[mordicus belby]

MORDICUS BRYNMOOR BELBY
conversations alone complicate us together on our own.



WHY DON'T WE DO IT IN THE ROAD
randomness about you and your world

ALIAS: nemo.
AGE: imma dinosaur. rawr.
CONTACT: pm. or msn or aim.
EXPERIENCE: too much.
ONLINE TIME: afternoon. rarely evenings.
OTHER CHARACTERS: nop.
HOW DID YOU FIND US?: imma stalker rpg-d.
ANYTHING ELSE?: uhm... noo.

ACROSS THE UNIVERSE
general character information

CHARACTER NAME: Mordicus Brynmoor Belby
NICKNAMES: Mordi; or Dicus.
AGE | YEAR: 17; 7th year
DATE OF BIRTH: 13 December, 1675
NATIONALITY: British; Scottish; French
BLOODLINE: Pure

ALLIANCE: The Auctoritas Party, based more so on Mordicus' general belief of his supremacy. Has very little to do with pureblood status, though it does come in handy now and then...
HOUSE: Slytherin
WAND: 14 ¼'', walnut wood, chimaera scale
BROOM: The Trident; made by Gaffing & Sons
PET(S): Mordicus isn't exactly what you would call an 'animal guy.' He doesn't really care if he has a pet one way or another; he'll outlive them all eventually. He did, however, have a ferret at one point around the time when he was eleven named Osorio. Unfortunately upon his return from school in his third year he found the creature had died in his absence - for whatever reason - and without a word to anyone he buried it in the backyard. During the summer of last year Mordicus managed to convince his father [it wasn't difficult] to buy him another pet. Mr Belby denied the necessity of yet another own [the family already has three] and instead allowed Mordicus a small tabby kitten for having successfully passed most of his OWLs. Although it looks absolutely adorable, it should be noted that Mordicus' cat has, inevitably, adopted a hostile nature similar to that of its owner. Strangers beware.
OTHER:

I'VE JUST SEEN A FACE
describe how your character looks

HAIR: Appearances matter. That said, it's curious to note that up until age fifteen Mordicus had been completely uninterested in styling his hair. Though his mother would insist that he cut it more often than not he let it grow passed his ears carelessly, and went around frequently looking like a shaggy thing with legs. During the summer before his fifth year, however, he finally gave into his mother's nagging. He had most of his hair cut off and trimmed neatly and he’s pretty well kept the same look since on account of its easy managing. Mordicus still doesn't spend hours in front of the mirror styling himself but he understands that respectability comes foremostly from one's looking well.

EYES: His eyes are noticably blue. It's a familiar trait that runs in the family and owing to the apparent commonness amongst his relatives Mordicus has never been exceptionally proud of his eyes; they're just there. He's recieved numerous comments from girls but would generall prefer to brush them off rather than agree. During his childhood his eyes were much more reflective of his emotions; it was far too easy to conclude just exactly what Mordicus was thinking about. In recent years, however, that's changed entirely. Whether he's purposely turned off the outward emotion or, more likely, the drugs have plastered him into a permanent nonchalance, Mordicus' eyes are constantly glazed these days. They say the eyes are the windows of the soul... yeah, well, that’s not necessarily the case with everyone.

EFFECT: Mordicus' presence is an interesting one. By all means he has the looks - the hair, the eyes, the body - and then there's the certain something that can't quite be identified. Maybe it's the steeled gaze he gives out or the irritable sigh that constantly escapes his frowning lips. Whatever the cause one cannot deny the obvious drop in temperature when Mordicus enters the room. His displeasure is infectous. The only sway he has over his acquaintances is the ability to hold their attention by intimidation and fear itself. His aura is diseased; the sickening feeling seems to wrap around the tongues of his commrades, so much so that many refuse to speak altogther - perhaps for fear of becoming nauseas. Mordicus creates an uncomfortable effect on those around him. Despite the twisted power of just such a thing it seems to suit him well.
SKIN COLOR: Ashen
HEIGHT: 6'1''
WEIGHT: 160-170 lbs
BODY TYPE: Lithe
PLAY-BY: Lars Weidemann

STRAWBERRY FIELDS FOREVER
describe your character's personality

LIKES: Dark places, girls, cigarettes, drugs of any sort, alcohol, anything grotesque, the supernatural, basements and dungeons, the smell of earthy dampness, leather, dangerous creatures, dangerous spells, anything forbidden or looked upon dissaprovingly, porn, three o'clock AM, inflicting physical pain, money, being in control, sleeping well past noon, being in the comfort of someone else's bed, being doted on, sea food, jinxing and hexing students - not just first year, laughing at clumsy people, monotonous rainy days, the shade of grey, the feeling of being high, and skipping Herbology classes.

