Application for Sasan, from So NoTORIous

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Okay, this place? Effing huge. No really, the vaulted ceilings. Gorgeous woodwork up there, if Sasan should say so himself. The cobblestone floors? Tapestries and plush carpeting and guh. Totally... some past century or something. Medieval. Something like that. But compared to The Mansion, said with implied capitals for emphasis? Seriously, ew. Look at all the cobwebs in the upper corners. Practically inhabitable.

Why was he here again? ...Wasn't he supposed to have ended up in the nice, sunny Caribbean? Sipping a mimosa or something. This was... England? Scotland? Hello, something with castles. ...Maybe he shouldn't have taken that Valium before the plane ride, this totally wasn't an island vacation. Not fun. No way he could wear his new Maschino sandals here. Well, he could, but not nearly the same dramatic effect as there would be in the Bahamas. And there was near to nil chance of boys. Pretty boys. In Speedos. Woe.

Ugh. This couldn't be good for his pores. And they were already being stressed into clogging, and that face wash was not doing its job, the label totally lied.

Anyway.

Sasan shrugged his carry-on bag onto the table, nose wrinkled at the room around him. Stark bare. Nothing but rock and this... weird little... table? Rustic. He'd give it that. But, God, boring. This room could use some definite sprucing. Nice new curtains in the windows... Ooh, and definitely some displays. China? No, too tacky. Something to dress it up. ...At least a vase, jeez.

...What the hell had he walked into anyway? Sasan straightened out his jacket and slid onto the table with a delicate sort of ease that showed just how much he disapproved of the room. Which was more of a huffy slump, really, as he crossed his ankle across his knee and grasped at one of the papers. Was this some weird little survey or something? Ooh, like on Myspace? Those were such time fillers, they were addicting. Um. ...Not that he had a Myspace. ...Or over seven hundred and seventy nine friends. ...Never mind.

Ahem.

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

Did he even have a pen? No? Too bad. He plopped his chin onto a palm, eying the paper with a frown. Hmm. Cheese? ...How random. Not even name or sex or favorite color or something first. Just cheese. Oh, well. Maybe it would tell him what his aura was at the end or something. Because he totally got purple last time he did one of those, and he was fairly sure he was more of a sky blue.

"Does cheesecake count?" he speculated aloud to himself. "I mean, it's hell with the cream and all that crap, but, yum." As a Dictaquill sprang into life, doodling out his answer and hello, he may or may not have let out a decisively un-manly yelp of surprise. The thing could move. Oh, man. Where could he get one of those? Writing always gave such a hand cramp, God, there was a reason he loved his laptop. "Uh?" he asked, experimentally, as the quill scrawled out the two letters. Awesome.


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

Kill? Oh, God, no way, he couldn't kill anyone. Especially with a knife or something like that and, ew, it would get on his hands and be all gross and sticky and urgh, that couldn't be good for his skin, and that would undo all what the L'Oreal had been doing. Unless it was damn Paris Hilton and her total slut ways. There was a reason she ended up in jail! If not just for the nose job alone, come on.

"Carrottop," he scoffed, decisively, wrinkling his nose like something smelled bad in the room. And that pen thing was just way too cool. Anyway. "The hair? His skin is just dying for moisturizer. Hello, boy's in need of a massive makeover. Not that it could save him. Just... ew."


3. What time is it where you are?

Time? Okay, whatever. He eyed his watch with a tilt of his head, debating. "It issss..." Time for him to get a room with actual decor involved? Maybe? Yeah. "Seven forty-two." ...Woo hoo?


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.

Sexual harassment? Oh, now that was something he could do. ...Maybe not the whole coming back from the dead thing, that was a little off, to say the least. Being a zombie would be kind of gross. "Depends." Who was the Order of the Phoenix? ...Was that some band? And anything like Fall Out Boy? Because Pete Wentz was kind of short but, damn, he'd seen those pictures from his Sidekick, and there was a substantial amount of man there for Sasan to take.

Okay, maybe it wasn't Fall Out Boy. "Order of the Phoenix?" he offered weakly instead, and glanced up, as if expecting validation. Nobody nearby. Boo, no fun. "I don't know. ...Who's got the biggest cock?" He could almost picture Tori thwapping his arm, and defenses were automatically set in place. "What? Inquiring minds! They want to know!"


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.

