L.B. Darroway

[darroway]

MINISTRY OF MAGIC
Permanent Record


DARROWAY, Langston Beauford

BASIC INFORMATION

NAME:Langston Beauford Darroway
NICKNAMES: Darroway. Just Darroway. L.B. is acceptable under certain conditions, but Darroway is preferable.
DATE OF BIRTH: August 7th, 1959
HOMETOWN:Liverpool
HEIGHT: 1.83 meters (6 feet)
HAIR:Dark brown with the tendency to wave on the sides. He combs and gels it back to look professional.
EYES:Dark gray-brown and often narrowed.
BLOOD: Half-blood
OCCUPATION: Professor at Hogwarts. Preferably Ancient Runes, but he would also be happy to be the school librarian.

APPEARANCE

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Darroway is a sophisticated type of handsome. He With full lips and pale skin, he is the classic English beauty. His prominent cheekbones, sharp jaw, and wary eyes make him look oddly appealing. His looks are a paradox of attraction.
PERSONAL STYLE: Darroway loves suits, collared shirts, and expensive ties. He refuses to wear jeans or trousers that don’t have a proper crease in them. He works very hard to maintain his aristocratic appearance. He settles for nothing short of perfect.

PERSONALITY

LIKES: Percy Shelley, poetry, writing, reading, solitude, Earl Grey tea, the idea of children, silk ties, honesty, Italian patent leather shoes, and Liverpool.
DISLIKES: Women, men, people in general, being alone, colors, Edgar Allen Poe, the seventies, Americans, real children, loud cultures, spicy food, and himself.
DEMENTOR: Darroway once opened himself up to a young woman with bright eyes and a large smile. He loved her immensely and it ended badly. He remembers the period after she broke up with him as his personal hell. He would rather die than face that sort of rejection again.
BOGGART: Being abandoned again for his personality. He feels as if he cannot change who he is and when people reject him for who he is, it tears him apart. Darroway is more self-critical than most people realize and every criticism goes straight to his heart.
PATRONUS: As a boy, when he lived in Liverpool he would go out into the streets to play football with the other street rats. He loved those days; he was a different person.
ERISED: Darroway longs to belong to something, to someone. He would never admit it, but for once he longs to be liked. What’s more is he wants to like something. He doesn’t know what he wants to like or what he even wants. All he wants is to enjoy something. Anything.
GENERAL DESCRIPTION: On the surface, Darroway appears self-centered, arrogant, aloof, and perpetually unamused. He is a rampant intellectual and often spurts allusions to poetry and novels that makes him seem quite the pompous dolt. However, beneath his façade lies a tormented, guilty soul brimming with self-loathing and doubt. He is insecure in his relationships (both women and men) and will resort to his intellect to protect him from pain. He is talented and quite brilliant, but his own self-loathing holds him back.

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

SPOUSE:
PARENTS: Langston and Marcy Darroway.
SIBLINGS: None.
OTHER FAMILY: None.
BIOGRAPHY: Darroway’s story truly begins with his parents’ affair. Langston Darroway was the youngest child of an intensely pureblooded family. The Darroways expected Langston to marry well, produce many children, and carry on the family’s unscathed history. However, Langston fell rebelliously and irrevocably in love with Marcy Peters, a muggle. Cast from his family after impregnating Marcy at the age of 16, Langston found himself resenting his only child, L.B. Darroway, for ruining his residency in upper class. Aware of her husband’s discontent, Marcy pressured Darroway to elevate their status through marriage and connections. Although Darroway was born in Liverpool—and loved it there—the family moved to London in pursuit of higher society. They have never truly relinquished their chase for riches and often overspend so Darroway will fit into proper society. They also keep Marcy’s blood a secret, trying to pass Darroway for a pureblood.