DISLIKES: Rules and authority in general, bright lights, waking up before noon, being disturbed in his sleep, obnoxious/nosey/bossy types of people - students and adults, being lost, swimming, being nagged, being stared at, second place, sticky/humid weather, egotistical assholes [other than himself], food stains, overstayed welcomes, class assignments and essays, failed drug payments - second chances aren't cheap, being rejected or stood up, humiliation, feeling nauseas with the flu, being ignored, innocence [feigned or not], threats to his sense of security, and competing males.

BOGGART: What would happen if the drugs became nonexistance and alcohol became unattainable? One look at Mordicus' boggart would show you that his fear is an immedate result of such a situation; his comfortable daze would fall away and he'd be left facing reality as exposed as a newborn baby. And that's not what he wants at all. The boggart reveals itself as an exact replica of him, but thinner and shaking uncontrolably. Deep circles beneath his eyes threaten to swallow his eyeballs; his cheeks are sunken; his skin has turned an unhealthy yellow. His fear is the reality of himself without the comforts to ease him through life.

DEMENTOR: Second year, mid-afternoon, Saturday by the lake. Everyone else was doing it, and having one hell of a good time. It never occured to Mordicus that he'd never tried it before. He'd never had to. The playful screams drew him to the edge of the water as though someone were pulling an invisible rope tied around his waste. He was stripped down to his boxers and felt the waves ripple calmly around his toes. A hand came down with a large slap on the surface of the water, sending droplets flying in all directions. The sun only made the lake seem more inviting. With wreckless abandon Mordicus threw himself forward and began to wade hurriedly through the cool water which rose steadily from his ankles to his calves to his knees. He should have stopped when the water sloshed around his thighs. Instead he plunged head-first and began kicking at the muddy bottom to bring him nearer to the group already a good deal out from shore. It happened relatively quickly; he barely had time to recognise his mistake before the bottom of the lake fell away and only thin strips of seaweed touched his feet. The flailing of this arms probably made matters worse. In any case Mordicus couldn't control the overwhelming panic that crept into his mind: he couldn't feel the bottom, he couldn't stay afloat, his head was going to go under. The waves of his own thrashing threatened to replace the air in his lungs. He did end up swallowing quite a bit of water before broad daylight was finally replaced by a murky underwater haze. It seemed like an eternity. It must have been ten, maybe fifteen seconds before he was finally dragged back to shallow water with an uncertain-looking older boy. And because drowing is never fun Mordicus has made of point of not returning to the water since.

AMORTENTIA: Damp earth; pancakes; the female scent.
PATRONUS: Tasmanian Devil
ERISED: King of his own castle; complete control.

OVERALL: Mordicus is the exact replica of the creepy stalker-guy standing over in the corner with the shadows. He’s simply mean and nasty and impossibly horrible to most people he meets. He isn't fond of people he doesn't know, or doesn't know very well, and has depended on a reputation to keep just such bastards as far as from him as possible. He does what he wants when he wants – to whom he wants. You can’t tame him, change him or maim him – he’s as solid as ice and just as cold.

Smiles don’t mean shit to him. A smile can be faked, but so can just about everything else. If he absolutely must show pleasure or amusement Mordicus is more likely to smirk or sneer in sarcasm, leading many to wonder whether he’s being true at all. And it’s not as though he wouldn’t lie to you. Are you joking? This guy seems to have no sense of pride; he has no morals and no values. Anything he does he does by his own standards regardless of later consequence. Although he may come off as strikingly reckless, Mordicus doesn’t charge headfirst into just anything. He usually knows what he’s getting into, or seems to know at least, which is a front he puts up nearly all the time. If he looks like he’s in control, certain and confident, it’s much easier for people to follow him, no? Confidence means a lot to him and that’s why he’ll rarely ever seem lost and confused even in the rare occasion when he is. That would be a sign of weakness.