Bartend? Oh, that could be so fun. He'd definitely wanted to take a class on that once. And not just because the teacher went to his gym and had you seen that ass? God, what he wouldn't have paid to tap that. Anyway, it didn't work out. And that other guy from the bench press had been way easier.

"Does it have to be dark?" he asked, a bit poutily. "Aesthetically pleasing lighting is crucial for a warm environment, you know." No? Oh well. "I suppose if you were going for the Brad Pitt slash Ed Norton sort of thing? Could work. Anyway, it would definitely be Fight Club. Just for that." And if Brad Pitt showed up himself, he would not be complaining.


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.

Ooh, here were the goods. Because, you know, if this was anything like the Janie-Kyle-him thing, hello, drama. Which was where the fun was at. Duh. Late night phone gossiping. Giggling? Shut up, it was more fun than you knew.

"Has he asked himself the three B's? Brains, Butterfaces, Bed?" He sighed, and elaborated, as though the answer were something entirely too obvious. "Which one's smarter, which one's hotter. Which one's more limber?" He gave a sniff, shrugging and slouching in his seat again. "I dunno, ask Zeus. He was the manwhore of Mount Olympus. Guy got more tail than Furcadia."


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.

Ew, paperwork. Totally annoying. But, you know. Necessary. "Maybe you're trying to start the totally chic Lane Bryant for dogs and your friend is totally slacking off on some Canadian F-movie." Clearly, because that happened to everybody. "You know, you should organize. If you wanna type it out, maybe. On the computer? Computers equal so much easier to handle." He paused, debating. "Or tabs? Sorting? I don't know."


D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.

Useless? Sasan's jaw automatically dropped, in an entirely scandalized expression. Okay, he was in head to toe Marc Jacobs right now. You weren't anything near resembling useless when you looked this fabulous. Thank you.

"Tori Spelling? Hi, me, her best friend and resident gay man on the premises?" He let out of a huffy sort of breath, brushing a hair out of his face and wondering... vaguely, why he was getting so antsy about a Myspace quiz. Thing. "Trust me, that much influence? I'm so not useless. I have a total kind of weirdo power over her or something. No, really, she'd marry me, if I didn't like the beans better than the tacos. I'd make a fantastic wife." Beat. "Husband. ...Same difference. Besides, I'd be doing all the decorating."


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.

...Uhhh. A bribe? Oh, jeez, totally not prepared for this. Not nearly the pressure of getting the right present for Kiki or something but, God, what was? Maybe fitting into the Juicy Couture jeans after a cheeseburger or two. No, seriously, he had to coat hanger those suckers on.

"Um, there's..." He flipped open his bag. "Peanuts?" From the flight? No? He tossed the pack onto the table, frowning a little. He'd swiped a few of those itty bottles of liquor, that could work, right? Everyone liked booze. Definitely added to the pile.

God, he couldn't get rid of any of this, what the hell. "I suppose I could maybe possibly part with the Dolce and Gabanna's," he commented aloud, a bit sadly, picking at the aviator sunglasses hanging off the front of his polo. "Ugh, I dunno. They're so pretty. Just have the peanuts." Problem? Solved.


"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG. Sasan.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. Sasan.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickersnew Cavalli boxers and they're silk, don't be jealous. In a bunch. Sasan.
One day, marmaladeKiki Spelling will rule the world. ...Oh, wait, she totally does already. Sasan.

Comments

[anythingawesome.livejournal.com]

"Ohmigosh," squealed Kelly, all decked (http://www.wetseal.com/Product/38155147669_lg.jpg) out (http://www.neimanmarcus.com/products/mn/NMX0411_mn.jpg) in the very height of fabulousness. "A Lane Bryant for dogs is the best idea ever!" Clearly, this new applicant needed to be added to her brain trust, ASAP!

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Hello, fabulous! Just what this room needed, at least. Some color. Thank you. "Oh, my God, isn't it?" he parried right back, in squee of a voice, eyes brightening with excitement. "And. Well. Technically, you know, it was totally Tori's idea, but the rest was so all me."

Anyway. Onto bigger and better issues. "Gosh, honey, peach Manolos? Fantastic with that complexion. So puts Beyonce to shame, you know it." Seriously. Work it, girl.

[anythingawesome.livejournal.com]

"Aren't they awesome?" Kelly did a little twirl and kick, to show off the pretty. The shoes had cost almost whole paycheck, but she didn't actually have expenses anymore, so it was no big! A total investment! "His fall collection just didn't have enough pastels, you know?" Still fabulous -it was Manolo of course!- but totally wrong with her skin tone.

