Title: GOLDSTEIN, malcolm anthony
malcolm goldstein - September 4, 2007 05:49 AM (GMT)
INTRODUCING...
[ malcolm goldstein ]
[ malcolm goldstein ]
[who's pulling all the strings?
name: kimburrlee
age: 23
contact: aim: letyrheartbreak
experience: loads.
how'd you find us? wiafa D:
[ w h o are you?
full name: malcolm anthony goldstein
explain the names: malcolm for his paternal grandfather & anthony for his dad
nickname: mal, goldstein
age/year: seventeen/seventh
house: ravenclaw
any titles?: prefect, if available.
[ show some skin!
eye color: dark chocolate brown
hair color: similarly dark brown
skin tone: slightly tanned, but more like a hint of bronze over his normally ivory skin
celebrity portrayal: matthew fox
[ let me pick your brain!
likes:
- [-]his family
[-]his causes
[-]magic
[-]reading, writing and not arithmatic
[-]art of any kind
[-]quidditch
[-]charms & transfiguration
[-]books, both fiction and non-fiction
[-]the romantics and metaphysical poets
[-]music
[-]treacle tarts
[-]fire whiskey, in moderation
[-]Rosalie
- [-]death eater's
[-]large crowds
[-]potion
[-]speaking in public or to larger groups
[-]clowns/mimes/circus performers . . . they're all creepy
[-]angry faces
[-]pumpkin juice
[-]disappointing others
[-]misplacing objects
[-]fake people
[-]feeling trapped
[-]bindings and boundaries in general
[-]people who burn books
[-]people who censor books
- [-]research
[-]his memory [it's nearly photographic, though not quite THAT good]
[-]finding ways out of difficult situations
[-]relating life to books
[-]helping others [no matter the cost to him]
[-]
- [-]rosalie
[-]girls in general [especially if they're crying or emotional]
[-]the word "please"
[-]treacle tarts
[-]potions
- [-]biting his nails
[-]hiding his head in a book when the world starts to bother him
[-]ignoring people when not wanting to be bothered
[-]acting "brooding"
[-]biting his lip and mussing his hair
- treacle tart
parchment & ink, old and new
a sweet flowery scent
- a clydesdale horse -- strong, loyal and headstrong
- to never again feel as though he has purpose in his life
- She wasn't there.
Malcolm found himself repeating it over and over again as he paced down the long corridor of the train. He felt small, almost as if he was non-existant even in the tight space. It took all afternoon, not that he had noticed, but as the sun fell behind the line of trees, he found an empty compartment and tried desperately to hide himself inside. There had been no sign of Rosalie for months. In fact, he couldn't even remember the last time he saw her or spoke to her. She had been so busy with exams, and he, with his OWLs, that the fact that she was even missing didn't strike him until the farewell feast. He felt like the worst sort of friend, completely oblivious to something that was obviously important.
Then there was the summer. An entire summer spent in her absence. Malcolm kept telling himself, if he got through one more day, the Creevey's were bound to return to their home. Perhaps if he lasted one more day, she'd send some sort of word. Every letter he sent Edd out with came back to him, un-opened. Eventually, the owl just quit going when he sent her off with a letter for Rose. That's when he decided something was really wrong.
He was silently sitting in his misery when a pounding on the door burst through his aura of despair. Pulling his hands from his face, he turned to look at the source of the noise as the door slid open revealing the form of Rosalie's ex-boyfriend, thw one she had been dating before she left, surrounded by a group of his rowdy peers. "Oh," he said, laughing, "I figured Rosie would be in here if you were."
Malcolm's eyes scanned the empty compartment, falling finally on the other boy. "Obviously, she's not."
"Damn," he started laughing, his friends behind him snickering to some unknown joke behind him, "I was hoping I could find her for another go."
And with that they slammed the compartment door, leaving him to wallow in his grief.
personality:
- By all accounts, Malcolm Goldstein is a really nice guy. He has always been that way, probably mostly because of the loving home he shared with his dad and brother. Mal is never afraid to state his mind when he feels the need. He's never afraid to tell people how he feels, and won't stand by silently if something he doesn't agree with is taking place near by him.
Even with this outspoken tendency, it is easy to pass over Malcolm Goldstein, to look through him toward someone else. He tends to be a rather unassuming figure, making a point not to stand out terribly among a crowd. He is easy going, finding it best to mingle among others than head to the front. He is a sterotypical silent leader, showing people what to do without shouting out how or why. He is much more reserved, calm, and introverted than one might expect based on first looks at his gruffer exterior. He tends to keep silent when not completely necessary, wildly running from anyone who might compliment him and is prone to stuttering and fidgeting around girls. Even at the age of 17, Mal finds it nearly impossible to talk openly about himself or to boast about any accomplishments. If he could, he probably would never talk about himself. He prefers to hear about the accomplishments of others than put himself in the limelight.
