Application for Nathan Petrelli, from "Heroes"

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

(( SPLOSION OF HEROES, OH NOEZ :0 Cut for spoilers, though there aren't many. Just to be safe! This has also been approved by all the Heroes muns ^^; ))

...This was where Peter had disappeared off to?

One thing was for certain - Hogwarts was a place in which Nathan Petrelli most definitely did not fit. For a man who had spent the last several weeks, months, God only knew how long, of his life dressed continually and almost solely in business suits and ties - no, really; he practically slept in Gucci by the end of that election - he most definitely did not fit in a school so... crackedcasual.

Even as he was striding into the room, he was loosening his tie, trying to appear as informal as possible with several hundreds of dollars of clothing on his back.


What a dump.

He didn't even know where to begin with this place. All stone walls and stark wooden furniture and, Jesus, this place looked straight out of medieval times or something. He was fairly sure he'd even passed a suit of armor on the way in. And a moving picture, but that... no. He'd seen more than he should have in the last few days - super strength, time stopping, people exploding - but damn if he was still chalking it up to his eyes playing tricks on him. Flying off from New York, all the way to Scotland, would do that to someone. It would.

Right. Down to business, huh? There was only a stack of papers on the table in view. No way to find Peter right off the bat and make his life, in general, so much easier, was there?

...No, of course not.


1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?

"Cheese?" Nathan repeated aloud to himself, letting his eyes briefly search the room before settling back onto the paper. What the hell was this? "Jesus, what have I walked into?" he added in a mutter, fishing around for a pen in his inner jacket pocket and retrieving a clicky ballpoint, 'VOTE PETRELLI' inscribed in cheap silver across the side. They had so many of these stupid things left over. Nathan felt slightly ridiculous rising to that kind of level of narcissism in which he was writing with a pen with his own name on it. But what the hell.

Parmesan, he wrote without much more debate, and, really, there was no contest. Hey, he wasn't afraid of his sickeningly Italian love for the stuff on pasta.


2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?

...Okay, his sons watched Barney. And... did anyone really watch Carrottop? Ever? Either way, that was just wrong. He was automatically thinking back to Linderman, the gun... God. He'd really rather NOT kill somebody unless it really came down to that level of necessity.

Carrottop, he scribbled down in nearly indecipherable chicken scratch anyway, as if he felt obligated to answer the question. For every time I had to watch that damn 1-800-COLLECT commercial.


3. What time is it where you are?

What kind of pointless questionnaire was this? He'd just wanted to grab Peter and get the hell out of here, and now people were asking him about the time. He glanced to his watch with a sigh, scrawling out the time with a frown. Time for him to shove this application right up the ass of whoever was responsible, was what.


4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.

"Oh, for Christ's sake." Yeah, he couldn't help it with that question. "Married? Happily." Not that Niki Sanders would vouch for that, but... beside the point.

He left the question blank, with a roll of his eyes. Honestly.


5. If you are pushing to be in:

A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.

Seriously. Did Peter make this crap up? Just to piss him off, wasn't it? "Fun and game time's over, Pete," he called out in a cautious sort of voice, to nobody in particular, eyes flickering dubiously away from the application. ...Yeah, he was alone. And probably going a little nuts too, now, at this juncture. Petrellis really did keep it in the family, huh?

Okay. Bar name. Right. Amuse the masses. Something he was uncomfortably used to.

Flying Man's

Nathan almost cracked a bit of a grin. Almost. Hiro was pretty flattering. Kind of cute when he did that. But, yeah, very much no.

Petrelli's? What the hell. Short. Sweet. To the point.


B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.

...This was some ploy to get him to finally spill his opinion on gay marriage, wasn't it? He'd won the election and he was still paranoid. Jeez.

This was hypothetical, right? Good.

Harry should... pick whomever he's happy with. Someone who makes him smile.

No comments about marriages, civil unions, anything that could be twisted around to make him out to be a homophobe or so far into the closet that he was seeing Narnia, posted in the Times the next day. Awesome


C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.

Because they didn't have a team of people hired to deal with crap like this, like he had? ...Possibly.

Invest in flamethrowers. Haha, so funny, Nathan. Talk about burning things when New York was nearly a pile of smoldering rubble only days ago. He actually winced, in wake of that thought. When your brother was all that had been left of that hypothetical wreck. Was nearly the cause of that wreck. Kidding. But I'd at least suggest a secretary.


D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Because he could fly? Because his flying consequentially led to his keeping Peter from blowing everything up? Because he was part of the reason why Kirby Plaza wasn't said aforementioned pile of smoldering rubble? A million reasons. None of which he could use, not publicly.

Hey, I just got elected to Congress, he scribbled, simply, shrugging as he wrote. Landslide victory. Pretty damn impressive if I should say so myself.

And all without a single spot of ego.


6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.

They were kidding, right? Bribes. Not something he was unfamiliar with, naturally, but asking right-out for one was a totally different thing. Not that he had nothing to give, either. He had political power. He had connections in pretty high places. He was... fairly well off, financially. The picture of your friendly, neighborhood, political figure head.

Depends on what you're looking for.

At least it was open for interpretation.




"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. N.P.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. N.P.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. N.P.
One day, marmalade will rule the world. ...N.P.?"

Comments

[carriesapurse.livejournal.com]

Though the word 'hello' had a definite place in Tinky Winky's vocabulary even sans Narrator, it did not register with him when the unfamiliar man spoke it aloud to him now. For one thing, he couldn't hear it over his own bellowing.