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

"Pastels? In fall?" Sasan scoffed back, bit of a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth. "Um, only if he wanted to slit his throat with one of his own stilettos." Pastels were so not fall. Had to wait for the daisies to poke up before those colors were allowed. "Oh, my God, have you seen his new seasonal ideas, though? With the fur? If I wanted tacky, I'd go raid my grandmother's closet." He paused, wrinkling his nose and frowning. "Not that guys can wear Manolos," he replied, a bit slowly, shoulders slumping, almost depressed about this new development. "But, you know. A guy can dream."

[hedwigrobinson.livejournal.com]

Now this was Hedwig's kind of applicant. Not her kind of man -- she preferred them butch -- but her kind of company.

"Honey, I don't know whether cheesecake counts, but if it doesn't, it should," she asserted, pulling up a chair and straddling it backward, one thigh-high red boot to either side of the seat.

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Somebody had gotten the wiener whacked. Not that Sasan minded -- she pulled blonde off well. ...What? Not everybody could make with the bleach. "You know, it's cream cheese, right?" he asked, with a bit of a wrinkled nose, debating his own question for a few long seconds. "I don't know. It has 'cheese' in the name. Totally counts."

And then, of course, moved onto bigger and better issues, waving a vague hand towards Hedwig's boots. "Intense boots, honey. A little too Vegas for me. But, you know. That work looks for some people, am I right?" His eyes may or may not have been brightening with the newfound topic of shoes.

[hedwigrobinson.livejournal.com]

Oh, had she ever gotten the wiener whacked, in a major way. She might dish about it to Sasan later. It wasn't as though it took much to get Hedwig to talk about her angry inch, given she'd named her band after it.

"Cream cheese must count." Hedwig sounded very definite about this. It wasn't nearly as passionate a topic as whether or not bras should be put in the dryer (answer: NO!), but she had an opinion on it nonetheless, and everyone was entitled to Hedwig's opinion. "And do not Americans have a naughty little secondary meaning (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/cheesecake) to 'cheesecake'? It should be everyone's favorite cheese."

Which meant that Hedwig should be everyone's favorite cheese! Come on, look at these legs! Very few biological females had legs this good!

"Intense boots are my favorite kind. These boots I like to think of as rock-and-roll. I am a singer."

[robinthepuck.livejournal.com]

Oh. Hello. "I don't know," Robin drawled, leaning against the wall, arms folded, legs crossed loosely at the ankle. "I think they'd look pretty damn good on me." His eyes went to the sunglasses and then slowly back up to Sasan's face, gaze alone enough to feel like a lover's caress, languid and hot. Then he smiled, a bright flash of teeth. A predator's grin. "Robin Goodfellow," the puck introduced himself, holding out his hand. "Tell me, my dear boy, if you're not willing to part with the sunglasses," again his eyes flicked down, but this time much lower, "what else might I convince you to give up in their place?"

Robin had been far too restless lately. Bored. And a bored puck was dangerous. Sasan was getting the full force of Robin's seductive skills. With very little subtlety, the puck was practically oozing promises better left whispered in dark back rooms. He needed a diversion and the pursuit of Sasan had been elected to fill that gap. Lucky man!

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Um. Hi. Mommy, could he take it home with him?

...On second thought, scratch that. Better parents stayed under the false impression - or... hope, whatever they were operating under - that Sasan was still going to end up decidedly straight. Not ending up at some castle and flirting with the first man-candy that happened upon his presence. Even if said man-candy started flirting first and now it was just polite to return the favor!

"Trust me, with that structure, Dior would suit you... much better," he replied slowly, his own eyes taking their time as they scoured over his frame, and he was most certainly liking what he was seeing. God, if his voice alone was oozing sex, what would he fuck like? "Sasan." Robin's hand was grasped back, fingers lingering a few seconds too long to be casual. "And I can think of... exactly ninety-seven things that would be far more interesting than sunglasses."

[robinthepuck.livejournal.com]

"Just ninety-seven?" Robin smirked, eyes locked on Sasan's with intensity that seemed to be better suited for other, less clothed pursuits. "Oh, sweet Sasan, I'm afraid your education seems to be lacking." The puck took a step forward, liquid grace as he moved closer. "We'll have to fix that."

