Post by ANATOLIUS VINCENTE NOTT on Aug 31, 2012 11:52:37 GMT
anatolius vincente nott
[/i].[/b][/color]" the coin flips through easily, up and down along his five fingers as he gives his more distinct and common name to the lady dressed in green, with flowing, midnight hair and emerald eyes. he sits up straight, but with a relaxed demeanour, and having placed one leg along his other thigh, he now means to deal with this meet with a more serious approach. his usual, slight smirk is painted on, however, so his veil of ambiguity is still veiling his identity.
full name: anatolius alphonse vincente nott
age: sixteen
year: 6th
birthday: january 10
blood line: pureblood
occupation: student
former / house: slytherin
after all, if he is to sit here for an hour discussing his life story, he may as well make things interesting for him. his inability to take interest in something that has the possibility of losing his attention in less than five seconds is not one he wants to show just yet. she is also something very sweet to look at, and could mean well for his amusement if he pushes the right buttons.
"i don't know what it is with wizards and long names, but i guess i can't complain much. dumbledore hasn't," he continues, eyes glinting as a faint smile appears on her face. "jax comes from ajax, by the way. a latin name that means 'mourner'.[/b]" he pauses, smiling in delightful contemplation. "yes, my grandmother is a very imaginative witch. and no, i am the only one with such a name in my family.[/b]" the atmosphere dulls to only the scratching sounds of her quill moving, but she hasn’t looked up since the moment she took a seat and asked him to cite his full name. were they this sure of themselves that they can immediately read a person at first glance? he rather doubts it; he himself is intimately impressionistic when it comes to first impressions around new people. he doesn't know what it is, but he's always been amused by surprised reactions, by challenging the perception of others by fabricating elusive facts and obscure citations, by twisting truths and questioning realities. it is a natural reflex that he's never been able to rid off, and has been his number one favourite way of keeping himself assertive and on his toes at all times.
his involuntary, everlasting wit is even enough to drive mcgonagall up the wall. "or, anatoly, if you'd prefer--[/b]" "how would you describe your relationship with your family?" she curtly interjects, which causes him to pause. the monotone in her voice is unlike her original, but it quivered and didn't match her posture or face. in some sense, he's figured she would start off with such a harsh tone, just to set her level of authority, but regardless, even if he is facing the minister himself, his involuntary quirks would still play out. this causes some feeling of disappoint to inject itself in his system, however-- she works with the mind, does she not? he has been waiting for some kind of mental challenge or be bombarded with questions that should hope to shake him off his solid ground, but all she's doing is giving him a passive approach. and a rather drab approach at that.
he reaches for the glass of water on the coffee table, and takes a sip as he leans back, shifting to find a comfortable spot. he's wondering what kind of persona should he radiate to get the reaction that would give him her whole profile. "we're relatively close, though i'm much more so with my baby sister than i am with anyone other. which makes channy lie to herself that she doesn't care," he remarks with a slight huff, swirling the glass absent-mindedly, "same goes for my mother, as my father has an undoubtedly favourable eye for channy and an insatiable craving for accompaniment from leigh."
briefly, he pauses. "channy is an excellent socialite, as leigh is with books and anything worth knowing about. i, on the other hand, empathize, something acquired from our mother; this, it seems, they both lack." he pauses. "i may have been commended to be a delightful cook as well," he adds, trying to find another angle, "familiarized with medicine, endured ten years of learning how to dance and, scarily, can even knit a scarf. all these i owe to my mother, who showed her favourable eye to me.[/b]" he has never enjoyed the thought of favouritism in the family, but he nevertheless makes no attempts to complain, seeing the tightness and abundant love his family illuminates. really, if it hadn't been for his mother, he wouldn't have learned how to feel remorse in the first place. "my father, on the other hand, taught me how to compromise[/b]." with this, he huffs. "i do not acquiesce well to demands and orders, and do not see fit to lean on the idea of being submerged in the authority of a figure. in this way, he and i are alike. by compromising, i take what benefit i should gain with whatever action i willingly comply on doing," he continues, surprised at how much succession he was able to fit his thoughts in nicer words, "the knave was also the one who started my obsession with card tricks and illusions. would you care to audience an exhibition?[/b]"
as she looks up with a surprised daze, he realizes that she's never been shown compassion or a sense of appreciation. in her uptight state, she only knows how to obey direct orders and ask questions later. her sense of morality makes him question, which peaks his interest. so why does he like to profile? to this question, he has no want to answer, and has never realized a right one for it either. he blinks, and so does she. her flummox of an expression and incapability to make a decisive answer results him to conclude that she's not one to negotiate or be flexible with, as well as her short, sharp commands to make herself upstraight and vehement with doing her job.
he's also quite sure that nothing in her analysis report is seen from his most recent demeanour.
she opens her mouth to speak, but no words come tumbling out just yet. "you are.. unlike what i have read about." there it is. he inclines his head in slight, spurring her to continue. "i thought you callous and indifferent, stoic and a man of a few words. unwilling to obey rules and commands, always preferring to walk the road alone. only speaking when spoken to, only opting for the company of one or two, but always seeming to find yourself surrounded by a throng of admirers and spectators. elusive and distracting, you're cunning and tactical, always playing your cards right and amusing yourself by challenging the intellect of those around you. you don't brood, but you wear mystery and you have an air of defiance about you. kind and intimidating, charm is your most powerful card, and with your words, you gamble without doubt."
a faint smile suddenly appears on his face, his eyes closing briefly.
"and here i thought you incompetent with doing your job[/b]," he comments lightly, opening his eyes to her narrowed ones. admittedly, he did not expect an assault of words to hit him like that-- it feels as if he's being made undone.
she cocks an eyebrow, a smirk tickling the side of her lips.
she's feeling victorious, and so she should.
"but you know, all of what i said were truths too."
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