Post by tristanapolloavis on Jul 23, 2013 20:30:41 GMT -6
| [atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, width: 460px; background-image: url(http://i44.tinypic.com/34fb0ns.jpg);-moz-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; -webkit-border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px; border: 4px ridge #7a9aa9, bTable][tr][cs=2] tristan apollo avis. sixteen. student, ravenclaw year six. applewood, 10½”, unicorn hair, inflexible. joe brooks. | |
[rs=2] | Tristan doesn’t really remember his childhood. It isn’t that it was so traumatic that he’s subconsciously blocking it out, or that Tristan was just one of those kids who wanted to grow up as quickly as possible and forget everything embarrassing about his childhood (although he had been one of those kids who couldn’t wait to grow up)—it’s that after the accident, everything before that had pretty much been reduced to nothing more than vague snippets. But there are some things that he does know. He does know, for instance, that he was a kid with too much of an adventurous spirit to be contained, and the hectic work life that his parents both led resulted in him having far too much freedom—far too much freedom for any five-year old, anyway. Five-year olds didn’t know many things. They didn’t know that they weren’t supposed to go straight home after kindergarten, especially if there was no adult with him. They didn’t know that if a shop on the street looked vaguely shady, they weren’t supposed to enter. And they definitely didn’t know that eavesdropping on what was obviously a private conversation—like the kind that Daddy and Mummy had late at night when they thought he was asleep, with hushed but angry words whispered to each other in the late of night, except worse—wasn’t something that anyone was supposed to do, much less five-year olds. Then again, in Tristan’s defence, no one ever told him. And it wasn’t like adults knew everything, either. Otherwise, maybe that man might have thought twice before knocking Tristan out with the butt of his gun. Because when Tristan woke up, surrounded by friends and family in a mysterious, white room with rough, scratchy sheets underneath him, and tried to say hi to his mum and ask her where he was, he opened his mouth and—nothing. Nothing came out. Because he tried to say something, anything, because he was so lost and so confused, but all he was doing was moving his mouth without any sounds coming out and Tristan was frightened. He hasn’t been able to talk since. But it wasn’t that bad, really. Because there have been good parts—with an adventurous spirit like Tristan’s, it’s almost impossible to let anything hold him back. And while he’s not exactly brave (whatever could have been called “courage” in his childhood could also be attributed to childhood stupidity; whatever could possibly be called “courage” now can be attributed to the innate need to satisfy his curiosity despite how many cats it might have killed), he’s just about one of the most ridiculously headstrong people you’ll ever meet. He doesn’t really get many chances to express his opinion so when he does, he sticks with it (sometimes even if it’s wrong—he really hates it when he’s wrong because he finds it really embarrassing), and he also really hates when people think that he’s not good enough just because he’s mute. That’s why he left his old school—they kind of kicked him out because he wasn’t able to do “normal” spells, but Tristan’s always figured that if he’s willing to go the extra mile and try to do his best, why should the school care? As long as he has his trusty notebook to scribble messages to anyone who doesn’t understand sign language and his (actually advanced) ability to be able to perform nonverbal spells, Tristan doesn’t believe that anything should affect his life, and definitely not his education. Those things are important, you know. |
cy. fifteen. one and a half. |