He'd gone slightly casual (http://www.suavecito.com/images/Suits/CalvinKlein/calvinklein2.jpg) today, and he smoothed the line of his jacket, not at all drawing attention to his washboard stomach and then on down to more intriguing parts of his anatomy. "Tell me, Sasan," Robin rolled that name around on his tongue until it became something purely sexual and obscene. "Mind if I try?" A beat, and then he smiled. "The sunglasses."

A few other things as well, if his tone of voice was anything to go by.

[recentlygay.livejournal.com]

Really, if she were to handle things the smart way, Willow would have stayed away from the Sorting Room for the rest of her life. And, as they said, curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, redheaded witches with too much time on their hands.

And hey, this guy was really tall. "Y'know, the taco isn't really that bad." She said, and grinned.

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Dyke alert, dyke alert, crack out the flannel!

She was a shortie, but, God, cute face. Like porcelain. But, hmm, that frumpy style had to go, sweetie. Some Michael Kors would do the soul good. "The taco? Are you kidding? I probably couldn't get the smell out of my clothes," Sasan replied, a bit huffily, and sniffed. After a beat, of course, adding, "No offense." He leaned back on his hands, looking quite adamant in his choice. "Once you go for the boys, you really can't go back," he murmured, a bit dreamily, a half of his mouth quirking upwards.

[girl-george.livejournal.com]

Her sorting was going very well and it reminded her of her afternoons spent in the ice cream shop, where she aided a parade of needful New Yorkers through discussions of their futures, presents, of pasts. However, like those busy days, it took a bit of energy from the petite seer, so she was eager to take a break. Knowing that no one would call on her for the next hour or so, the girl made her way across the Sorting Room to the other applicant she knew would be there.

"Hello," she quietly greeted, offering him a welcoming smile. "I'm going through my own sorting, as well." An enthusiastic grin then caused dimples to appear beneath her freckles. "I'm George."

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

Oh, God, who would he kill for that kind of complexion? So many people. She looked like she should be a CoverGirl or something. Or, ooh, off America's Next Top Model. Jealousy was nigh, in events like this, and he really could not help himself. It was totally that competition between the Iranian, the Muslim, and the gayness in him that was keeping him from meeting his full skin potential.

At any rate. Jealousy. Yes. Didn't stop him from shooting a grin right back, just as welcoming. What? She was adorable. He was totally allowed to fangirl her, momentarily. "Sorting?" He raised his eyebrows. "I thought it was some kind of weirdo survey? No? Never mind. Sasan, at your service."

[girl-george.livejournal.com]

It was said that she shared a great resemblance to a certain contestant on America's Next Top Model, but George wouldn't hear of it. She was smaller! She had copper hair! And she had freckles! So, really, any comparisons were just the result of a completely overactive imagination. Totally and completely.

"I think they want to sort us into different Houses, based on our answers." She grinned. "But really, I think it's just an excuse to get to know us. For instance, we share a love of cheesecake, according to our first questions. But I decided it wouldn't be fair to consider it cheese, and instead chose something else." She sighed, regretting her mistake with a playful level of severity.

[wolfram-jyari.livejournal.com]

Wolfram approached Sasan, deeply concerned. "Who is this Furcadia?" The blond demanded. "Does he or she attend Hogwarts?" With Wolfram busy with Lannister, the blond had to be in stronger guard to assure that no one was getting anywhere near Yuuri's tail. And after living in Shin Makoku, the demon had realized that this was harder said than done. Besides, now he had Lannister to watch out for, so that just made his occupation harder.

"And you might be able to prove that you would make a fantastic husband (though I expect a terrible wife, since you miss certain key qualities), as the Hat has been marrying students by the hundreds." The blond glared at Sasan, as if he was partly to blame. Well, in a way he was, since he reminded Wolfram of his unfortunate situation. Mean Sasan!

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

"Um. No?" Ew, he should hope not. Not that Furcadia was an actual person, but, ugh, vomit, the idea of there being a human embodiment of that site was just a thought so disgusting to his mind. "Okay, Furcadia? Not a person. A website. For all the nasty weirdos on the net who wanna pretend to do a squirrel or whatever. Totally gross. Don't recommend it." He gave a hearty sniff towards the end, letting his opinion just towards what he thought of that website.