Malcolm is genuinely happy watching the people around him succeed, especially if he can help in anyway. He likes helping people rise, even if it means they stand out more than he does. It's part of his overall giving nature. Mal doesn't hold back help from people, and that means anyone. If you ask for help with genuine interest, he WILL help you. The oldest Goldstein desires to please people, and keep everyone happy and will do just about anything to accomplish this. He doesn't like to worry others, prefering to keep it all to himself. If a friend makes a move to fuss over him, he quickly bats them away and claims to be a model of health and wellness, both of body and mind. His last wish on the planet would be to hurt or bother anyone, especially someone he cares for in any way.
This said, Malcolm Goldstein is in no way weak, and he should never be confused as such. He is a dreamer, a romantic in every since of the word. He feels things deeply and finds it hard to express every emotion he feels. Mal is gentle, undeniably so, and more imaginative than could be believed. His mind is always working, always moving, even when he is still or appears calm. Having always been intelligent, and never stopping his desire to learn, Mal is still learning things, still discovering. With no desire for wealth or fame, he'd rather spend any money he finds or earns on books, even forgoing more than one of his daily meals.
Mal could never hold something uncontrollable against a person. He doesn't judge a person until he knows them personally, and even than is still unlikely to show his opinion. He's short on cold, quick accusations and more free with warm tolerance. Even if the person "deserves" his angst and bad attitude, Malcolm won't offer it, not openly at least and never without reason. He is the kind of person people can confide in, without question or worry about his shock or disclosure. Without arguement, Mal is the kind of person a stranger on the street would instantly trust, and with very good reason.
Even with all this, Malcolm keeps to himself, speaks calmly and slowly, and tries to mind his own buisness even while friends and strangers barrage him with their problems. Almost like a psychic sponge, he absorbs all the feelings of others and mixes them with his own, causing the constant fretting or worry Mal feels constantly. Over all, he is shy, feeling his own limitations deeply and trying to keep them out of the view of those around him. He is a protector, trying desperately to keep all of the people around him safe, even at the expense of his own health and well-being.
[ take a look back in time
parents: Anthony Goldstein & Daphne Greengrass Goldstein
siblings: [brother] --- goldstein [sixth, sixteen, hufflepuff]
history:
- To the outside world, Anthony and Daphne seemed like a perfectly happy, loving couple. But the truth behind that was much different. Everyone knew their marriage had been a bit of a rush, and it was no surprise when Malcolm was born only six months after the wedding. But Daphne Greengrass was raised as any proper pureblood witch, and so appearances meant everything. Her family, upon finding out her condition, forced her into the marriage with the sweet, gentlemanly Anthony. Daphne was furious all the time in private: furious at herself for getting trapped into a low end marriage, furious with her parents for forcing her when she obviously didn't want to, and most of all furious with Anthony, for she blamed him, and eventually Malcolm, for every bit of her punishment.
When Malcolm's little brother was born, he was barely old enough to realise the addition. While Anthony was full of love for the second small child, he seemed to Daphne to be another stake violently tying her to this life. Anthony was three the last time he saw his mother, not that he'd remember. She raged at Anthony and the two small boys, all because one of the children had spilled ink on one of her fine blouses while Anthony was supposed to be watching them. It was an accident, but for Daphne, it was the last straw. She left without another word, turning away from the life Anthony had tried desperately to make for her and from the small innocent beings she had helped create.
Malcolm grew up quickly, knowing nothing of his mother, or her family. Anthony was kind and quiet, more studious than passionate. He was a loving father, encouraging and playful. Even without a mother, it seemed to Mal that it didn't really matter. He had his dad, and saw him as the best man in the world.
A year after his mum left, he met Rosalie Creevey. The meeting was simple enough, he was so excited to have someone to play with beside his little brother that he tore off toward her and introduced himself. The Creevey's and Mal's dad liked to repeat the story often enough, that although he had no real memory of the event, it seemed as though he did. Nearly everyday from then on was spent together.
As Mal headed off for Hogwarts, he felt the age difference between himself and Rose for the first time. He had to leave her, and his brother, behind. It was so hard for him, his whole first year he wondered what she was doing, if she was having fun without him, had she found any of the bunnies they had spent most of the last year searching for? He had fun, made new friends and, as was expected, he learned a great deal. All the while, he couldn't shake the feeling that it would be ten times better once Rose got there. And he was right.
His forth year saw the next great illustration of their difference in ages. To Malcolm, girls started to look less like a a bunch of beautiful but terrifying banshees and more like, well, girls. He started seeing them all in a different light, but most of all, he saw Rose. Over their summer break, she had done something incredibly unexpected: she dared him to kiss her. What was even more unexpected was that he had really, desperately wanted to do it. It was such a step, and he hesitated a moment and by the time he realised what he was doing, she had taken off running. The whole year he tried to figure out how to make up for the misadventure, how to kiss her properly without her disappearing, but he could never find the right chance, and before he realised it, his moment had come and passed.
