MILES, nolan emerson [FINISHED] Sept 12, 2013 12:24:05 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 12, 2013 12:24:05 GMT -5
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Face Claim: <Michael Fassbender!>
OH, HAI THERE! I'M QUINN AND IT IS MY PLEASURE TO MEET YOU. I'VE BEEN DOING THIS FOR ABOUT SIX YEARS SO I KNOW WHAT TO DO. YOU NEED TO TALK TO ME? HIT ME UP VIA PERSONAL MESSAGE TO NOLAN’S ACCOUNT AND I'LL TRY TO GET BACK TO YOU.
FULL NAME nolan emerson miles
BIRTHDAY november 21
SUBJECT(S) journalism & public speaking
Nolan has dark brown hair that he tries to keep short, although over this summer he has let his hair go a bit. Bright blue eyes are his predominant facial features. Nolan is a very pensive human being and constantly has a furrow between his brows and a pen in his mouth. He holds himself well, standing at a little over 6’2”. There is a small scar on his upper lip, the only remnants of a bar fight that he was involved in back at college.
+Black and White Movies
-Fiction Novels & Stories
+Gifted with Words
-Unable to stomach Rejection
-Often seen as cold and distant
Nolan has never been the most social of human beings - in fact, he draws most of his energy from introspection. The true definition of an introvert, being around other people for long periods of time drains him and will often cause him to be a little grouchy. No loves to write, and he respects both his students and his colleagues who can say the same about themselves...however, give him a fiction piece to proof and he’ll immediately give it back to you. He has a thing about disliking fiction writing.
This is his first year teaching, and while it’s taking him a bit of time to get used to the whole thing, Nolan actually does enjoy his job. He enjoys inspiring the next generations of authors and writers and hopes that they will at least be able to see a little of that reflected in his work. He’s a fair grader and doesn’t play favorites...at least not yet.
Nolan Miles was born in a small town in Pennsylvania, where he spent most of his years. His parents - Margo and Edwin - were relatively wealthy, after his father invested most of their money into Apple stock during the 80s. Nolan was an only child, and rarely went wanting...His mother doted upon him. As a child, he spent a lot of his time writing to get out his feelings, instead of talking about them. He was a formidable writer, even as a young child. Although, when his mother read his papers, she often found that they lacked imagination.
No saw the world the way that it was and preferred not to engage himself in the silliness that imagination often lent itself to. During his early schooling years, he didn’t have a lot of friends. Perhaps the only one that he could remember was a young girl who would allow him to sit next to her while she painted and he wrote. It was hardly a friendship, but that was all that he needed as a younger child.
He went off to college in New York, attending the prestigious Columbia University for his degree in Journalism. It was quite the eye-opening experience for him and - although he did manage to secure lucrative internships at magazines in the city - his grades were sub-par and so was his attitude. Nolan thought that New York was a cop out, that anyone could succeed amongst the lights of Broadway...And he longed for more, so much more. At a bar one night his junior year of schooling, Nolan got himself into a fight with a couple Journalism students. A split lip, black eye, and police report later, Nolan was formally asked to remove himself from Columbia.
Instead of letting it get to him, the young Mr. Miles took his leave from New York and settled in the mid-west, working as a free lance journalist while taking night classes to finish his education. Nolan kept a relatively low profile during this time, working on non-controversial pieces for local newspapers.
A few years into his thirties now, Nolan is quiet and reclusive, deep and introspective. He spends most of his time writing alone in his apartment. Wentworth Academy only recently hired him as their new Journalism and Public Speaking teacher, a position that he was tentative to take. However, after weighing his options, he decided that he was well over-due for something new in his life. This will be his first year teaching.
[From a HP site on which I played Bellatrix]
Contrary to seemingly popular belief, stress relief tended to be hard to come by for the raven-haired Slytherin. Bellatrix Black often found that the only relief that she managed to feel came from her lessons with Riddle. She was allowed the creative freedom to spin whatever spells came into her head, throw incantations in every direction and watch them wreck chaos within her own little world.
Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t have her lessons all the time. She was caught up in end of the year school work, examinations, and essays that had to be done before she was allowed to go on her holiday in Italy. However, she was not one to be swayed away from what she really wanted to do and had mapped out the day to review a couple of Quidditch plays that she had come up with over the past couple of weeks. It wasn’t nearly as therapeutic as slinging dummies across the room, but it certainly had advantages to working on her essays.
The snow around her had been cleared, a small patch of grass visible underneath her as Bells breathed in the fresh air. Then she began working. In the thin layer of snow that was beginning to fall again, she was drawing X’s and O’s, arrows and dashed lines, all in a variety of ways. This was her way of constructing her own plays for the upcoming season; she had to see it laid out for her. Being captain wasn’t easy - especially for a Beater. More often than not, they were passed up for the Chasers and Seeker types, seeing as most amateurs thought that they could do the job better. People believed that beaters were the brute strength of the team, throwing their bludgers in what ever direction they could swing. But Bells knew better. The Beaters were the heart and soul of her team, and that was exactly why she had been named captain this year.
Chewing on the inside of her lip, she drew a new X that represented her on-the-field counterpart, Theodore Nott. Nott had been her Beater-in-Crime since their third year. Digging her finger into the snow a bit harder than she should have, Bells dragged a line of an arrow down the mock field that she had created. Contemplating the left or the right double back, she could practically hear the Slytheirn crowd chanting her name. Until she thought of the atrocity of a shot she had at the last scrimmage against Gryffindor. Hadn’t even come close to Potter, ”Dammit!” She growled, throwing her hand into the snow and destroying the mental game that she had been playing.
It wasn’t going to work. She needed to get back into the swing of things - needed to get her mind refocused. If Slytheirn had any chance of winning the Cup this year, she was going to need to be on the top of her game, and she most certainly wasn’t there now. In a huff, Bells leaned back in the snow and put her hands over her eyes. It was going to be a hell of a long holiday if her brain kept this up.