And, uh, hello! He'd totally make an awesome wife! He could bake cookies and everything! ...If they came in those Pillsbury rolls or whatever. ...At any rate, he could definitely pull off an apron, and not many guys could, so suck it. He glared right back at Wolfram, as if this would solve something. Maybe just to complete some kind of weird, unspoken conversation of blaming they were having right now. "Okay, hats? Marrying people? Somebody had a few appletinis too many to keep their butt on the bar stool?"

[wolfram-jyari.livejournal.com]

The demon did not have the greatest understanding of websites or computers, which was just as well since Yuuri's older brother had on his PC a dating sim with a girl that carried a certain level of resemblance (http://sillyshorts.com/KKM/Caps/60/60-005.jpg) to the prince. Even so, the talk of Furcadia caused a great deal of anxiety, considering his situation. Nasty weirdos? Squirrels? The blond was lost in horrifying thoughts concerning this, and did not show a large level of concentration to what Sasan said next.

At the moment Wolfram was doing what he could to make himself a good husband for Lannister, to train for his eventual true marriage to Yuuri. In other circumstances, perhaps he and Sasan could trade notes, as his cookies were probably more appealing than Wolfram's open-faced mayonnaise sandwich. The reason the blond said that Sasan couldn't make a good wife was because in Shin Makoku marriages between men were common, so the joking "Who's the bride?" dilemma wasn't a large part of his psyche. He didn't seem to notice Sasan's glare, but only quietly murmured as he looked downwards, "I have no idea what you're saying."

Suddenly the fear laid by the talk of weirdos and squirrels was too powerful, and the blond looked up and busted out, "My betrothed is married to a bunny!"

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

Peter was one of the rarer kind of people that actually enjoyed coming into the Sorting Room. With the muffling amulet that Rachel had made him, it was easier to wander around and not be paranoid of picking up new and potentially disturbing powers.

Except today, he wandered into the Sorting Room - a friendly enough smile on his face, which promptly froze as soon as he spotted the new applicant. Oh god. That was... no, it wasn't Sylar. Well, unless Sylar had suddenly become incredibly gay.

Still stunned, Peter wandered up to the applicant and couldn't help staring like a bit of an idiot. "Wow," he rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish grin crossing his expression. "Sorry, but you're the spitting image of someone I know." This guy really did have an evil twin. Creepy. "Also, what's Furcadia?"

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

...Somebody looked like they were a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Hi. Get dropped on the head at birth or something? The way he was staring at Sasan, uh, looked like. Not that it mattered. They didn't need to be smart if the hair and the puppy eyes like that matched some moves between the sheets. Or on top of the sheets or no sheets at all. Take your pick.

At any rate, this was troubling. Spitting image? What was he talking about? Someone else who looked like him? No, this was his gorgeous complexion, despite the competing Iranian-ness with the Muslim-ness and the predominant gay-ness. Definitely his perfect facial structure. Who else? Not fair!

"Furcadia, site with people who like to do cats or whatever," Sasan dismissed with a wave of his hand, fixing Peter with a stare. "Um, hi? Who?" Said, of course, as though the poor Petrelli had a few extra chromosomes in store.

[likeabadpenny.livejournal.com]

"A guy named Sylar," Peter answered, still looking a few fries short at Sasan like he'd walked into an incredibly strange universe. "I don't know if that's his actual name. His hair is a bit shorter, and you look less evil, but it's definitely the same face."

Intrigued, Peter reached out and poked Sasan in the chest. Huh. Actually real. "Sorry, I'm just weirded out," he smiled apologetically.

Then, the explanation of Furcadia caught up with him. And the information did not compute. "People who like to do cats," he repeated. Wait, what. Seriously? "You mean, zoophilia?"

[ugly-old-hat.livejournal.com]

"Explain this 'Furcadia.'" Because it just isn't right that anything should get more tail than the Hat. Not that it knows precisely what this means, but it sounds like a good thing and therefore the Hat wants in.

[turnthenipsdown.livejournal.com]

"A boy brings up a nasty-ass website once," Sasan mused to himself, with a world-weary sort of sigh, index finger to his chin in contemplation. "Furcadia? Weirdo site online with a bunch of people who want to do a dog or whatever. It's creepy. I wouldn't recommend it."

[ugly-old-hat.livejournal.com]

"You're not in favor of dogs, then? Good. What about bears?"

[ugly-old-hat.livejournal.com]

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