"Noooooooo," he lowed in a fashion almost bovine. "Noooooooooo." His antenna flapped with the bobbing of his head as he reeled across the room, bent almost double in his distress, hands still over his ears. He could not even make a dance of it. He was that far gone.

He needed something. Desperately. He needed nutrients. In his kernelised state he had been starved of the special substance which alone could nourish Teletubbies.

[oldyelloweyes.livejournal.com]

Lesson number one: Never eat a brownie given to you by a pissy Mountie (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1368836.html?thread=69469188#t69469188).

The demon had been in hiding for the past few days. Desperately trying anything to get his proper form back. Frantically praying to whatever deity might listen to such requests that he'd just turn back. But the instincts had gotten too strong. He had to seek out others of his kind. They were pack animals by nature; though the thought of having communion with their kind was disgusting to him even in the best of times, and certainly now, the impulse drove him beyond all reason.

And thus it happened that Paciscory wandered into the sorting room, large, paddle-like feet bounding along the ground, flat ears attuned to the sound of Tubby distress.

Because, yes. He'd turned into a large yellow Teletubby. In the image of his master, he roamed the halls, until he detected the distinctive cries of Tinky Winky, the Dark Lord and Master of the Fires Below, etc. Lacking his own Narrator - he was not fully a teletubby, more a hapless combination of demon and yellow puffball - Paciscory nonetheless knew what to do.

He wobbled his way over and declared, in a bright voice echoing with the torment of a thousand souls, "Time for Tubby Custard!" Again, again! "Time for Tubby Custard!" He was his own Narrator.

Tubby Custard was produced forthwith, then, by a large phallic-symbol horn and placed in a bowl. The demon presented this to Tinky Winky with a loud, "Eh-oh!" An offering, presented in a chaste vessel. Not quite the blood of the innocents (though, really, what was Tubby Custard made of?), but it would suffice.

[carriesapurse.livejournal.com]

Tinky Winky stopped in his tracks. Without his Narrator, he had only the dim lights of his own surreal perception by which he might navigate through the world. Yet his instincts were keen, and honed by need. Tubby Custard might be a lot of things (it might even be made of people) but it was, above all and indubitably, food.

Had he the capacity for comparison, he might have speculated that this must be what the Narrator felt like when jonesing for cocaine. He had no such capacity. He could barely count to four. (He knew one, two, three by rote. What came after that was anyone's guess.) Nor had he much memory of the Narrator. He only knew that there was supposed to be something vouchsafed unto him as a guide, and that something was missing at present.*

This beautifully unholy apparition which offered unto him the very nectar of life -- it was not Laa Laa; Tinky Winky would know Laa Laa anywhere (probably by smell. Don't ask). It resembled Laa Laa but was not. Therefore it would not know where he could find his pink tutu. That was all right. The tutu was a tertiary concern at best. Eagerly Tinky Winky sprang forward to accept the bowl from the yellow Teletubby's mitt-hands. The bowl was a proper custard bowl, with a built-in straw spiraling about its sides and poking forth from its rim like the eyestalk of a curious snail.

The sound of his slurping was an abomination.

Finally, pink stains spread around his person now to form an unlovely contrast with the dull yellowish stains of caked-on popcorn grease, Tinky Winky raised a beatific face to his benefactor and servant.

Yellow eyes gleamed back at him.

"Pwetty eyes," Tinky Winky caroled. Yes, he knew his pwetty-eyed demon!


* (( It will kick in later, don't worry. I have no idea how on earth I could play TW without the Narrator, these days. ))

[chimchimcherroo.livejournal.com]

Bert heard the voice from across the room. It couldn't be -- could it?

He scanned the vicinity frantically, one hand shading his eyes. There. It was. Bert smiled a huge smile and ran toward the purple, pear-shaped person standing a few yards off.

"Tinky!" he shouted as he approached. "I thought you were popcorn! (http://community.livejournal.com/hogwarts_hocus/1372142.html?thread=69852910#t69852910)" And with that, he leaning down slightly and wrapped his arms around his as-of-late MIA telletubby friend.

[carriesapurse.livejournal.com]

"Popcown," agreed Tinky Winky, enveloping his drug buddy in a sticky purple embrace that mingled popcorn grease and custard splotches with a thin sweet coating of soot. The true essence of friendship! "Tubby Tustawd?"

He made an arcane gesture in the Yellow-Eyed Teletubby's direction. "Bewt. Tubby Tustard." He clearly wished the YET to produce a bowl for Bert.

[soopernathan.livejournal.com]

There were... and... fuzzy suits... pudding and... Dear Lord.

Nathan didn't even know what to say. This was like some kind of bad acid trip. Not that Nathan had ever taken acid, but... he assumed this is what a bad acid trip would look like: two demonic-looking Teletubby-esque things mingling over custard.

God, what the hell do you even say at a time like this?

...Right, you say nothing. Nathan was just staring, in disbelief.

He could wake up at any time. Really. Any time.

[chimchimcherroo.livejournal.com]

Bert pulled back from his hug with Tinky Winky, looking over at the Yellow Telletubby. He'd never seen another of Tinky Winky's kind before, but he was quite happy to meet more -- Tinky Winky was such an amiable fellow. He smiled and waited expectantly to be offered some of their surely delightful food.

But suddenly he noticed a third person standing in the group.

"Oh! 'Ow very rude of me." He grinned and held out a hand (a rather grimy one, due to the soot and Tubby Custard). "Name's Bert. Pleasure to meet you, gov'na!"