Langston Beauford—or Darroway, as he prefers to be called—was arranged to marry the rich Chloe Rogue. She was a beautiful French blonde, with a lot of passion and spirit. She was unlike anything that Darroway had ever seen. Chloe was under the impression that Darroway was very well off, so she allowed the romance to continue. Darroway fell fanatically in love with her and she seemed to return the affection…until she learned of his lowly status. At the time they were privately tutored together, but after their romance ended, L.B. was unable to continue his studies in London. He was sent away from home to Hogwarts at seventeen.

At Hogwarts, Darroway was quiet and unfriendly. He didn’t take well to other students, and tried to deny his family’s pressures on him to raise their status. After Hogwarts, L.B. traveled to his hometown, Liverpool, and did some soul searching. When he found nothing left for him, he continued to travel through Europe trying to find a place to belong. It only lasted until this summer when he decided to return to Hogwarts. He is a true poet, and wants only to make peace with himself through his writing. Darroway was a gentler, more humble person as a child, but now he has become bitter to the point of cruelty.

OOC INFORMATION

NAME/ALIAS: J
ROLE PLAY EXPERIENCE: Two characters here and a few from HOTW a while ago.
REFERRED BY: Kt
OTHER CHARACTERS: Ofelia Sturm and Kipland Welles
ADDITIONAL INFO: Nada
RP SAMPLE:

Darroway watched the passing subway trains with mild disdain. He'd never ridden the muggle transit before and was disgusted by what he found: an infestation of grimey, filthy groundlings with nothing better to do than rush around like mindless ants. None of them truly had a purpose--besides that of procreation--and very few of them had any sort of idea who they were at all.

He lit a fag half-heartedly. Darroway liked many things about the muggle culture. He liked Liverpool and playing football with the street rats. He liked cigarettes and the sense of detatchment they brought. He liked muggle poetry--especially Shelley and Keats--and he liked muggle alcohol. Gin was his special favourite. But mostly he liked the sense of rebellion that muggle culture brought him. It was one more way to break away from his parents' inane wishes. It was why he tirelessly studied the literary greats and aspired to be just like them. It was why he was in the metro at this very moment, leaning against a putrid wall and debating the relative merits of consuming a sandwhich. It was why he was staying in the metro instead of instantly leaving for the comforts of Diagon Alley. You wouldn't know it from looking at him, but Darroway was nothing if he wasn't persistent.

His eyes scanned over the bustling mass of mundane muggles before he shuffled through his back pocket for his miniature version of Howl by an American muggle named Allen Ginsberg. Darroway was convinced that muggles composed better poetry because it seemed to him that all wizarding poets wrote were limricks.

Darroway could write better than the eyeball-rolling work of the famous Finnigan the Frank, who wrote mainly suggestive limricks about various features of the female anatomy.

He took another drag on his cigarette, willing something eventful to occur. When nothing did, he tried to think of words that rhymed with mundane. He managed to come up with twenty six before something caught his eyes.

A rat, no bigger than his fist, scampered around the feet of the traveling muggles. Intruiged, Darroway followed the vermin with his eyes until it disappeared behind a pillar. It had scruffy patches of vomit-brown fur and no tail. Rats were incredibly intelligent creatures, if not neophobic, and had an astounding endurance about them. Darroway wasn't sure why this particular non-magical rat caught his attention (he had spotted them countless times on the filthy streets of London). He suspected it had something to do with the astute mood he was in: desperate for some symbolism in his life. It reappeared on the otherside of the pillar and dashed to the wall.

Watching a rat collapse its bones to fit through a penny sized hole in the wall is a sickening, but fascinating thing to behold. Darroway found himself pervertedly amused by the rat's disgusting ability, and chuckled to himself as he watched the tip of its tail disappear behind the tile.

A train rushed past the waiting crowd and a mass of frazzled commuters spilled out onto the platform. Darroway raised an eyebrow at the nauseating sight of the stale muggles. "Pathetic lives," he muttered quietly before returning to the sonnets of Percy Shelley, "Vermin, all of them."

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