater good, whichever is more important to me at the moment. I don't think that's inhumane, there are many Wizards and Muggles alike that believe the same. I bet that woman that I could get the annoying girl in my neighborhood that goes "Ew" at me all day long and I threw a rock at to kiss me. If she does, after that, I no longer know her, I'm going to brush my teeth for the next four days straight and ignore her when she tries to get my attention. I bet extra if I got her friend to yell at her for it I get to eat Borsch. She never told me what happens if I fail like she says I always do, so I'll be prepared. The worst she could do is parade around my house with obscene clothing; I'll just commit suicide. Painfully. Though that would make her happy. I'm sure by now I've scared quite a few Hufflepuffs. Don't cry weaklings, I'm as cuddly as a basilisk--I mean a puffeskein. This reminds me, I did get to sleep for about fifteen minutes and I had a horrible nightmare about a Hufflepuff mob. I was walking around Hogwarts and a first year approached me and stopped in my way. I try to walk around and she keeps moving in front of me, and she holds out a little bag with a heart drawn terribly on it, saying that she can save my soul with a bit of love. I heard something inside my head laugh and I took the candy and kept on my way but her little minions followed me everywhere, giving me yellow and pink gifts. "Be a good boy Anty! Be a good boy!" Who authorized the little psychopaths to give me a nickname? They followed me everywhere. One of them drew a cloud on my face and there were more that tried to hug me and when I started running from the parade of blond idiots chasing me down I went through a door and I was falling for an endless amount of time and I woke up with my mother in my face. Waking up to that made it all the more worse. I told somebody else about this horrible dream of mine and they laughed, and kept on with it. I do not see anything funny about this, that dream was horrible. Last one I had I had a family and then my mother showed up and they all disappeared. Thirty seconds of turmoil. I have to stop telling people about my personal thoughts, they keep laughing at me. What the hell is funny? 3rd person RP entry (350+ words) Antonin walked down the streets in darkness only being led by the memory of him slowly trudging down by the yelling of children, one of them throwing rocks. "You stay away from my sister!" the boy had yelled, tossing a rock at him. 'Ivan,' Antonin thought to himself, 'he received his just reward. Pleading on the ground, like a pig...' He would've smirked from the thought but he was much too angry now, being full grown and ready to do whatever he felt he needed--and having already done most of it, he was heading towards one of the hells of his childhood: his old house. His so called mother still lived there, and he was going to give her just what she needed, just what she deserved, just what he wanted her to have out of everything in the world. In the mail just a week ago he received a letter from a Healer, telling him his decreeable guardian was sickly and near death, explaining how she was not truly his mother, how she would not be prosecuted, and how she was going to go about it the Muggle way. He was livid. His whole life, a consequence of a woman's jealousy, a squib's jealousy no less over a witch's child. He was forced to do what he always did and not enjoy the fun and stupidity of life, but to be numb, forced to be the outcast even if it was the outcast of the social life he disliked and laughed at, maybe if he was normal he could've enjoyed some of these things. Now he only sucked the life out of whatever he touched even if he didn't want to, even if somewhere in the shriveled core he had in the center that was called a heart, something telling him he shouldn't. But now that voice was obediently quiet. For tonight, he had business to attend to. He entered his front yard, pushing aside a fence that was once creaky and worn, perhaps it had been fixed, no, maybe he just didn't hear the sound. Nothing but the wind and his own footsteps rang in his ears, because of the enraged screaming from before. All was quiet now, and he approached the door, turned the knob and entering the horrible cottage and horrible home from within. "Haha, Antonin," said the old hag, lying in a half destroyed bed hooked up to a Muggle enforced oxygen tank. Even from living with her he at least knew what that did, and of course any idiot could tell that was her lifeline. "I knew you would come, you going to cry?" She cackled and wheezed and gave a cough, he took no notice. "I've come for you, hag," he breathed, the mounting feeling of even more betrayal starting to shake to its core. "Oh so you're a big boy now, little Tonin?" The sound of her voice was drenched in the accent from his homeland, she was taunting him. Antonin shook his head in a bittersweet moment. "A big boy indeed," he closed the door behind him and walked in, dropping his coat on the table, "you will tell me why, zaraz." "Shkoda ale ja ne mozhu," she said, 'I'm afraid I can't.' "You are a filthy Squib and she was a witch, your jealousy is expected but petty. It's fine, you no longer have to explain," he was walking over to her support devices and rolling up his sleeves now, "explain it to God, then." "I am not ready to die yet," she said, "even if I had spited your living to the best I could do," she coughed some more, "I shall die when I am ready." His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a baritone low, and he spoke Ukrainian to her. "Well now you are ready." He turned a few of the knobs on her support machines, they squeaked and beeped and she started to groan in pain, straining to point a few taunts at him and laugh. "You will not rush me boy!" "Then you will TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW!" He turned harder and the machines started to blink and shoot red lights at him as if begging him to spare her. Spare her, he thought, spare her for what? "I will tell you!" He turned the knobs back to their normal positions and waited, not even bothering to look at her. "Your mother was a witch who had everything she could ever ask for, why did she need a baby?" she wheezed on, "I needed a baby, who could love a squib?" He muttered aloud. "A Muggle." "Muggles are scum." "And just the same as you," Antonin concluded, "you just took me and treated me like dung because I wasn't yours, bad idea, mamuska." His fingers approached the dials again, and she interrupted him. "You reminded me of your mother," she said, answering his insult and looking at him with what he thought was the most truthful face she could muster, a staggering turn out but still meaningless. "Forgive me then, for not enjoying your twisted reminiscing." He turned the knobs awry once more to let her feel the pain, and stopped. He walked back over to the table to get his coat, casting the Muffliato spell quietly outside the door. "I-I knew you couldn't do it," she gasped, trying to breathe from the pain she just experienced. He walked back over to the machines. With just one finger Antonin proceeded to turn off machine after machine, and at last walking over to her bed. "You hate Muggles, yes?" he said, reaching for her oxygen tank next to the bed. She looked at him in a matter-of-fact-way, questioning the reason for him to ask. "Well, maybe you shouldn't live as Muggles do. Diffindo." The tube to the oxygen tank leading to the plastic mask over her face allowing her to breath was severed in two, and with bewilderment she looked at the tank and right back at him. Their eyes locked for a moment and he left the room, feeling good about himself, as she started to change colors. He felt no remorse as he left the house, no remorse as Dawlish tackled him to the ground and handcuffed him, letting him know his mother tipped him off, and not even feeling anything as he went into their house and saved her life. He felt even better as they dragged him away, and he gave one last whistle at the house, with a smile on his face as it exploded into flame. He had made sure that woman wouldn't live another day, no matter what she tried. So predictable, he'd thought, checking off her name in his worn notepad when he arrived at Azkaban the next day. Mission accomplished. |
| THE MUN |
NAME:Bijou AGE: 15 1/2 [Feli and I asked the mods! Well..feli mostly.] E-MAIL / INSTANT MESSAGING: AIM; your dark mark TIMEZONE: EST, or GMT -5 EXPERIENCE: all |
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