He watched Rose start to date, but could never find it in himself to do the same. Although girls asked, he was so unsure of himself, unready and unprepared. He had never seen love in action when he was younger, but had developed this rather larger than life version of it in his head. Mal was a romantic, a daydreamer, never really seeing the world as it was, but as he wanted it to be. Girls were never good enough for him, after all, they weren't his Rosalie.
Her last boyfriend had been the worst. Malcolm knew him pretty well, knew his reputation even more clearly. He tried to warn his friend about him, but it seemed as though the pleading fell on deaf ears. Rosalie looked totally smitten, obnoxiously so, and the whole time, all Malcolm could think was that it wasn't over him. It nearly killed him knowing that she was in love with some other fool, not him.
And then she left. It was unexpected to say the least, but it was all the worse when he found her home still standing next door, only empty. According to Anthony, the family was on vacation in Scotland, but it seemed as though she never came back. That whole summer he waited for her to reappear, waited for a note or something to tell him where she was, but none ever came. He was devastated and lived almost outside of himself. By the time September 1st came around, he was scrawnier when the other boys his age had bulked up. It turned in the worst year of his life, constantly waiting for her to reappear and finding that it never happened. Malcolm was a shell, a zombie, going from class to class, doing his homework and following orders but never really acting as though he was alive. At first people tried to help, but eventually everyone just gave up. Only his brother ever made an effort with him, and even that was meant mostly with silence.
Seventh year had started to look about the same, until she showed up.
[ the rest of the rest
member title: e n d where i begun
pets?: a female barn owl named blodeuwedd, who he calls edd
anything else about your character we should know?: nope
other: honestly not sure . . . MAYBE "bicycle" by queen. maybe.
roleplay sample:
| QUOTE |
| Callum had been awake for over an hour. It was astounding, as each day dawned and he found himself still curled around Delilah. Every morning he expected the night to have been a dream, something no in his reach but completely wonderful all the same. It was such a reward to the boy to wake up next to her that he often found himself staring at her until her eyelids fluttered slightly and she could feign sleep no longer. After three mornings of staring at her until she woke up, he decided that it might be getting a little creepy. Who wanted to wake up to somebody staring at them? He certainly didn't like the idea. So, Cal decided to limit his awe filled gaze to fifteen minutes, if she hadn't woken up by then, he'd either wake her or sneak downstairs to let her sleep. After twenty minutes, he decided she wasn't waking up anytime soon so he should give up. Then it occured to him: he should cook. It came upon him the same way as all ideas, and, like ideas when they first pop into one's cranium, it sounded good. She had made just about every meal for the both of them since they were married, and while her cooking was delicious, it was time for a break. He had made food before. At the Lupin household it tended to be every man [or woman in Adalia's case] for themself. Remus didn't cook, so their fridge mainly contained things like lunchmeat, sandwhich bread and these wonderful little frozen pb&j sandwhiches you could by in the box load. But he had made scrambled eggs and toast, so it shouldn't be so hard to have a proper breakfast for his wife when she woke up. He threw a shirt over his chest and pulled on the boxers he'd found on the floor, checking first that they were his. He had pulled on a pair of Delilah's itty bitty sleeping shorts yesterday to much hilarity, but really didn't want to repeat the mistake again. He treaded quietly out of the bedroom and down the steps making his way to the small kitchen. He wondered briefly how much Del paid for the flat; it was a million times nicer than his and in a better neighborhood. Obviously her job paid a lot better than he imagined. Either that or he married into money, either way he could live with it. Let her be the bread winner, he always had his dad's shop to work at when he got bored. The idea of being a trophy husband seemed rather pleasant to Callum altogether. He grinned broadly to himself at the thought; he'd have to repeat it later to his wife. As Callum began cooking, it seemed all would be well. The coffee was a guaranteed success; he was a whizz with beans. The smell of it permiated his nostrils, over powering the smell of the stove and causing him to close his eyes in pure bliss. Of course, when one is casting a lighting charm on a stove, it is usally considered poor form to keep your eyes shut, even while enjoying coffee. The spell went offtrack, catching the draperies over the sink instead of the stove currently pouring out gas. This second smell jumped into his nostrils, almost as a reminder of what he was doing. Cal opened his eyes just in time to see the curtains go up and a small burst of flames as the gas caught in the air. The heat blew over him and he was sure after it dispersed he caught anothr smell: burning hair. It was about this moment that he heard Delilah's hurried footsteps on the stairs. Slightly singed and more than a little disoriented, Cal murmured, "aguamenti," toward the drapes, hurriedly trying to put them out before Del made it to the kitchen. “Cal, what’s burning?” He cringed, watching the final water quench the flames. "Nothing anymore," he called back, not lying. "I think we may need some new curtains in the kitchen. I didn't really like them much anyway." Wiping at his face, he added new eyebrows to the inventory list as he was certain the bits of ash on his finger definitely used to belong on his face. She would laugh. She had to laugh. Oh, Merlin, what if she doesn't laugh?! |