Next on the docket we have Mordicus' anger issues. Yeah, he’s one of those moody PMS-ing types who never seems to be in a good mood. When things don’t go his way he turns into the spitting image of the devil himself. His face contorts into something nasty and menacing with malice simply dripping from the corners of his mouth. He's higly dangerous when frustrated and should be treated with caution at all times. A handful of people have made the mistake of thinking they understand enough of him to treat him like any other son of a bitch. All of them now see otherwise. The slightest dissaproval has the ability to set off the ticking bomb in his head; there's relatively little chance of diffusing it. It's clear Mordicus offers no compassion on his behalf – so why should you? He’ll tell you plainly that he doesn’t want your company so you might as well go and stick your head in the lake for all he cares. He won’t stop you. So long as you listen to him when he speaks and take his words with a serious weight you may actually get through the year with hardly any bumps and bruises. Keep him happy, that’s the secret to Mordicus, though hard it inevitably will be. His moods change like the stars; sometimes he can be demanding while other times he simply wishes for silence, and if you give it to him he probably won't kick you out of bed.

He speaks in a very cold drawl. He doesn’t often like to employ emotion in his tone, or his facial expressions for that matter, fearing his words will have far less of an impact on the person he’s speaking to. He talks with a certainty in his voice as well. Mordicus knows what he wants, he knows how to string his words together to persuade, seduce or intimidate. Most of his conversations are conducted in a chillingly distant voice, and he generally sounds bored despite any amount of interest he may actually have. Sarcasm, furthermore, is his weapon of choice. He can persuade and seduce like there’s no tomorrow. You’d be stupid to deny it, but there’s just something about Mordicus that few can put their finger on. He’s almost attractive in some way, yet completely repulsive at the same time... The way he talks is if as though he's talking directly to you; he looks as you intensely, he gives you that all-knowing wink that seems to have others duped into thinking he knows exactly what he’s doing... Actually Mordicus goes along with just about all of it. He can make you feel special for a moment and drop you in an instant as fast he can snap, like a child having grown bored of a doll when there are other presents sitting unwrapped beneath the Christmas tree. He’s rather cruel in his tactic, but you can’t help but think that for a moment, no matter how short or fleeting, you were something to him... He’s too damn good at it.

At this point it might seem as though he's built on likes and a false image. Well, that wouldn't necessarily be too far from the truth. Mordicus shrugs most things off with a nonchalant wave of his hand, a bored yawn or a roll of his eyes regardless of whether he thinks things to be of interest. He always stresses the appearance of being cool, calm, and collected. He has been raised and moulded to reflect the society around him, thinking that such a thing will help him fit into his own little niche in the world. Rumours have given him a pedestal to stand on, elevating his status above that of common ne'er-do-well and all-around idiot. Anything to add to his daunting image can’t be all that bad and if people think he’s willing to smash their heads into desks... well then, he'll just have to go out and find a couple of gorillas to do that for him then won't he.

The habit of drugs is a fairly recent one, but one that Mordicus has picked up and taken to the extreme in such a relatively short time. He's become known as the go-to guy for anything illegal and otherwise restricted and hard to get - yet another image that seems to have been attributed to him. Mordicus welcomes the attention, however, and with his band of merry men sees to the needs to numerous Hogwarts students who can't gets their kicks anywhere else. That makes him feel needed doesn't it. And it's good to feel needed; oh so good.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE
a smidgen of your character's history

PARENTS: Gregory and Tabitha Belby
SIBLINGS: Four, all younger; Marietta Belby, Malcolm Belby, Marius Belby, and Matilda Melby
OTHER FAMILY: Cousins; the Grunnions and the Kneens
HOME TOWN: Wiltshire, England
ANYTHING ELSE:

OVERALL: Mordicus was the first son belonging to Mr Belby, who loved children just about as much as he loved a stick in the eye. He didn't want any more than just the one either but Mrs Belby, always able to coax her husband out of his stubborn ways, pressed for another four. Five children was much too much Mr Belby often complained while wearing a rather pleased smile behind his newspaper. Five children would ensure the endurance of their lineage, yet five children would also mean a gross amount of money to be spent on unnecessary things...toys, clothes, school supplies for when the time would come. And it helped relatively little that most of the Belby children were in fact quite obsessed with material possessions. Mordicus was absolutely no exception to the rule and would often hang around his mother, tugging at her skirt, asking for another toy set because so-and-so ruined his last one. Thus Mr Belby deemed it necessary to put in long workng hours for a fairly decent wage. Trading illegal goods did seem to pay off rather well after all. I

Mordicus grew in his early childhood to be a rebellious boy, not fond of being told what to do by anyone. His mother's constant nagging generally kept him away from the house. There were four other children to yell at - why did she always seem to pick on him? He made it a game of doing everything he could think of to irritate her, something that didn't go so well when his father was around. Mr Belby had a look that was enough to frighten a military man into obedience.

Occasionally and not very often Mordicus chose to play with some of the boys around the neighbourhood. Sad to say they didn't live in an all-wizarding community, nor even an entirely pureblooded one for that matter. When the children of family acquaintances came by on occasions, particularly cousins, Mordicus was shooed away with the rest of them by adults who expected the children to play quietly together at the drop of a hat. As a result Mordicus has ended up resenting a fair few of his aunts and uncles. But the games the children played usually went according to Mordicus' rules - rules which he often made up as they went along to suit his needs. For a few years everything seemed to go fine until Mordicus' bossiness, bullying rather, simply would not do. He was ignored thereafter and returned miserably home to dig pointless holes in the backgarden. The few girls that lived closeby weren't any better. At one point all he did was attack them with handfuls of soil or mud, laughing manically like a silly little boy at his moments of victory. It was then a matter of whose mother would come first to reprimand him. Soon enough that little game stopped and he moved on to find other means of amusement.

Family life was ultimately dull. Mrs Belby dedicated a large portion of her time to making sure the children were properly educated in basic matters and, for the most part, were kept clean and out of trouble. Mordicus proved he was much too rowdy and fidgety to stay indoors for extended periods of time, particularly when the weather was nice. Try as she did Mrs Belby eventually gave up on imparting proper morals and nicieities on her son, who brushed them off altogether with a shrug. To say the least Mordicus was not an easy child to manage; he squirmed when held and shouted at the top of his lungs when pulled in an unwanted direction. Often times he was simply shoved out the backdoor with a cookie for the entire afternoon. Mr Belby realised how on and off his son could be [which is saying something because he was hardly ever around to see his own god damn children]. He sat his son down for a exceptionally strict talk one evening after dinner and put everything in simple terms. In the immediate weeks that followed Mordicus' temperment improved dranstically.

Eventually his letter came from Hogwarts and without a wave from the train he was off looking for somewhere to sit, perhaps someone to bother as soon as it dawned on him how very little his parents could do from so far away. Mordicus came off as an imp in his first year, to say the least. He had never been able to deal with sitting and learning for entire afternoons, nevertheless both morning and afternoon combined. He did a poor job of paying attention and his marks plainly showed. Needless to say Mr Belby was not at all pleased with his first born son's exceptionally poor performance. Was there something wrong with his genes? Of course not, it had to be his wife's side of the family... Mr Belby sharply told him to "get it right" in a howler sent to the school and was actually threatened with punishments that far surpassed what Mr Belby had ever dished out at home. Perhaps they were simply empty threats. In any case Mordicus didn't take them too seriously - he was away from home, what could they do?

The end of the school year would always roll around though, and the dissapointment of his father would set in as the train rattled back towards the station. In one instant before Mordicus' fifth year his father gave him a very harsh what-for in the sitting room of the house. Mr Belby made very clear what he expected to happen in the upcoming months, most particularly including fifth year OWLs. He was also forced to cut his hair. Somewhere around October or November Mordicus picked up a few less than favourable habits that wouldn't really grow until his sixth year. With his successful passing of most of the OWLs Mr Belby eased up on his eldest son, believing everything was going to turn out for the best from here on in. Tsk tsk tsk.

HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN
extra tidbits we need from you

MEMBER TITLE: stay in SHADOW ;;
WHO DOES JOURDIN THINK IS SEXY?: -edit-
ANYTHING ELSE?: nop.

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE: Cyrus spared a casual glance over his shoulder at the boy who went by the name Louis. It struck him suddenly how old he was and how long it had been since he’d gone to the school. Three or four years or something... He didn’t necessarily like to keep track of the time that had progressed from his less-than-honourable, er, change of heart. A feeling of nostalgia crept into his gut, seeping like poison from a wound he hadn’t even realized was there. There had never been a Louis at the school in his years. It was a funny name, actually, and no doubt he would have made fun of the guy it belonged to with the help of his faithful friends. That particular feeling of nostalgia, however, turned to sour jealousy in the next instant after hearing the boy Louis’s crude reply. There was the instinct to throw his arm heavily over Kat’s shoulders and stalk away with a glare at the guy, but also the impulse to turn on his heel and approach the idiot with a fist in the face. Both scenarios appealed to Cyrus greatly, yet neither was a suitable course of action either. Pummelling Louis’s snide smile would result in Cyrus’s forcible removable from the property, firstly, and then would have him facing charges of trespassing and violent behaviour. He really wasn’t in the mood for having to deal with publicity – or his father for that matter...

So why the hell didn’t he just drape an arm around the slender shoulder’s of Kat like some overly protective and envious ape coveting a prize? She’d obviously feel odd about it. Cyrus found that any physical contact between them – unless they were heavily intoxicated, all matters not withstand in such cases – was plain old awkward. It was too eerie to imagine any lovey-dovey fondling going back and forth, whether just a simple holding of hands or even a hug. Kisses, he supposed, could be given in a much more detached sort of way where it didn’t really matter what he felt; they were both taking something for themselves. It was the little things that had him on edge because it was the little things, as they said, that mattered.

“What a fucking ass-hole,” he said simply. Yup, there was his big reaction. His tone was so indifferent it was amazing so many things had gone through his head only seconds before. As if to drive the point home he convinced himself that it would ultimately have been impossible to drape an arm around her because she was currently walking behind him rather than beside him... “You don’t want to blow guys like that,” said Cyrus matter-of-factly. “They got another bunch of whores for that, and he’s probably got a just about every virus known to mankind too.” He turned away with a fleeting expression of disgust, hoping to hide it. “What are doing back there anyways? That’s usually where the guy’s supposed to be.” Okay, so now he had a proper arrogant grin on his lips. It suited him much better.

“You want to know what’s in a blow job, hm? You’ve got to be careful about where you get them though, first thing first. Guys like him –” he jerked his head back to Louis “–aren’t ideal. But a blow job with me, now, you know you’re getting the good stuff. I’ll see to it personally that you get the finest treatment.” He laughed a bit when she told him about his apparent fan club at Saint Augustine. Who knew he was such a god so many years after he’d left the place? It was a rather nice feeling though, truth be told. “I’ll swing by and sign some autographs after lunch, maybe when I bring you back or something,” he said thoughtfully.

They trekked across the courtyard lawn and left through an archway that followed a path leading around the side of the school. They could avoid having to walk through the halls this way, and consequently avoid any groups of drooling girls that might think of pouncing him at first sight. The path went down a gentle slope where, up ahead, the academy gates stood tall and imposing. Cyrus always remembered them like a god damn jail cell.

“So, it’s up to you I suppose – pizza or burgers?” Good old ‘All-American’ food. No fancy dining or expensive tabs for lunch. Lunch was lunch and was just meant to be a quick filler between breakfast and dinner. “Both places are in equal walking distance. I’m kind of the mood for pizza though. And garlic bread sticks.” He had, of course, caught that odd albeit enjoyable sparkle of something in her eye... Best to pretend as though he hadn't, thus driving her nearer to the edge of her sanity and wanting him. So devious, Mr Orwell, so devious.

[harvey radford]

accepted!
[welcome to vinco vici victum]